Page 1 of Alien Mercenary’s Wife (Lathar Mercenaries: Warborne #7)

D raanth's sake, these things weren't designed for comfort.

The hard seat bit into T'Raal's back, formal furniture that hadn’t been designed for comfort.

He shifted, trying to find a position that didn't make his back ache, and kept his gaze fixed on the courtroom below.

This wasn't what he'd expected when he'd come to deliver intelligence that the Lathar's ancient enemy, the Tanel, were back, but it was the only place his contact could confirm that the emperor would be.

The trial was already underway, Tavkronian advocates in elaborate robes making arguments at their respective tables. Officials scurried between desks with dataflexes, voices low.

"Poor bastard," Red muttered beside him, her voice barely a whisper. She’d insisted on coming to Earth with him, claiming she needed parts for the Sprite's secondary cooling system.

Riiiight. Like parts for the ship were going to be found on Devan Station, in orbit around Earth.

But he knew better than to argue with his daughter when she got that look in her eyes.

He grunted in agreement. He wasn’t any kind of legal expert, but from what they’d already heard, it was easy to see that the male had been stitched up and then some.

Leaning back in his chair, he listened as the advocates made their arguments about bloodlines and heritage and the sins of fathers. Despite himself, he was drawn into the legal dance, waiting to see what warrior would be brought in to face judgment.

A human woman clutched the hand of a younger male, terror written across her face. From his features, he had to be her son. She was fighting for her family; that much was obvious.

"The defense calls the court's attention to precedent 47-B," the younger Tavkronian advocate declared. "Blood ties alone were deemed insufficient evidence of ideological contamination."

He nodded in approval. Smart female. She was laying groundwork, building a legal fortress around her client. But would it be enough?

Then the side whispers started, pointed and vicious as other Latharians in the gallery around them noticed Red. Half-Krynassis were rare. Any female who had carried one to term had been forced to give them up… to abandon them to the elements and let nature take its course.

"Disgusting."

"How did something like that even get on the station?"

Red went rigid beside him, her jaw set in that way that meant she was fighting not to react. He shifted slightly, putting himself between her and the worst of the stares, his bulk blocking their direct line of sight.

"Ignore them," he said quietly.

"Hard to ignore assholes like that,” she murmured back, expression tight with anger.

He bit back his smile at the human phrase. “You’re beginning to sound a lot like Sparky.”

She grunted, her gaze colliding with his for a moment before she looked down at the courtroom again. “Should’ve brought him along.”

T’Raal’s eyebrow winged up. “What? And make sure we definitely go to war with the entire Latharian Empire?”

“Yeah… perhaps not. This lot certainly couldn’t handle him.

” She chuckled, shaking her head. He grinned.

While Sparky, one of Red’s husbands, might have been human, he was one of the most dangerous males T’Raal had ever met, and his devotion to Red was absolute.

Even the hint of anyone in this place upsetting her, and he was liable to flip tables and burn the place to the ground.

A door opened at the front of the courtroom, and everyone sat up as a warrior entered between guards.

This must be Maax, he realized, remembering the advocate's earlier arguments. He was the very image of a textbook imperial warrior. Chains bound his wrists and ankles, but he held his head high despite the circumstances.

T’Raal recognized the type instantly. Career military, probably served with distinction, now getting dragged through the legal system for something beyond his control. But he barely focused on Maax. Instead, his attention was fixed on the darkened judge's booth high above… waiting.

Light flooded the booth, and his breath caught in his throat like he'd been sucker-punched.

Emperor Daaynal K'Saan himself sat in judgment, ceremonial sash gleaming across his broad chest, and two drakeen hunched in the shadows behind him.

T’Raal had known he would be here. But knowing that and seeing that… seeing the emperor were two different things entirely.

"Well," Daaynal's voice filled the chamber with quiet authority. "This is an interesting situation."

T’Raal forced himself to breathe, to maintain his position even as his mind raced. He couldn't approach the emperor here. It was too crowded. Not secure. And with the information he had, they needed secure.

The trial continued, little more than a drone in the background as he studied the Emperor.

Daaynal's expression was neutral and controlled, but there was something in his posture.

No, that was absurd. He knew nothing about Daaynal, not as a person.

All he knew was his reputation as one of the…

no, the most dangerous emperor since the first emperor, Kayan Vorr, himself.

"Did you know?" Daaynal leaned forward, his gaze boring into Maax, who stood below him. "About your heritage?"

"No, my emperor. I believed that Daar A'Taav was my father. As I believe he did."

The words hit him like individual hammer blows. Here was a warrior who'd lived his entire life believing in one truth, only to discover it was a lie.

"And if you had known? What would you have done with that knowledge?"

Maax didn't hesitate. "I would have turned myself in immediately. No warrior can serve two masters. My loyalty has always been to the empire."

T’Raal’s jaw clenched. Loyalty to the empire.

The same loyalty his mother had tried to instill in him, even as she'd walked away from it all to protect him. Her teachings, the morals she’d taught him, had driven him to come here with intelligence about the Tanel, despite his complicated… feelings about the imperial court.

"The A'Taav clan has officially expelled you from their bloodline. You understand what this means?"

"Yes, my emperor. I accept their judgment."

The gallery erupted as warriors surged to their feet, offering clan names to the condemned warrior. He watched as loyalty overcame bloodline concerns, as brothers-in-arms stood together.

Daaynal raised one hand, and silence fell like a blade.

"Your loyalty to your brother warrior does you credit. However, Maax, formerly of the A'Taav clan, has already been offered a new name."

Confusion rippled through the chamber. T’Raal’s chest tightened as Daaynal rose, the massive combat robots behind him shifting position.

"The empire recognizes that the sins of the father cannot be visited upon the son. From this moment forward, you will be known as Maax K'Saan, warrior of the imperial house."

K'Saan. The emperor's own name. He shook his head slightly, watching as the Emperor elevated a warrior with "tainted" bloodline to the highest clan in the empire.

"The charges are dismissed. Remove his restraints."

The courtroom erupted. Warriors cheered, court officials scrambled, and through it all, he sat frozen as the full implications crashed over him.

The Emperor had just proven the principles he believed in. Loyalty over bloodline, honor over heritage, and the content of a warrior's character over the circumstances of his birth.

Everything his mother had taught him. Everything he'd tried to live by… everything he’d assumed Daaynal K’Saan was not.

"We need to leave. We can’t do this here,” he said roughly, surging to his feet. The walls of the courtroom pressed in on him, the celebrating crowd too loud, too close. He couldn't process this here. Couldn't think.

Red shot him a sharp look but didn't argue. They moved toward the exit, T’Raal keeping his head down while his mind reeled.

He'd come here to deliver intelligence and disappear.

Instead, he'd witnessed something that challenged every assumption he'd made about the Emperor, about the empire, about his own choices.

At the exit, something made him pause. Turn back.

Daaynal stood at the front of the courtroom, accepting congratulations from court officials, but his gaze swept the gallery. Like he was searching for something.

Their eyes met across the chaos.

His training kicked in—his mother's lessons, ingrained so deep they were instinct. His right hand moved to his left shoulder, fingers tracing a specific pattern against the fabric of his jacket. An old hand signal she'd taught him when he was barely old enough to understand what it meant.

If you ever need to prove who you are, this will do it.

Daaynal went perfectly still as he focused on T'Raal with laser-like intensity. They locked gazes for a moment that seemed to stretch forever.

He turned and walked away, Red falling into step beside him. His heart hammered against his ribs as they made their way out of the courtroom and into the corridors beyond.

"Dad," Red said quietly, concern written across her face. "What just happened back there?"

"Nothing," he said roughly. "Just?—"

"Excuse me."

The voice froze them both in their tracks. Deep, controlled, and unmistakable. He turned slowly to find Emperor Daaynal standing ten meters away, flanked by two drakeen who looked like they could tear through a shuttle's hull with their bare claws.

Draanth.

"Your Majesty." He inclined his head the bare minimum required by protocol. Beside him, Red relaxed slightly… the subtle shift of someone ready for a fight but not advertising it.

"I wonder if I might have a word?" Daaynal's tone made it clear it wasn't a request. "There's a private chamber through here."

His mother's training kicked in… years of lessons in diplomatic composure, in hiding what you really thought behind a mask of cool professionalism. He let that persona slide over him like armor, pushing down the chaos of emotions threatening to claw their way to the surface.