Page 52 of Alien Mercenary's Wife

Her jaw dropped. Emperor Daaynal K'Saan. The most powerful man in the galaxy. And he was T'Raal's father.

"Shit. Yourfather?"

"My father." The words came out flat, stripped of emotion. "Emperor Daaynal K'Saan."

She sank onto the edge of his bunk with a thud. "You're an alien prince. A goddamn alien prince."

"I'm not a prince," T'Raal growled. "I'm nothing. My mother fled the Empire while pregnant rather than let them discover she was carrying his child."

"But... you're royalty."

"No, I'mnothing," he snarled. "I'm just a mercenary who picked his own path."

"So the medical treatment?—"

"Would require acknowledging who I am. Would require walking into that world and accepting everything I've rejected my entire life." He moved to the small viewport, staring out at the stars. "Would need me to become someone I swore I'd never be."

She watched him, seeing the tension written into every line of his big, powerful frame.

"How long have you been running from this?" she asked quietly.

"Since my mother died and I had to decide who I wanted to be."

He'd spent his whole life running from who he was, and now she was asking him to embrace it. She understood duty, understood the kind of sacrifices that honor demanded. But she also understood that some prices were too high to ask anyone to pay… but she couldn’t leave it.

"The other veterans," she said finally. "Hughes, Ryans, all the others… they're dying as well. And they don’t have Tal on their side."

T’Raal turned from the viewport, his expression guarded. "There are other alternatives. Tal is researching?—"

"Stop." She held up a hand, exhaustion suddenly overwhelming anger. "Just stop. I need to think about this."

T'Raal watchedReese's face like a hawk. Silence hung between them. Her dark eyes held shock, confusion, and an emotion he couldn't name.

She was going to leave. His stomach clenched. Harder than a punch.

"Reese." Her name came out rougher than he'd intended. "I know this changes?—"

"Does it?" She looked up at him from where she sat on his bunk, exhaustion replacing the anger that had driven her here. "You're not different now than ten minutes ago, right?"

The question caught him off guard. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, are you suddenly someone else because I know who your father is?" She studied his face. "Or are you still the man who—" She stopped, shook her head. "Never mind."

He opened his mouth to deflect, to give her the same careful non-answer he'd perfected over decades. Instead, truth escaped before he could stop it. "No. But I've spent my entire life afraid of what would happen if anyone found out."

His hands clenched into fists. "Afraid they'd want things from me. Or run because they don't want the complications."

She was quiet for a long moment, those dark eyes seeing too much. He felt stripped bare before her.

"So, which am I?" she asked finally. "Someone who wants something, or someone who's going to run?"

His throat felt raw. "I don't know."

She stood slowly. He tensed, ready for excuses about needing time to process. For the polite rejection that would let them both pretend this conversation had never happened.

Instead, she stepped closer. "I'm not going anywhere."

Tightness in his chest began to ease, but he didn't dare?—