Page 9

Rhaego had never experienced such internal knots as he did while awaiting his poor bride. Threads of guilt, shame, selfishness, apprehension, and a slew of others all twisted and kinked hopelessly inside his belly. He deserved this tangle for now. As he righted his mistakes, the knots would loosen.

He straightened his doublet. His den steward twitched. Again.

It would have been too much to dream that the steward assigned to their den would be a male of logic rather than superstition, but Rhaego had hoped he’d be less jumpy than this. He was adjusting his clothing, yet his steward, Phirdo , acted as if the movement would result in the earth falling out from under his feet.

The square had emptied, but it hadn’t been cleaned yet. Petals and streamers still floated in the air here and there while the rest accumulated in piles on the street. Sticky smells of abandoned desserts roasting in the sun drew the attention of buzzing dupiktuns seeking flower nectar.

Most couples had left for their marriage dens long ago, but his bride had needed more time to recover. He didn’t mind the wait. It’d given him time to make den preparations at his leisure, and it also meant he wasn’t surrounded by critical onlookers now.

The doors of the grand pavilion opened, and all annoyance with the jumpy steward fled. His bride—Aurora, so he’d been told—stepped into the square, and suddenly Rhaego felt as though the earth had fallen out from under his feet.

She was dressed in a stunning frock of yellow and green with floral accents. The colors, along with her luminous skin and pale yellow hair, reminded him of how the bright sun looked shining between tree leaves. He imagined her blue eyes would catapult her beauty beyond reason, but sadly she kept them trained on the ground. The knots inside him tightened.

She walked unassisted, with Evu by her side. That was a good sign, right? She wasn’t being dragged.

He caught her scent as she neared and had to keep himself from inhaling an impolite amount. A secondary aroma hit next, and he flushed.

Fear.

It was a smell many Clecanian races could identify, but unlike most, it didn’t smell unpleasant to a Tuvastan. Just a little bitter. They said it was a remnant of their predatory ancestry. Rhaego wished her fear smelled foul to him. It would make him feel less monstrous if he didn’t currently want to run his nose over every inch of her and locate the sweet scent that lingered beneath the fear.

By the time she stepped in front of him, his heart was hammering so hard he was sure she’d see it in his horns…or rather, she would , if she ever looked at him. So far, her eyes remained averted.

The sound of fabric banners snapping and fluttering in the warm breeze was the only noise to be heard as she stopped before him. His bride’s token waved from the spot on his horn where it was still tied. He wished he didn’t have to wear it. Would she hate the sight of it on him?

In the horrid silence, Evu glanced between her, then Rhaego, then the steward for a few rounds before clearing his throat. “Aurora, I’d like to introduce Rhaego, your new husband.”

Something akin to a choked whimper escaped her. After a beat of tense silence, she lifted her head, but her eyes still didn’t meet his. Her watery gaze only rose so far as his chest, and as she rasped a meek “Hello,” a single tear slipped down her left cheek.

There was no blade on Clecania that could slice him as deeply as that tear.

She dipped her head back down and wiped the moisture away. He should say something. Anything. But he couldn’t think of one helpful word to utter. He desperately wanted to get her alone to assure her she was safe and explain why he’d really entered the bride chase, but would that do any good?

I came to rescue Diana and right a terrible wrong, but my cock decided it wanted you instead. He’d be lucky if she only thought him incompetent.

There was no way around it. He’d need to escape with Aurora as well as Diana. He owed it to her after what he’d put her through today.

He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Phirdo broke the silence. “And I’m Phirdo, your den’s assigned steward. I’ll be ushering you to and from your den and delivering anything you may need during your marriage. I’ve set up your den according to your husband’s guidance, but we should be on our way, so you have time to order corrections before nightfall.” She murmured another soft hello but didn’t lift her head. A scowl pulled Phirdo’s mouth down.

Rhaego nodded toward the steward, though he grimaced at the veiled assumption he’d done such a poor job of outfitting their den that his bride would need hours to fix his mistakes. But what if she did? What if she hated all his selections?

It didn’t matter. If he did his job, they’d be out of Tuva soon enough and the density of the tapestries he’d selected for her room would be of little concern.

But he found he cared anyway. Pathetically so.

“Are you ready, Aurora?” He made his voice smaller, the way he always tried to when around more timid species. Though he’d been doing it for years, it was still an effort. But if gentling his voice made her less scared of him, he’d live the rest of his life whispering.

Despite his efforts, she flinched at the sound of her name.

I will make this up to you, little doe.

When she finally nodded, they bid Evu farewell and began silently following Phirdo through the flower-lined square. Rhaego tried not to stare at her since he knew it made some humans uncomfortable, but his gaze kept wandering despite his best efforts. Some of the petals still drifting on the breeze settled into her hair, and he daydreamed about an alternate reality in which she was truly his wife. If they were really married, she might let him tend to her hair and tend to his in return.

It was an outdated practice since it was so intimate, but some couples still engaged in grooming. Rhaego allowed himself to imagine the flowers he’d place in her hair. The fantasy brought him a brief moment of happiness.

His thoughts turned sour when he caught Phirdo aim another critical scowl at Aurora as he led them down a winding stairway that ended at the dock. The male continued to eye her bent head disapprovingly.

Rhaego’s fever roused. He wanted to send a warning growl toward Phirdo, but he knew it would scare Aurora, so he kept it locked away and donned a lethal glare instead. How was she to know that keeping her head lowered was rude? She had no horns. It was obviously not a sign of aggression or a slight. If Phirdo didn’t figure that out soon and stop peeking fang at his bride, Rhaego would lower his horns and show him what rude really looked like.

“Eyes forward, steward,” he said, managing to keep his voice even. The male glanced at him and paled at the glow of fever burning in Rhaego’s eyes. Phirdo whirled away and quickened his pace.

They reached the shorefront where the marriage docks and den carriages awaited, and Aurora stilled. Her lips parted as she gazed in awe at a distant carriage in flight. Wide tiered canopies covered in sumptuous fabric and intricate embellishments were connected to boats below where couples and their stewards sat comfortably. He followed Aurora’s eyeline and watched as one golden boat lifted out of the water and floated into the sky, carrying its married couple toward their assigned den.

“They’re beautiful,” Rhaego commented gently. “And safe,” he quickly added when he realized fear might have stopped her.

“How do they fly?” she breathed with wide eyes.

Rhaego swelled. She’d asked him a question. She’d spoken to him.

“They—”

From a distance, Phirdo cleared his throat, and the spell was broken. She blinked toward the steward, who was doing nothing to hide his impatience as he waited near the open door of their carriage.

Her head dropped, her pale brows knitting together. “Sorry,” she blurted before rushing toward Phirdo.

Rhaego had to remain in place for a moment, concerned that he’d rip the male’s tongue out if he got too close just yet. When he’d gathered his temper, he crossed to the carriage and climbed in but didn’t sit. A half circle of cushioned seats piled with soft pillows curved around a central table at the back of the carriage. Phirdo stood at the helm, waiting.

“I’ll need you to sit next to your wife,” the male drawled impatiently. Annoyance built in Rhaego’s chest.

Aurora blinked at Phirdo.

He felt a profound pulse of jealousy. She hadn’t yet met Rhaego’s eyes, but she could look at their bothersome steward. He flexed his healed and regrown claws, then slowly moved closer to her.

He regretted that she was about to be uncomfortable again, but it couldn’t be helped. “Only for a moment,” Rhaego tried to assure. He settled next to her, his bulk taking up most of the seat, and rubbed his palms over his knees.

She sat stiffly next to him. Though they didn’t touch, sparks ran the length of his side, from his ankle to his horn tip. This female excited every cell in his body.

“Place your left hand here, please.” Phirdo motioned to the center of the table.

Tentatively, she complied.

“I’ll need to lay my hand atop yours, Aurora. Is that alright?” Rhaego inhaled, both dreading and eagerly awaiting the moment their skin would touch.

Her gaze dropped, and she whispered, “Okay.”

Rhaego stretched his hand out, palm already tingling, and placed it over hers. Her hand disappeared under his much larger one. Only her fingertips remained visible. Out of nowhere, his purr galloped out of his chest before he could contain it. He muffled it immediately, face flaming all the way to his horns.

She flinched and peered sideways at him. Her bright blue eyes finally met his.

He was disarmed. Breathless.

Brows drawing together, she studied him.

Oh Goddess. He hoped she couldn’t see how furiously he was blushing.

“Hold still,” Phirdo said, making her turn her attention away.

Rhaego tried to recall how to breathe.

Her palm jumped under his as the table’s reader took a scan of their overlaid hands and locked the information away.

Phirdo typed a few commands into his screen, then snapped it shut. “All set. Your imprint is registered. Now, let’s be on our way.” He turned and retreated to the helm of the boat, where a solitary seat awaited and guided the carriage forward.

Regretfully, Rhaego lifted his palm. Now free, Aurora tucked her hand in her lap and scooted to the edge of the bench. At least she hadn’t sprinted away, though he sensed she’d wanted to.

“Please.” Rhaego gestured toward his vacant seat while rising to stand a safe distance away. “Be comfortable.”

He leaned against the edge of the carriage and looped a hand around a support pole to keep steady. Aurora said nothing but scooted back to where she’d sat before.

The skin of his palm where her hand had touched still tingled. He ignored the sensation and fretted over how to break the daunting silence. She was peering down in thought as the boat cut through the water’s mirrored surface. Her arms moved slightly as though she were rubbing her hands, but he couldn’t see them beneath the edge of the table. Did her skin tingle as well?

“How are you feeling? I’m sorry you weren’t properly acclimated before the chase.” I’m sorry for many things.

She stared at the water for a second longer, though he knew she’d heard him. Finally she looked at him again. Her expression was guarded, wary, but at least she wasn’t crying anymore. “Better. Thank you.” Her movements under the table increased. “And are you…better?” Her gaze flicked to his stomach.

“Yes,” he blurted, a little too eagerly. “It wasn’t bad.”

Her mouth twisted. “You were impaled.”

At a loss as to how to respond to that, he hummed a pitiful sound of agreement. They fell back into silence. He caught Phirdo spying from his seat at the helm and growled on instinct. The male twisted forward, but his growl had made Aurora flinch. Dammit. Scrape my horns.

“Apologies,” he muttered. “That wasn’t for you.”

At that moment, the carriage helm lifted and rose out of the water. Aurora’s hands shot out to grip the table in front of her. Rhaego’s stomach sank. Her left hand, the hand he’d placed his palm on, had angry red scratches marring it. Was his touch so horrific she wanted to scrape her very skin off?

“The carriage is safe,” he assured, trying to calm her. “Even if you jump over the edge, there’s a safety field that would catch you.”

She glanced at the surface of the water, growing more distant by the second as they ascended. “Really?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

Her head swiveled toward him, a dubious look on her face for an instant before she schooled her features. How ridiculous he must sound after what she’d been through.

Rhaego glanced at Phirdo. The male was still dutifully facing forward, but Rhaego had no doubt he was listening closely to every word they said. Likely storing away embarrassing tidbits to tell all his friends later over a smoking deralja pipe.

What could he say? Could he ease her mind by explaining he had many human friends? Better not. The king’s odd behavior earlier was still at the forefront of his mind, and if Yaskan was suspicious of him, he didn’t want anything to add fuel to those suspicions. The king already knew Rhaego was familiar with the humans. Better not to remind him via a gossiping steward.

Defeated, he allowed silence to reign. Soon enough, he’d be able to talk to her openly. He just needed some patience.

They sailed between the cliff sides until they reached a solitary plateau overlooking the waterway. Their den came into view, and he silently pointed toward it. Aurora followed his aim and visibly swallowed.

“This is your denstead,” Phirdo announced proudly. Part of his job was maintaining the den and surrounding land as well as his carriage, and by the looks of it, he’d done a fine job. “The den is outfitted with beautiful water gardens on each level. The forest is not as accessible as in some of the other dens,” he admitted with an overconfident lift of his chin, “but the estate is larger than others. Your land may even be the largest.”

Densteads—the den, outbuildings, plus the land surrounding it—were scattered throughout the Bermore Mountains. Each was placed in isolated hanging valleys—ancient pockets of land once carved from glaciers set high in the cliffs. Wealthy Tuvastans who’d settled Tuva ages ago had further carved out these pockets for their estates.

After the plague hit and females began dying out, the biannual heat had become a problem in the city center. With matehood gone and too few brides to go around, fever-stricken males in search of a partner to spend their heat with had descended into bloody battles.

Finding a safe, isolated place where newly married couples could go through their heat together became a necessity, so the previous king of Tuva had commandeered the most isolated estates and converted them into marriage densteads.

The den was perched on a small, grassy outcropping with rocky cliffs funneling in behind it. There was a narrow pass at the rear of the home that led to their forest, but that, too, was bordered by steep drops. The whole denstead, forest and all, had impassible borders. The only way to and from their den, apart from a perilous climb from the waterway thousands of feet below, was Phirdo’s carriage.

Aurora paled as she gazed at the pretty home. To a Tuvastan, a denstead was a place of safety where they could relax and let down their defenses. But to Aurora, it must look like a prison.

Phirdo guided their carriage to the landing bay at the edge of the cliff and exited. Rhaego turned to allow Aurora to exit before him but nearly seized when he saw her. She must have been afraid of the height at which their carriage was hovering since she was bent at the hip, white-knuckle gripping the bench on her right and the table on her left and taking miniscule steps. At this angle, her breasts spilled forward, and Rhaego had a clear view down her neckline. He tore his gaze away before his fever had the chance to notice.

When the seats ended and the only thing left to grip for support was Rhaego’s extended hand, Aurora eyed it. Inhaling a deep breath, she thinned her lips and put her shaking palm in his. He wanted to rejoice. It was a small triumph. Her choices had been to take his hand, grip the edge of the hull, or crawl, but he felt victorious anyway. He helped her climb onto the short dock and kept a firm hold until both their feet hit grass.

She tugged her hand away when he didn’t immediately release it, too distracted examining her scratches. “Thank you,” she said, rushing further from the cliff edge.

“Welcome to your den,” Phirdo said with rehearsed bravado. “I’ll return once a week to bring you into the city. Or if you have need of anything urgently, you may send a request here.” He pointed to the call stand at the edge of the dock. “Aurora, I’ll give you a tour now.” From his vest pouch, he extracted his screen. “You’ll tell me all your requested changes, and I’ll return with those tomorrow morning. Ready?”

She stared blankly at him, a line between her brows.

“He’ll show you the furnishings, foods, clothing…everything I picked out while you were recovering. You just have to say what you don’t like, and he’ll replace those things with items more suited to your tastes,” Rhaego gently explained.

She still looked confused, but she batted a hand toward Phirdo, who frowned at the gesture. “Uh, I’m sure it’s all fine. I don’t need anything changed. Really.”

Phirdo shifted on his feet, still holding his screen aloft. The male had the patience of a teething buckling. “I’m required to give you the tour now and record your requested changes.”

Aurora glanced at Rhaego.

“I wish I could kick him out, but unfortunately he won’t leave until this is done,” he said, only loud enough for her to hear.

Her brows lifted, and she focused on Phirdo. “O…okay. I guess I’m ready.”

The steward turned on his heel before she’d reached him and disappeared inside. Rhaego disliked the male, but his behavior wasn’t surprising. From Phirdo’s perspective, he’d been assigned to the blight , which was a slap to his ego. He’d been forced to deal with a human, who he clearly thought little of. And said human had been exceedingly rude to him so far. She’d kept her head dipped in his presence, subjected him to her tears, and now insulted his profession by implying his services weren’t needed.

Rhaego knew all these slights were in no way intentional. Her behavior as an alien unfamiliar with their customs was completely normal, but Tuvastans didn’t tend to give such leniency to outsiders. Phirdo would probably leave lamenting his strenuous day and feeling proud of the composure he’d shown in the face of such rudeness.

Rhaego wasn’t allowed to accompany them during their tour and inspection, so he sped inside to his room instead and dug out his locked baggage, which Phirdo had brought inside. Luckily, they wouldn’t have to see much of their steward after this. As soon as he was gone, Rhaego would disclose everything to Aurora.

He dug out the security equipment he never traveled without and began sanitizing the house. He did this everywhere he stayed, but especially if he knew there were going to be privileged conversations occurring. After years of covert mercenary work across cities and planets, the process was second nature.

Rhaego started by scanning the house for lifeforms and confirmed the only creatures within the walls were the three he knew of, plus a small grouping of insects near the back left corner of the hobby room, which he would investigate later.

He scanned the house again with another device able to identify certain materials that might hide things. Secret rooms padded with askait could house valuables or people or both. He found no unusual cavities or dense areas of askait. No concealed rooms.

Lastly he unfolded a triple screen and connected to the home’s internal network, then ventured below to examine the underlying security lines so he could place protections on them. They were more advanced than he’d suspected given the home’s age, but it didn’t take too much effort to patch in and divert all control.

When he was finished, Rhaego stowed all equipment except his secure communicator and activated the mirror placed within the long tapestry across the room. He tugged at his collar, straightened his sleeves, and smoothed his hair between his horns.

He thought of Aurora, and a spark of fever left him flushed. “Calm,” he whispered.

Staring at the screen of his communicator, he ground his jaw. His fingers felt too stiff to type, and for a moment he considered putting off sending the message. But neither pride nor time would save him from this. He deserved the ridicule and censure he was sure to receive. Better not prolong it.

Keying in Maxu’s access code, he began his message simply.

We have a problem.