Page 21

Four Months Later

The Garden bloomed under the twin suns, twelve weeks of breakneck construction and cultivation transforming theoretical plans into living reality. Crystal domes caught and scattered light in prismatic patterns while nova moths danced between artfully arranged plantings. Maral and MakenRoy's family led the small pack of youths that had slowly been forming on the colony racing through the paths between the planting beds.

Petre watched it all with quiet satisfaction. His arm settled around Rowen's waist with unconscious possessiveness. The ribbon-cutting ceremony had gone off without a hitch, Maral and her twin Amira performing the honors with diplomatic polish that masked the political significance of their joint appearance. Now, as evening approached, the Malurien band's music drifted from the café patio, turning the celebration more intimate.

“It's beautiful,” Rowen murmured, leaning into him. “Even better than we imagined.”

He pressed a kiss to her temple, marveling at the simple freedom to do so. “The environmental systems are holding. I wonder if we could tweak—”

She poked him in the ribs. “Stop analyzing and just enjoy it.”

He huffed a laugh but obliged. Another couple approached, the fourth set of well-wishers in the past hour, offering congratulations both on The Garden and their recent mating. Petre smiled politely through the exchange, though he felt Rowen's amusement at his diplomatic restraint ripple through their bond.

“You're getting better at small talk,” she teased once they were alone again.

“Practice,” he replied dryly. “Though I don't understand why everyone feels compelled to comment on our personal choices.”

“Because you're the big scary warrior who got tamed by love,” she said, batting her eyelashes dramatically. “It's very romantic.”

He growled playfully, pulling her closer. “I'll show you tamed—”

“Oh!” Rowen's delighted exclamation cut him off. “Look at that!”

He followed her gaze to where Broken and Fila swayed together on the makeshift dance floor, their bodies curved toward each other with unmistakable intimacy. Petre blinked in surprise. “When did that happen?”

“You really haven't noticed?” Rowen's smile was knowing. “They've been dancing around each other for months. All those 'project meetings' and 'technical consultations'…”

“Huh.” He studied his mentor with fresh eyes, the way he held Fila as if she were precious. “I didn't think he'd ever…” He trailed off, old memories surfacing.

“Ever what?”

“Trust again. After what happened with his first mate…” He shook his head. “It's good. He deserves happiness.”

“Speaking of happiness…” Luken materialized beside them, bearing glasses of champagne. “A gift from our esteemed K'Dec.”

Petre accepted his glass with a nod of thanks. “Any word about Father?”

“He's at a rebel safe house, recovering.” Luken's voice remained steady, but his fingers drummed an agitated rhythm against his leg. “And while he's desperate for visitors…” A bitter smile touched his lips. “Recent events have it unwise for us to travel there, we can’t risk exposing their operations.”

“We’re all on watchlists, I think. We will be for a while.” Rowen pointed out. “But he's your father. We'll find a way.”

Luken's expression shifted subtly. “Speaking of Verit… I just received interesting news.” He glanced around before continuing quietly. “Bylelle was found dead on the transport ship. Apparently, someone overrode the security on her containment cell.”

“Murdered?”

“So it seems.” Luken's smile held satisfaction. “Though I'm sure the official report will call it an unfortunate accident.”

“The resistance?” Rowen asked softly.

They watched their mentor, still dancing with Fila. His laugh carried across The Garden; free, unguarded, genuine.

“I imagine certain parties might consider it a fitting end. Poetic justice, you might say,” said Luken.

Petre's arm tightened around Rowen. “Good.”

“You okay?”

He let himself feel the weight of everything that had brought them to this moment—the pain, the fear, the desperate choices. But here, in this garden they'd built together, with his mate in his arms and his clan brothers nearby, he found the answer was simple.

“Yes,” he said finally. “I am.”

Rowen stretched up to kiss him, her presence in his mind warm and certain. “Dance with me?”

He smiled, setting aside his glass. “Always.”