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Chapter Eighteen

T he adjunct’s golden face was flushed and his breathing as heavy as if he'd run up the spiraling ramp.

"Chancellor," he gasped, forgetting even to bow in his urgency. "There's a protest forming at the eastern edge of the city. Cresteks unhappy with the peace accord. They're gathering in numbers, and the guards are concerned it could turn violent."

The transformation in Linnea was immediate. Gone was the woman who had melted in Zexx's arms moments before, replaced by the stern, unwavering chancellor. Her spine straightened, her shoulders squared, and her expression hardened into an impenetrable mask of authority.

But beneath that mask, he sensed something else entirely: fear.

The realization struck him like a blow. He shouldn't be able to sense her emotions this clearly. His Dothvek empathic abilities were limited to others of his kind—or to a mind mate. He’d sensed her the night before, but that had been different. That had been passion and hunger, and he’d been sure the connection would fade once he wasn’t inside her. But no, it was just as strong now, and it shouldn’t be. The thought sent a cold tremor through him. Linnea couldn't possibly be his mind mate. She was Crestek, born of the people he'd been taught from childhood to fear and despise.

Yet there it was, unmistakable—her anxiety flowing into his consciousness as clearly as water in a stream. He could feel her concern for her position, for the fragile peace, and most unsettling of all, for him.

He struggled to keep his face impassive as this inner turmoil raged. His Dothvek brothers had found mind mates among the human and alien females who had crashed on their planet, but even that had been unprecedented. This connection with Linnea defied everything he thought he knew about their peoples, about himself.

"How many are gathered?" Linnea asked, her voice steady despite the apprehension he could feel radiating from her.

“I am unsure of the numbers,” K’Nar replied, “but more than the usual splinter unrest. They're chanting for a return to the old ways."

"The old ways," Linnea repeated, contempt coloring her tone. "You mean isolation, xenophobia, and stagnation."

K’Nar shifted uncomfortably. "They're saying the peace has made us weak. That the Dothveks can't be trusted, that they'll use our openness against us, that your brother was a traitor to leave his people."

At this, Linnea visibly flinched. Zexx could feel the anger surge within her. She did not take accusations about Karv lightly. Zexx welcomed the fiery rage that pulsed from her to him, his own ire ignited by the insults to Karv, who was now a member of his tribe.

But he remained silent, watching as Linnea paced the width of her office, the hem of her silver robes whispering against the stone floor. The morning light caught in her dark hair, illuminating strands of copper he hadn't noticed before.

"We need to crush this immediately," she said, her voice hard. "If we allow this dissent to flourish, the hatred will only grow. Have the guards identify the instigators and bring them to the central holding cells."

"You mean to jail them?" K’Nar asked, his voice carefully neutral though his eyes betrayed his concern.

"I mean to make an example of them," Linnea replied. "The transition to peace was never going to be seamless, but I won't tolerate those who would drag us backward."

A knock at the door interrupted them, and another Crestek entered—older, with a severe expression and robes of dark blue that marked him as a security advisor.

"Chancellor," he bowed stiffly. "I've just come from the eastern quarter. The guards have already apprehended several of the protest leaders. What are your orders?"

Zexx watched Linnea's reaction carefully, sensing the conflict within her. She projected strength outwardly—her posture regal, her voice firm—but he could feel her fear that any sign of weakness would be exploited, that she would be ousted as chancellor, that the peace would crumble. And beneath it all, a protective sister raged at the accusations hurled toward her brother.

His heart ached for her, for the burden she carried. Without thinking, he stepped forward into their circle.

"If I may speak," he said, the sound of his voice startling everyone in the room. Three pairs of Crestek eyes turned to him in surprise, as if they'd forgotten his presence entirely.

Linnea nodded cautiously. "Ambassador?"

"You cannot rule by fear and cruelty if you want your people to believe things are different," he said, the words emerging before he'd fully considered them. "That is the old way—the way of your predecessor, of your brother Riz."

Linnea gaped at him, and he could almost hear her protests forming in his mind. The security advisor's expression darkened with outrage at his presumption.

"With respect, Ambassador," the older Crestek said coldly, "this is an internal matter."

"Is it?" he challenged, holding his gaze until he looked away. "These protests directly concern the peace treaty and the Dothvek people. As ambassador, I represent both."

He turned back to Linnea, painfully aware of the recklessness of what he was about to suggest but knowing with bone-deep certainty it was right. Despite his own hunger for retribution and battle, temperance was what Kyrana would advise, what the wisest of their elders would counsel. And he was, after all, not just Linnea’s lover but a diplomat—perhaps one of the few hopes for preserving the peace.

"Let the people see me," he said. "Not hidden away in your tower but walking among them. Let them see that the Dothveks they fear are flesh and blood, not the monsters from their children's tales."

"That's madness," the security advisor sputtered. "They would tear you apart."

"Would they?" he asked, never breaking eye contact with Linnea. "Or would they hesitate when confronted with the reality rather than the fantasy of their enemy? When our people have met, we have found more in common than different.”

Linnea's brow furrowed. He could feel her internal debate—the attraction of the idea warring with her fear for his safety and her desire to punish those calling Karv a traitor. But it was her concern that wrapped around him like a physical embrace, so strong he almost staggered under its weight.

"It's too dangerous," she said aloud. "I won't risk—"

"Trust me," he interrupted, the words hanging between them, weighted with meanings beyond this moment. “This is why I came to your city. Let me fulfill my duty.”

Something shifted in her eyes, and he felt the moment she made her decision. Trust flooded from her to him, a sensation so powerful and intimate that he swelled with both pride and a fierce determination to prove worthy of it.

She sighed, touching a hand to her hair in a rare gesture of uncertainty. "I suppose we need to plan a proper reveal, then. Not a hasty reaction, but a controlled introduction."

K’Nar's eyes traveled down his bare chest, lingering on the tribal markings that spiraled across his skin, before darting to his leather pants and bare feet.

"He can't wear that," he muttered, dismay evident in his voice.

"Why not?" Zexx challenged, amused despite the tension in the room. "Are your people so easily frightened by skin?"

"Our people," Linnea corrected automatically, "are accustomed to certain standards of formal dress, particularly for public figures." She hesitated, then added more softly, "Though I have no issue with traditional attire."

The hint of desire that colored her words sent heat coursing through him, momentarily distracting him from the gravity of the situation. When he looked up, the security advisor was watching them closely, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“And the protest?” K’Nar asked with a sharply cleared throat to draw attention back to him.

Linnea drew in a long breath. “Let it die out. Detain no one. Ignore it.”

The council member opened his mouth then pressed it together in a thin line as Linnea continued.

“We will steal attention from the protest by announcing a welcome reception for the new ambassador—tonight.”

“Tonight?” K’Nar spluttered.

Linnea smiled, clearly warming to the idea. “On the rooftop for the Crestek elite. First, we get the elite to approve, then the rest of the citizens will follow.” She turned to him, her expression professional though her eyes held warmth only he could see. "Ambassador, I believe there are some more... appropriate garments in your quarters that might suit the occasion."

He inclined his head, hiding his smile. "As you wish, Chancellor."

As the others hurried to carry out her commands, she studied his face, concern evident in the line between her brows. "Why do I feel like you can read my thoughts?" she asked suddenly.

The question caught him off guard. He hesitated, uncertain how to explain when he wasn’t sure what was happening.

"Perhaps because we understand each other better than either of us expected," he offered instead, the partial truth easier than the full revelation.

She seemed to accept this, nodding slowly. "Be careful tonight, Zexx. The Crestek elite can be both welcoming and terrifying.”

He captured her hand briefly, squeezing it before releasing it. "I have faced Dothvek warriors in the tahadu and survived. I think I can handle a few fancy Cresteks."

"Don't underestimate them," she warned. “Especially the females.”

As he left her office to prepare for the reception, her concern lingered with him, a warmth in his mind that both comforted and unsettled him. If Linnea truly was his mind mate—impossible as that seemed—then their fates were bound more tightly than either of them had imagined.

But for now, he had a more immediate challenge: convincing the most elite Cresteks that he was not the monster they believed him to be.

And somehow, he needed to do it while wearing layers of their scratchy garments.