Page 24 of Signed, Sealed, Seduced (You’ve Got Alien Mail #1)

But Henrok’s expression has shifted, something almost like nostalgia softening his features. “The crystal gardens were... peaceful,” he says quietly. “A rare commodity during wartime.”

The admission catches me off guard. It’s easy to forget sometimes that Henrok wasn’t always the imposing warlord, the First Blade. That once he was just a boy who liked sweets and quiet gardens.

Before I can pursue this fascinating glimpse into his past, the chamber doors slide open again. This time it’s Vex’ra who enters, her crystalline markings pulsing with what I’ve learned to recognize as mild agitation.

“First Blade,” she greets Henrok formally, then turns to me with a slight inclination of her head. “Courier Vega.”

“It’s just Suki now,” I remind her. “Unless you prefer ‘Supreme Logistics Overlord.’ I’m considering having badges made.”

Vex’ra’s expression doesn’t change—it rarely does—but something in her posture eases slightly. “I have reviewed your proposed changes to our supply chain management,” she says, ignoring my joke. “They are... not without merit.”

Coming from Vex’ra, this is practically effusive praise. I resist the urge to gloat and instead nod professionally. “Thank you. I’m sure there are elements of your system worth preserving too. We can integrate the best of both approaches.”

Henrok watches this exchange with what might be approval. “You had other matters to discuss, Vex’ra?”

“Yes, First Blade.” She straightens, back to business. “The diplomatic contingent from Morcrest has requested a tour of our agricultural facilities. Given the... sensitivity of their visit, I thought perhaps Suki might accompany me.”

I blink in surprise. “Me? Why would you want me along?”

“Your perspective as an outsider could be valuable,” Vex’ra says carefully. “And your experience with various planetary systems provides context our visitors might appreciate. I’ve heard the new Morcrest High Chieftain has taken a human wife—perhaps that would assist with... relations.”

What she’s not saying is equally clear: having a human present might make the Morcrestians more comfortable, less suspicious. I’m being used as a buffer, a sign that Zater Reach isn’t as isolated or xenophobic as its reputation suggests.

“Wait—the High Chieftain married a human?” I can’t help the little spark of validation that flares in my chest. “So I’m not the only one with questionable taste in intimidating alien partners.” I grin, catching Henrok’s eye across the room.

“Seems like we’re starting a trend.”

His expression remains neutral, but there’s a subtle tension in his jaw that suggests he’s not entirely comfortable with the idea.

“It’s your call,” I tell him, surprising myself with how much I mean it.

A week ago, I would have bristled at the idea of needing anyone’s permission.

Now... well, we’re figuring out what “we” means, and that includes considering each other’s positions.

“The decision is yours,” Henrok replies, equally surprising me. “Though I would prefer to accompany you.”

“The Morcrestians specifically requested a... less intimidating escort,” Vex’ra explains delicately.

I snort. “So basically, they’re scared of you.”

“As they should be,” Henrok says without a hint of boasting. It’s simply fact.

“I’ll go,” I decide. “But only if I can bring Rusty. The Morcrestians might appreciate his... unique conversational skills.”

Vex’ra looks like she might object, but Henrok inclines his head in agreement. “An excellent suggestion. The serving droid’s presence will appear non-threatening while providing additional security.”

“Security?” I echo, glancing at Rusty. “He’s a tea server, not a battle bot.”

“This unit has seventeen defensive protocols,” Rusty informs me cheerfully. “Including targeted electrical discharge and emergency lockdown procedures.”

I stare at the droid. “You’re kidding.”

“This unit does not ‘kid’ about security functions,” Rusty replies. “Though this unit can provide humorous observations about the effectiveness of said functions if desired.”

“That... won’t be necessary,” I manage, wondering what else I don’t know about my mechanical friend.

Vex’ra looks mildly satisfied. “The tour is scheduled for the fourteenth hour. I will meet you at the agricultural dome entrance.”

After she leaves, I turn to Henrok with raised eyebrows. “So my new buddy is actually a weaponized tea server? Were you planning to mention that before or after he electrocuted someone for using the wrong fork?”

“His defensive capabilities are minimal,” Henrok says dismissively. “Designed to protect diplomatic guests, not engage in combat.”

“Still,” I cross my arms, “it might have been nice to know before I started rewiring his personality matrix.”

Henrok moves closer, his massive frame suddenly very near. “Would it make you feel better to know that I have personally verified his systems are functioning correctly? That I would not allow you near him if I believed there was any risk?”

The intensity in his voice catches me off guard. “You checked him? When?”

“While you slept,” he admits. “I observed your repairs were skillful but... unorthodox. I wished to ensure there would be no unforeseen complications.”

I should probably be annoyed at this overprotective gesture, but instead, I find it oddly touching. “You were worried about me.”

“Always,” he says simply, the word carrying more weight than a thousand flowery declarations.

My heart does a complicated little flip in my chest. This—this right here—is what keeps throwing me off balance.

Not the sex (though that’s spectacular), not the luxury of the fortress, not even the newfound purpose I’ve found in reorganizing their chaotic systems. It’s these moments of raw honesty, of someone caring enough to worry, to protect, to see me.

“Well,” I say, trying to lighten the suddenly charged atmosphere, “since Rusty is apparently my armed escort now, maybe we should test his capabilities. Rusty, what would you do if someone threatened me?”

The droid swivels toward me, lights blinking rapidly. “This unit would first issue a verbal warning. If the threat persisted, this unit would deploy non-lethal deterrents scaling in intensity from mild electrical shock to temporary neural disruption.”

“And if that didn’t work?” I press, genuinely curious now.

“This unit would then recite particularly graphic Venturian slug-beast poetry until the aggressor retreated in psychological distress,” Rusty states with what sounds suspiciously like pride.

I burst out laughing. “Now that’s a weapon I can get behind.”

Even Henrok’s mouth twitches in amusement. “Your modifications may have improved his effectiveness.”

“See? I told you he needed personality,” I say smugly, then glance at the time display. “I should probably clean up before this diplomatic tour. I’ve been elbow-deep in manifests all morning.”

Henrok nods, but before I can move toward the door, he reaches for something on his belt. “Before you go, there is a matter we should conclude.”

He places an object on the table between us—the override beacon that started this whole mess. Its casing gleams dully in the chamber’s light, innocuous-looking despite the havoc it nearly caused.

“The STI representatives will demand evidence of Corsairian interference,” Henrok explains. “This device is the proof.”

I eye the beacon warily. “So you’re keeping it as leverage?”

“No.” His expression hardens. “I am destroying it. Now. With you as witness.”

Without further warning, Henrok places one massive hand over the device and squeezes. The metal crumples like paper, components cracking audibly under the pressure. When he removes his hand, the beacon is nothing but a crushed lump of useless materials.

“Whoa,” I breathe, genuinely impressed by the casual display of strength. “That’s... one way to handle evidence.”

“The internal components have been thoroughly analyzed and documented,” he says calmly. “The physical device itself is too dangerous to preserve. Too tempting for those who might wish to study its function for their own purposes.”

I understand the unspoken message: no more games, no more political maneuvering with dangerous technology. Henrok is taking a stand—one that might complicate his diplomatic position but aligns with his principles.

“The STI won’t be happy,” I point out.

“The STI is rarely happy with Zater Reach,” he replies dryly. “This will be no exception.”

I move around the table to stand directly in front of him, looking up at his imposing height. “You know, for someone who’s supposed to be this terrifying warlord, you have a surprising moral compass.”

“Is that disappointment I hear?” he asks, one eyebrow slightly raised.

“Definitely not,” I grin, rising on tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his jaw. “Just an observation. One of many I’ve made about you.”

His hand catches my waist before I can step away, holding me in place with gentle but irresistible strength. The simple contact sends warmth racing through me, and I can see in his eyes that he feels it too—that constant simmer of attraction that never quite goes away.

“And what other observations have you made, Suki Vega?” he asks, his voice dropping to that rumbling tone that makes my knees weak.

The way he says my full name sends a shiver down my spine. “That’s classified information, First Blade,” I tease, though my voice comes out breathier than intended. “Available only to those with the highest security clearance.”

“And how does one obtain such clearance?” he asks, stepping closer until I can feel the heat radiating from his body.

I pretend to consider this seriously, though it’s hard to think with him so close. “Well, normally there’s a lengthy application process, several interviews, background checks...”

His other hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing over my lower lip in a gesture that makes my breath catch. “Or?”

“Or,” I manage, leaning into his touch, “there might be shortcuts available to particularly qualified applicants.”

“Such as?” His voice is barely above a whisper now, his garnet eyes dark with intent.

“Such as...” I trail off as he leans down, his mouth hovering just above mine. The anticipation is electric, making every nerve ending sing.

“Yes?” he prompts, his breath warm against my lips.

“Such as proving you can follow instructions,” I breathe, then pull back just enough to meet his eyes. “Kiss me, Henrok.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. His mouth captures mine in a kiss that’s both tender and demanding, full of all the words we haven’t said yet. I melt against him, my hands fisting in his formal attire as I lose myself in the taste and feel of him.

When we finally break apart, both breathing harder, I can’t help but smile at the way his crystalline markings pulse with a faster rhythm. “Well,” I say, slightly unsteady, “that’s definitely a good start on the security clearance application.”

“Only a start?” he asks, his voice rough with desire.

“Mmm,” I hum, deliberately stepping back before I lose all sense of time and place. “The full evaluation might take a while. Hours, even.”

His eyes darken further. “I find myself suddenly very motivated to complete this evaluation process.”

“Later,” I promise, my own voice husky with want. “After I survive this diplomatic tour without causing an intergalactic incident.”

“You will not cause an incident,” he says with complete confidence. “You will be... diplomatic.”

I laugh at the way he says it, like he’s not entirely sure what the word means when applied to me. “I’ll try to keep the threats to a minimum.”

“And the airlock references?”

“Can’t make any promises there,” I admit. “But I’ll do my best.”

He shakes his head, but there’s fondness in his expression. “Very well. But if you encounter any difficulties...”

“I’ll handle it,” I assure him, then add with a grin, “Besides, I’ll have Rusty for backup. Anyone gives me trouble, and they’ll get a face full of dirty slug-beast poetry.”

“A truly terrifying prospect,” he agrees solemnly.

I stretch up to kiss him once more, quick and light, then head for the door. “I’ll see you tonight, First Blade. And maybe then we can continue that security clearance evaluation.”

“I await your return with great anticipation,” he says, and the heat in his voice makes me stumble slightly.

“Keep that up, and I might skip the diplomatic tour entirely,” I warn him.

“The thought has merit,” he rumbles, making me laugh.

“Behave yourself,” I tell him over my shoulder as I reach the door. “I’ll be back soon.”

“I will endeavor to contain my impatience,” he replies, but I can hear the amusement in his voice.

As the doors close behind me, I can’t help but smile. Three days ago, I was a reluctant courier with a broken ship and mounting debts. Now I’m a diplomatic attaché with a weaponized tea-serving droid and an alien warlord who looks at me like I’m something precious.

Life has a funny way of delivering exactly what you need, even when you don’t know you need it.