Page 23 of The Dreamer and the Deep Space Warrior (Xaal Alien Romance #1)

Isobel

The tears surprised her. Isobel was grateful she found her way to the gardens before anyone saw the travesty that was her face currently. Though there were some people milling about outside, they stayed close enough to the estate so as not to seem like they were doing anything improper.

Isobel went straight for the hedge maze.

Hopefully, it was late enough that no one would be in it.

The hedges were tall, much taller than her, and she welcomed their enveloping darkness.

For several minutes, she followed the torches dispersed throughout the maze, leading her to its center.

There were a few benches and a softly burbling stone fountain, and it was blessedly empty of people.

Plopping down on one of the marble benches, she buried her face in her hands.

She didn’t want to marry Lord Richard, and she certainly didn’t want to marry him next week.

He had no right to obtain a special license without considering her.

Then again, she shouldn’t be surprised—he’d never considered her.

His proposal had resulted from a conversation he was having with Henry before she entered the room.

He told her they were to be married in the most matter-of-fact tone.

There was no asking, and it hadn’t been romantic in the least.

As simple and efficient as a business deal.

A sob escaped her. Then, shifting pebbles alerted her to someone approaching.

Had she been followed, or was it only another guest wanting to escape the stuffiness of the dance hall?

She inhaled noisily and wiped at her eyes as she looked around. Her vision was blurred, but she was certain no one was there. Even still, she said, “Excuse me, I was—”

The air rippled as her vision cleared. She gasped, covering her mouth to stifle a scream.

Ved appeared as if an illusion made tangible.

He looked resplendent with the torchlight dancing off his dark armor—a knight who’d found the princess in a secret labyrinth.

Ved offered her his gloved palm. His other arm was behind his back as he leaned forward like he was nothing more than a gentleman from the ball. “Isobel Nott, would you grant me this dance?”

Her gaze slid between his hand and their surroundings. Another sob mixed with a bewildered gasp left her. “How are you here? How did you find me?” They were well into Cinder, far away from his ship.

“I could find you anywhere,” he answered easily, his proffered hand still resolute in its offer. “Your presence calls to me.”

She stood up and placed her palm in his hesitantly. Only last night they had been in a similar situation, but that had been before the events of this evening. Though, if someone were to see him, to see them , they’d—

“I’d sense someone long before they could see us,” he said as if he’d read her mind. He reached to skim his thumb along her cheek but thought better of it. “Why are you crying again? Who has hurt you? ”

“It’s nothing of concern.” She sniffled and swiped away more tears with her free hand.

“Anything to do with you is of concern to me.”

Isobel wanted to believe him, but whether he realized it or not, it wasn’t true. His concern would disappear as quickly as he would into the stars. Besides, how could she even begin to explain what was wrong? She didn’t think she had the energy to. “I don’t wish to speak on it.”

He mercifully dropped the subject and moved their arms into a waltz position. And then he began to step with her. The music inside the dance hall was just loud enough to drift into the hedge maze in soft waves.

At first, she numbly followed along, her heart a battleground within her. She wanted this. She wanted to be with him here in this moment, so fully present that years from now, when she was an old woman, she could still remember how his hand felt holding hers.

But with that came an ache. The knowing that it would always be a memory.

“You are preoccupied,” he rumbled as if he could read her mind. “Let me carry whatever worries you. Be here with me.”

Looking up at him, she gave him a brief nod. She pushed her heartache down and danced.

Ved led her through the movements without missing a single step.

In fact, he was better than half the gentlemen of the ton .

They flowed into a comfortable silence, and she relaxed against him.

Dancing with Ved was what dancing was supposed to be.

It was a poem—and they were two beautifully intricate stanzas that made little sense apart.

“How did you learn so quickly?” Isobel asked after a moment. “My demonstration was severely lacking in all the intricacies.”

“I watched you dance inside,” he rumbled. “It is no more difficult than learning how to fight.”

Something licked down her spine—an overwhelming awareness. He’d come to watch her ?

“That male, the one who looks like he has smelled something foul, what is he to you?”

That had a laugh bubbling out of her that she couldn’t quite stifle. Lord Richard did tend to look as if he’d caught a trace of something unpleasant—it was the slight curl of his upper lip, she thought. “He’s my brother’s best friend and the man I am promised to.”

Ved misstepped, sending them jerking gracelessly before he righted them again. “He is your starborn mate?”

“My what?”

“Your … soulmate?” It sounded like it took him a great effort to ground the word out.

“Oh, no. It is merely an arrangement. After my father died two years ago, my older brother took me into his care. He’s never complained, not really, but I can tell I’m a burden to him.

Clara will be out of the house in a year or two.

For me to stay unmarried just because I haven’t found the love of my life is selfish,” she whispered, “and not how it’s done here.

The Lord Richard Seymour, my betrothed, he was willing to take me even though I’m six-and-twenty. ”

“Willing to take you? As if you are inferior in some way?”

They’d somehow moved into a sway, and she wasn’t sure if the song had changed or not—she was far too focused on Ved’s tone. He almost sounded angry.

“I am, in a way. A woman is expected to marry in the first year or two of debuting. I’ve missed that mark by several years now.

Securing a good marriage is a woman’s sole purpose.

Well, that and having her husband’s children so she can continue his line.

We are merely property to be passed from our family to our husband. ”

“Property?” he ground out. “So, he doesn’t claim you but will have rights to you? He wouldn’t fight beside you on the battlefield or hand-shape a blade for you. He doesn’t see you.”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she nodded. “He doesn’t see me.”

Ved clicked his tongue. “This Richard takes what he has for granted. Nevskoln y’ak. ”

She blushed and looked down to hide her face. “I don’t know,” she murmured.

“I do.” His tone brooked no argument. “Why must you bind yourself to him? If he does not claim you, doesn’t see you, tell him no.”

“I have no choice but to wed him. The arrangements have already been made,” she said miserably.

Ved let out a string of rough syllables, undoubtedly cursing in Xaala. “I remember him from his playtime in the woods, and his scent irritates me. When will you bind yourself to this weak male?”

A vise wrapped around her lungs. “Next week. But I only found out tonight. It was supposed to be three months from now.”

Ved said more in Xaala, and she wondered if he was speaking to Exxo before he finally said, “I do not like this, Isobel Nott.”

“Nor do I,” she murmured with a sniffle.

“I can kill him.”

She laughed at the absurdity of the statement. “That is not necessary.”

His silence let her know he wasn’t convinced. As the song ended and they slowed to a stop, she stepped back. But Ved didn’t let her go, starting into the next dance.

Smiling, she tried to find some levity. Just for a moment, she would like to forget everything about her upcoming ceremony.

“You’re asking for a second dance? And right after the first?

Why, King of Cleave, what will the ton think?

A king would never ask such a lowly spinster as myself to dance twice . ”

Ved squeezed her hand. “This king would. He’d have all your dances if he could.”

Oh .

He looked down at her and his gaze was so intense that he might have worn no mask at all.

She moved wrong, stepping forward instead of back. Ved picked her up, inches off the ground before she could stumble. For two heartbeats, she could feel each of his muscles tense as he slid her down to set her on her feet again.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He grunted.

Clearing her throat, she said, “Well, since you seem so fond of my company, Your Majesty must mean to propose, then?”

“Propose?” he said the word like he was chewing on it.

He twirled her around before rocking her back and forth again, improvising the dance moves. The song that was playing now was more upbeat and would send her off to another partner.

“When a gentleman is interested in marrying a lady, he’ll propose.

” She held up her hand to show him the ring that Lord Richard had given her as the betrothal gift.

It had belonged to someone in his family, but she didn’t recall who.

By the looks of it, it was a relic, albeit a very expensive one.

“He’d speak with her family first. And that would be after calling on the woman and getting to know her while they’re chaperoned. ”

“You have no escort with me. ”

She peered up at him. “And that is very scandalous. If anyone knew, I’d be absolutely ruined.”

“Why must there be someone? What is their purpose?” he asked.

“To ensure nothing dishonorable occurs, I suppose.”

“Like bringing an unauthorized weapon?”

Isobel laughed, and Ved moved oddly, throwing them off whatever rhythm they held. “Not quite. Everything we do is based on old traditions of ensuring the woman’s purity. Men, on the other hand, are rarely upheld to that same rigorous scrutiny. It’s all very droll.”

“So, these males cannot be trusted with a female alone, but they may bind themselves to her?”

“You catch on very quickly,” she said. “And if there is more than one person interested, the family usually decides on who is the best suited for her.”

He hummed a thoughtful sound. “I prefer the way my clan does it.”

“Does what?” She was so relaxed in his presence that she rested her head against his chest.

“In Runus”—his voice was a soothing timbre—“if your Richard and I both wanted you, you’d set a series of trials for us to undergo, to help you choose. And then, if you were still undecided, we would fight to the death for the right to claim you.”

“Oh,” was all she could say.

He pulled her closer—far closer than any dance of Dorsent required.

So close that each word he spoke was thunder rolling through her.

“I would gladly undertake any task you set before me and would crush him easily, even if he were Xaal. He doesn’t deserve you.

But no matter what I wish, I cannot have you. He is the victor by default.”

Warmth spread through her even as her heart shattered.

Isobel had refused to admit it to herself—her dangerous desire.

For it would do her no good. She had long passed the threat of mere disappointment and was somewhere else entirely, some heretofore unknown depth of misery.

“I cannot have you, either,” she said, her voice breaking.

They came from two separate worlds.

There would be no great love story here. Only this—a memory of two dancers hidden away within the hedges, wishing they had more time.

A dreamer and a deep space warrior.

The song ended, but he didn’t let her go.

And she didn’t ask him to.