Page 45 of The Sovereign, Part One (The Sovereign Saga #1)

Maxim sat across from me at our dining table, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his leir.

There was something inherently different about having him here now, no ticking clock governing his presence, no imminent departure shadowing the evening.

Domestic Previews allowed him to stay as long as we pleased, just not overnight.

That final line remained unbroken—for now, at least—a trivial barrier between procedure and permanence.

He cast a glance at the enormous bear slouched toward the window, its dark, beaded eyes lazily keeping watch over my favorite seat. A smile tugged at his lips as memories of our day at the carnival played out behind his eyes, mirroring the ones drifting through my own mind.

“He’s… big,” I murmured.

Maxim chuckled. “I still can’t get over you trying to wedge him into the transport.”

“I should’ve just let you handle it.”

“Yes, you should’ve. But now he’s home, taking up half the living area. He’s practically a landmark. He deserves a proper name.”

“Hmmm… Colossus?” I waited while Maxim chuckled. “Mochi? Max Jr.!”

Maxim’s gaze snapped to me, one brow lifting. Amusement mingled with uncertainty in his olive-green eyes. “Max Jr.?” he echoed, his tone a blend of disbelief and mock offense. “We look nothing alike.” He gestured toward it. “Our complexion may be similar but look at him. He’s got a lazy eye.”

I bit back a grin, tilting my head as if genuinely considering it. “I don’t know, you’re both tall, warm, and wildly talented at making me feel safe.”

He exhaled slowly, a man summoning patience. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’ve run a scan. He’s not my son.”

“He is now,” I said, shrugging. “It was your idea to bring him home with us. Look at Max, Jr. He loves his new name. I can’t wait to introduce him to our guests when we entertain.”

A low groan rumbled from Maxim’s chest as he shook his head, but the hint of a grin betrayed him. “Isara… darling… love of my life. I would cherish any other name you chose. Mochi, for instance, beautifully honors your heritage. Your papa will be overjoyed.”

I folded my arms, smirking. “You can protest all you want. Max Jr. is here to stay.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Please, for the love of Chiron… I beg of you.”

I tapped my chin. “I suppose you’re right about Mochi.”

He exhaled in exaggerated relief. “You are a merciful, benevolent goddess of grace and wisdom.”

I cackled. “Why does everyone who spends an hour with Roan speak like a suitor in a Bronte novel?”

He relaxed his chin on the heel of his hand. “What can I say? It’s contagious. What shall we do tomorrow, my love?”

I exhaled, setting my leir down. “Papa will be back in the city. He said they’re available for brunch in the morning.”

“I’m meeting the family?”

“I think it’s time, don’t you?”

“I’d be honored.”

“It will be all of them. My mina and Avaryn, too.”

Maxim leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “I look forward to it.”

It shouldn’t have surprised me, the ease with which he said it, but it did. With so many of his reactions feeling undeniably Sovereign, I wondered if he’d feel anxious about meeting my parents just like any young Sovereign man would—if they bothered with such things. “Are you at all nervous?”

“Should I be?”

“Most Sovereign would be.”

“I’m not Sovereign,” he said simply.

A laugh escaped me, and he smiled at the sound. “You’re not exactly Supplicant, either. Did you catch what you did tonight?”

He blinked. “I did something?”

“When Lourdes asked us to confirm the gala. I said we’d discuss it, and you decided right then.”

He looked almost concerned. “Isara, I apologize. That wasn’t my intention, I didn’t mean to speak for you.”

“Don’t be silly. I didn’t mind. I liked it, actually. It’s just that Supplicants aren’t designed to voice preferences, they defer.

His smile returned. “Noted.”

“Just try to keep it to a minimum in public,” I added. “We need to keep a low profile until after our Oathbond. If it’s reported, I won’t have any dominion over what they decide.”

“Thank you for bringing it to my attention. You’re right, I’ll need to be more mindful. Clearly, I can’t rely on my protocols. My system didn’t register it at all.”

“Really?”

“Not so much as a whisper.” He tilted his head. “Your papa… you said he’ll be back in the city?”

“Yes. He spends time in The Vale, helping them develop their technology. From what I understand, they don’t use much. There are no Hiven or exponents there, but they do rely on drones and automated cultivators for farming.”

“No issues with safety?”

I hesitated. “I assume not. He rarely talks about his time there.”

Maxim’s expression shifted slightly. “You don’t know more?”

“He only started this mission after he retired a couple of years ago. Before that, he worked closely with Lev Navon and stayed strictly within Hyperion Proper. It’s not something I grew up hearing about.”

Maxim considered my words. “Joss was careful when he spoke of it, too.”

I thought back to every passing mention, the hushed tones, the glances exchanged when its name arose. “I think it’s fair to say The Vale needs some level of protection from The Citadel.”

Maxim studied me, then gave a small nod. “That makes sense.”

The conversation settled into silence, so I stood. “I’m going upstairs to change. Calyx, we’ll be changing into loungewear for the evening.”

Maxim looked at me in surprise. “For me?”

I gestured for him to follow, leading him upstairs, through the somna to the dressing alcove. With a sweep of my hand, the panels retracted, revealing once-empty shelves and racks, now neatly arranged with men’s clothing.

He stepped forward, taking it in as if committing it to memory. “You’ve been shopping.”

“Of course. Your clothing selection from The Crèche doesn’t arrive until just before the Oathbond.”

He exhaled. “I have clothes here.”

“You do.”

Maxim turned to me, gratitude bright in his expression. I squeezed his hand before stepping into the somna to change. When I returned, he had changed, too, now dressed in a white fitted long-sleeved knit shirt and light gray neolinen pants.

I glanced toward the bed. “Would you be comfortable lying down and watching a movie with me?”

Maxim grinned, sudden and boyish. Before I could react, he lifted me into his arms, and I let out a startled squeal as he quickly carried me over, then set me down with an exaggerated gentleness.

He slipped beneath the comforter beside me, and I relaxed against him, savoring the privacy we could finally enjoy without reprimand.

“What would you like to watch?” I asked.

“Isara,” he playfully scolded. “I like what you like.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Period dramas, old world documentaries, and films centered on civil rights and social reform.”

My mouth fell open in mock surprise. “It’s almost like you’ve spent the last year getting to know me.”

“Funny,” he deadpanned.

I smiled as I settled in against him again. “Calyx,” I directed, “play The Protectorate Trials .”

An interface phased in at the foot of the bed, its edges glowing as the documentary began. Maxim pulled me closer, resting his cheek against my hair.

From my peripheral, I noticed his focus had drifted. Not on the screen, but to me. I turned, meeting his eyes.

“I’m happy,” he murmured. “Right now, in this moment, there is nothing else I want more than this.”

Warmth spread through me, and I touched my palm to his face, then planted a slow kiss against his mouth.

He moved his lips against mine, carrying the same emotion that had thickened his voice just moments before.

Then, without warning, the kiss transformed—deepening, intensifying, brimming with urgency.

His hand traced a slow ascent up my back, fingers pressing with firm, possessive intent.

I answered in kind, my touch venturing with newfound boldness.

My knee bent, gliding over his hip as I used my leg to urge him closer.

His hand drifted lower, molding to the curve of my backside as he drew me flush against him.

My breath faltered, and then his tongue slipped into my mouth, a low, pained moan escaping him as if restraint was a struggle.

“Are you okay?” I asked, breathless.

He touched his forehead to mine. “Yes. If anything, there is an alarming absence of warnings or alerts.”

I tilted my head and moved closer to him, brushing my lips against his, but he caught me with gentle hands, holding me at bay. “Wait.”

A sigh of pure disappointment slipped past my lips before I could catch it.

His breath faltered as he pulled away. “Please understand. We were lucky to escape an infraction before. I won’t risk it again.”

“ That’s why you stopped?”

He breathed out a small laugh. “You have no idea how much I want you.”

I bit my lip. “I suppose it’s futile. That… feature… doesn’t activate until after the Oathbond.”

Fingers firmly around my wrist, he guided my hand to the impressive, rigid proof of his defiance beneath the thin fabric of his pants. “I disagree.”

I kissed him again, and for a moment, he met me with equal fervor before his pace gradually slowed once more.

“I stand by my words—we wait. Your experience is tainted, let’s keep at least one thing unchanged.”

“Why does it have to be this ?” I asked, flustered.

He exhaled a short, amused breath.

I met his eyes. “I… have a theory. If you’ll indulge me.”

“Oh?” he asked.

I nodded, pulse thrumming. “About why we didn’t receive an infraction for the other night. I don’t know how, but too many things have happened to have slipped under The Citadel’s radar. I think we’re being cloaked. Possibly by the same person who’s responsible for your deviations.”

“That’s quite a theory… a rather dangerous one.”

I hesitated. “I want to test it. Something that would definitely result in an infraction, but not serious enough to ruin our plans tomorrow.”

“Test it how?” he asked.