Page 7 of Treylon (Soldiers of the Ardannan #1)

Chapter Five

T reylon was delighted by Rosalie’s assertiveness actually.

He knew she was shy by nature after their time together and he welcomed this sign of strength from her.

She was quiet for the most part during dinner, although she chimed in with opinions occasionally but now he understood from all the talking they’d done during the day she felt intimidated to some extent by the other four women and their achievements.

It was Treylon’s firm belief that if she’d had the opportunities in life afforded to others she would have forged a notable path.

From what he gathered of her life on Earth it was remarkable she’d managed to survive and keep herself afloat.

Rosalie hadn’t shared too many details but he remembered the mended dress she’d worn the first night and he could piece together other things she had shared for what he guessed was a pretty full picture of her life.

No wonder she’d jumped at the chance IDA was offering with this weeklong date. .

He wanted a good life for her going forward.

He’d been mulling over ways and means of improving her situation, of getting her an offworld job perhaps through Ardanna’s contacts within the Sectors.

But nothing he’d come up with was satisfactory.

He had to admit what he actually wanted was to keep her close and provide the life she deserved himself.

But not only was he planning to return to combat against the Sectors’ enemies after this interlude, his position as a prince precluded the kind of relationship he wanted to offer.

Princes of Ardanna didn’t casually date anyone.

They married an appropriate woman and produced heirs.

He had to remind himself he was only checking a box with this IDA excursion.

A marriage of state and all that came with it was far in his future.

So why did the idea make him both furious and depressed?

After a leisurely dinner and incredible desserts, including one which came to the table in flames, cooling off to reveal a baked miracle of creamy goodness, which he’d ordered for Rosalie over her protests and of which she’d eaten every bite, it was time to go to the club he’d selected for the night.

IDA had strongly indicated on the matching preferences data he was given that this was important to Rosalie so he’d added it to the slate of activities he was interested in pursuing while on R&R. How bad could one evening of caterwauling be? At least there’d be plenty of feelgoods.

The place was popular at the resort and packed when the prince’s group arrived, walking from the restaurant to work off calories from the rich dinner.

Rosalie insisted her leg was fine but Treylon kept a close eye on her.

The first sign of discomfort from her and he’d be whisking her back to the bungalow.

The club manager led them to the table in the VIP section which he’d reserved and drinks were ordered.

“I’m going to be high handed again,” Trey warned Rosalie with a smile. “No more of the sneaky pink-and-green feelgood for you.”

“No argument from me,” she said, pleasing him with her agreement. She ordered a fruit drink with a tiny amount of feelgood and seemed satisfied.

Trying to get her courage up for the moment it would be her chance to sing in front of all these people, Rosalie studied the crowd while Treylon and his friends talked.

She told herself no one was going to listen to her anyway, judging by how crowded the dance floor was and the intensity of the club goers drinking and flirting and making out.

I might as well enjoy this — it’s my one chance to pretend to be a real singer.

When her handheld chimed with a notification she was up to sing next, she took a deep breath and wished she’d had a chance to warm up properly.

Reminding herself this was a silly social activity, not a real singing gig, she rose from her chair with Treylon’s help and he escorted her backstage to the waiting area.

The man who was currently singing along with the recorded music had a froglike voice and kept forgetting the words, even though the lyrics were displayed right in front of him in holos.

And his movements, awkwardly swaying his hips and thrusting his not impressive crotch—well, the less said, the better. I can’t do worse than he is.

The emcee got the man to leave the stage after his song ended, to a scattering of polite applause from the few people who were listening and then he gestured to Rosalie.

“I’ll be right here,” Treylon said. “You’ll do great.”

She straightened her spine, brushed her hand down her skirt to settle the layers and forced herself to walk into the spotlight.

In a daze she heard the emcee’s flippant introduction and announcement of the song.

Rosalie had picked one of her favorite dance numbers by Karissa Dawnstar, the top female vocalist in the Sectors, the acknowledged queen of popular music.

It was one of her favorite songs and she often hummed it to cheer herself up after a long day at the diner or the daycare.

The lights dimmed. The Resort Planet people did karaoke up right, with a holographic band behind her, strobing lights, and holographic dancers ready to gyrate in time with the music.

Rosalie felt like she actually was on stage at a big rock concert.

When the cue came she launched into the first line of the song and let the music carry her.

She didn’t need the holo prompts but let her voice soar as she poured her heart into the performance.

As the third verse ended, the karaoke machine cut off, all the effects and the music going away but Rosalie sang on without hesitation. She could do a capella.

When she finished and looked at the crowd in front of her, the applause was thunderous and she realized with amazement people had crowded the stage.

Now a chant went up for an encore. The club emcee came on stage to attempt to usher her off but the audience yelled louder for Rosalie to be allowed to sing another song.

No fool, he acquiesced smoothly and invited her to continue.

“Although I’m afraid the effects are glitched,” he admitted.

“I don’t need them,” she said.

He gave her a bow and retreated from the stage.

Rosalie hadn’t planned on an encore but segued into a Karissa ballad next, one the singer had written about herself and her true love, a former bodyguard.

She put her heart and her growing feelings for Treylon into the performance and the club was absolutely hushed.

There was a brief silence when she sang the last words and then the audience erupted into a frenzy of applause and whistles.

Pumped up with adrenaline now Rosalie segued into a medley of Karissa’s greatest hits and then curtseyed to the crowd as she’d seen someone do in a trideo once.

Treylon came from the wings to escort her off stage and she gave the audience a saucy wave before disappearing.

“I pity whoever has to go on after you,” Treylon said as he steered her toward the stairs. “You were fantastic—I had no idea you could sing so well. I mean, I’ve heard you singing little bits of songs here and there at the bungalow but tonight was a revelation.”

She relished his praise but honesty compelled her to give credit where credit was due. “They’re Karissa’s songs. I just imitate her which anyone could do.”

“I’ve seen her perform live,” he said. “And yes, she’s incomparable and yes you sang her songs but you did it as Rosalie and the performance tonight was all you.” He squeezed her hand. “I was proud of you.”

They got to the table where the rest of their group were full pf praise for her performance but other clubgoers kept coming to the table and wanting to talk to her and take holos with her and Rosalie was overwhelmed, in addition to the adrenaline crash after her time on stage.

“Let’s get out of here,” Treylon said in her ear after a particularly insistent group of admirers were shepherded away from the VIP section by the club bouncers.

She turned to him with relief. “Could we? Could we go back to the bungalow? I’m worn out. Would you mind?”

“Mind having you all to myself, songbird? How can you even think such a thing?” He said goodnight to his friends and led her from the club through a back exit she hadn’t known was even there.

They walked hand in hand along the well-lit street. A band was playing a catchy tune on big drums and Rosalie felt herself decompressing. There wasn’t much of a crowd and the atmosphere was peaceful, not frenetic like inside the club.

“What are you thinking?” Treylon asked.

“I had a lovely evening but I’m not ready for it to end yet.” She peeked up at him from under her lashes. “I’m glad we’re going back to the bungalow.”

“If I’m hearing what you aren’t saying correctly, me too.” He swooped her into his arms and walker faster. “Your leg needed a respite from walking, right?” he replied to her halfhearted protest.

Rosalie loved being in his arms, held close to his strong body and her panties were getting decidedly wet.

He dropped a soft kiss on her forehead and she sighed with happiness.

Yes! Tonight would be the night. Her core throbbed as she breathed in his scent—expensive cologne and the musk of the man himself, spices and citrus and all male.

Treylon made quick work of getting them inside and then he carried her to his bedroom, placing her on her feet.

“I need you to tell me this is what you want,” he said in a serious tone, not touching her.

She raised her face to his and ran one hand through his hair, tousling the locks into the disarray she preferred. “I’ve wanted this practically since we met,” she said truthfully.