POV: Lyra
My concern was genuine for exactly three seconds before Orion's hand grabbed mine from his shoulder. In one fluid motion—stellar fast [extremely fast] for someone supposedly dazed—he turned and pulled me down onto his chest.
"Oof!" The air rushed out of me as I slumped against him. Before I could recover, he pinned my wrist to the platform beside him while pressing my waist firmly against his torso.
The sneaky void-spawn [clever person]. He played me.
My surprise morphed into narrowed eyes. "So you're functional after all. Come on, release me." I tried pushing up, but his grip was titanium-strong.
He held me tighter, his voice dropping to that husky tone that sent unwanted neural sparks through our bond. "Aren't you going to tell me what I did wrong?"
Is he serious right now? We have an audience of hundreds.
Seeing he wouldn't release me without an answer, I said flatly, "You should've pressed me to the platform with your body weight when you had my throat. Basic submission protocol."
"Really?" His purple eyes held false innocence, like he was actually contemplating combat theory instead of whatever this was.
"Affirmative." I nodded, trying to ignore how his pathways were shifting to that particular shade of violet.
With a mischievous glint, he reversed our positions in one smooth motion. My back hit the platform, his weight carefully distributed above me, hands pressed to the surface on either side of my head. The impact sensors glowed soft blue beneath us—registering contact but not combat.
His eyes bore into mine, that cocky smirk making his pathways pulse. "Like this?"
Oh, for the love of—
I could feel his arousal pressing against my abdomen through our training gear. The neural feedback through our bond was... distracting. I kept my voice steady despite my skin's betraying shift to pink. "You know full well if you'd pinned me during the throat hold, my chest would be against the platform, not my back."
He leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear. "Mmm, but I prefer this position."
"Of course you do." I smirked, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flustered. "Release me now, Orion. I promised several people combat instruction."
He actually pouted—the Emperor of the Galactic Alliance pouted like a youngling denied treats. "But I'm your match."
"All the more reason to understand and release me."
I didn't wait for compliance. Using his distributed weight against him, I pushed up hard. He groaned as he sat back, allowing me to escape.
Finally. Space to breathe without his pheromones scrambling my neural pathways.
"Stellar performance [amazing]!" Christian called out, his golden pathways bright with amusement. "You were pathetic, cousin!"
Orion remained on the platform, wiping perspiration with a hydro-cloth, his smile never faltering. "Wait until she dismantles you. Your smugness will evaporate."
Before I could escape, Christian intercepted me. "My Empress, tactical suggestions for defeating my cousin?"
Stop calling me that. I'm nobody's Empress.
Still, I assessed Christian's build with professional interest. Similar height to Orion, comparable muscle mass, those unusual golden pathways suggesting variant Lyrokan genetics.
"You two match in size, so strength differentials are negligible. Don't rely on power alone." I gestured at Orion, who was listening intently. "He weakens at his lower extremities after eight consecutive strikes. Given your height, attempt mounting his shoulders for a submission hold before applying respiratory restriction."
Christian absorbed the information like a dedicated student, nodding seriously. Meanwhile, Orion protested from the platform. "Star-heart [babe], are you trying to get me terminated?"
I tilted my head, letting mock concern color my voice. "Just don't exhaust your energy reserves until you have platform control, darling. I haven't observed Christian's combat patterns yet, so no advantages for you. You'll manage."
"Fortune to you," I told Christian, turning to leave.
"What about me?" Orion's voice held genuine distress, like a neglected child seeking attention.
The Emperor of the known galaxy is literally whining for my attention. How is this my life?
I rolled my eyes, though fought a smile. "Don't underestimate opponents. You'll survive, my Emperor."
I escaped before he could prolong the interaction, feeling his gaze tracking me across the training dome. Through our bond, waves of adoration mixed with desire pulsed steadily.
Stop it. Stop making me feel special.
Crossing the dome, I noticed both Lyrokans and Kaelari tracking my movement. Some with curiosity, others with something harder to identify. The whispers followed—"Did she really defeat the Emperor?" "A Kaelari Commander..." "From the mining colonies..."
Let them talk. I've heard worse.
"Lyra! Perfect timing!" Tobias's voice cut through my thoughts.
My genuine smile emerged seeing him. "Present and functional, Toby." I nodded to his companions. "Commander Wainwright. Commander Lyssa."
They acknowledged me with warm smiles—the kind earned through shared combat, not politics.
"What's the training focus?" I asked Tobias.
He explained while gesturing at our trainees. "Wainwright needs speed enhancement. Lyssa should utilize elbow and knee strikes for escape maneuvers."
"Excellent. Demonstrate."
We stepped back, observing. They circled each other on the platform, strikes exchanged with practiced precision. Bodies fell and recovered. Impact sensors flashed orange and yellow. Finally, Lyssa achieved submission position.
"Void, stellar match, Commander Lyssa." Wainwright offered his hand sportingly.
They turned expectantly for our assessment. Tobias provided technical corrections—targeting kneecap vulnerabilities, identifying pattern recognition in strike sequences. For Lyssa, he noted her predictable combination: two right-hand strikes, one left. "Vary your patterns. Predictability equals defeat."
When Tobias finished, three sets of eyes turned to me.
My instructor voice emerged—the one that had trained hundreds of specialists. "Male opponents typically have reinforced chest plating, biological or technological. Target abdominal cavity, reproductive organs, throat, and nasal cartilage if proximity allows. Female opponents—abdomen, facial features, lower extremities. Long cranial filaments? Utilize them. They're handles, not decoration."
I locked eyes with Wainwright specifically. "Height differentials matter. Similar heights enable shoulder-mount takedowns after targeting vulnerabilities. And in actual combat?" I held his gaze. "Show no mercy. Especially against female opponents."
Tobias snorted. "Particularly if they're five-foot-nothing." He mock-shuddered while glancing at me. "Lethal creatures."
Instinctively, I punched his arm—just enough force to make him sway. He laughed with the others.
From across the dome, Orion witnessed this casual contact. His pathways flared black with jealousy. Christian chose that moment to attack, but Orion channeled his rage, pinning his cousin with murderous efficiency.
Is he actually jealous of Tobias? We've been combat partners for years. Nothing more.
After releasing Christian and helping him up, the golden-pathway Lyrokan needed several moments to recover. "Void... that's a draw, barely. Give me a moment." More heavy breathing. "Your intensity spiked dramatically. How?"
Orion's gaze found me again, still beside Tobias as we observed another sparring pair. Christian followed his look and chuckled. "Jealousy, cousin?"
"Can you blame me?" Orion's voice carried even across the dome through my enhanced hearing. "The Kaelari adore her. Some unmated Specialists and Commanders want more than her combat skills and friendship. They could desire her romantically."
He thinks... oh, void. He actually thinks they're competition.
Christian's response was too low for me to hear clearly, but his golden pathways pulsed with seriousness. Whatever he said made Orion's posture straighten, his purple pathways calming.
I demonstrated a throat-strike technique to two recently-sparred fighters, trying to ignore the weight of Orion's continued observation. Through our bond, I felt his emotions shifting—jealousy settling into something more like... acceptance? Resolution?
What did Christian tell him?
Later, when the training session ended and beings began dispersing, Tobias caught my arm briefly. "Lyra, you realize the Emperor nearly committed murder when I touched you, right?"
I glanced where Orion stood with Christian, both watching me. "He'll adjust. I won't modify my friendships for a match's insecurity."
"Even if that match is the Emperor?"
"Especially then." I met Tobias's concerned eyes. "I've had five matches try to isolate me from friends. It always preceded rejection. If Orion can't handle me having male friends, better to know now."
Tobias studied me, then smiled sadly. "You're still expecting rejection."
"I'm being realistic."
"You're being scared."
Before I could respond, he walked away, leaving me with that uncomfortable truth.
Through our bond, I felt Orion approaching. His pathways had stabilized to that warm purple I was beginning to associate with contentment. When he reached me, his hand found the small of my back—possessive but not restrictively so.
"Impressive instruction," he said softly. "Though I didn't appreciate the assassination tips you gave Christian."
"You survived."
"Barely." His lips quirked. "Dinner? Just us?"
I studied his expression, looking for signs of possessive anger about Tobias. Instead, I found only that steady warmth, maybe tinged with hope.
He's trying. Credit where due—he's actually trying.
"Acceptable," I agreed, and pretended not to notice how his pathways blazed with joy.
But as we walked toward the dome's exit, his hand warm against my back, our bond humming with contentment, that treacherous hope grew anyway.
Match number six is going to destroy me when he leaves.
If he leaves, that dangerous voice whispered.
When. Not if. Always when.