POV: Lyra
After sonic cleansing and changing back into my purple synth-fabric top and tactical pants, I made my way to the dining hall for mid-cycle meal. For once, I entered after Orion. He stood near the hydration stations, deep in conversation with someone I didn't recognize—a Lyrokan whose pathways glowed an unsettling orange-gold, like dying stars.
Don't interrupt. You're not actually his partner yet. Just match number six.
I veered toward Christian instead, who was engaged with Juan and Hale near the viewing panels.
"Ah! My Empress." Christian's golden pathways brightened as he performed that ridiculous bow.
I covered my face, my skin betraying my embarrassment with rapid color shifts. "Please stop doing that."
"Protocol is protocol, my Empress. No need for shyness." His chuckle resonated through the space.
Juan, the void-traitor [traitor], muttered thoughtfully, "Empress Lyra Ash. Has a certain authority to it. Stellar regal [very regal]."
"Juan, stop!" My whisper carried more force than intended as more beings turned our way, their consciousness pressing curiously against my mental shields.
Christian struck a contemplative pose, finger and thumb at his chin. "We'll need to continue using the title until she adapts, I believe."
Great. Conspiracy to embarrass the mining colony girl.
Not wanting to attract more attention from the already-eavesdropping crowd, I gestured vaguely toward the Kaelari section. "I should go speak with the other Specialists—"
"Too late." Christian's amusement pulsed through his pathways.
"What do you m—" The question died as warm fingers touched my abdomen, sliding possessively to my waist. Neural sparks erupted along every contact point. Juan, Hale, and Christian synchronized their bows perfectly. "My Emperor."
When did they practice that?
Orion smiled at them, signaling them to rise. His purple eyes locked with mine, voice dropping to that frequency that made my nervous system malfunction. "How did combat training with Juan go?"
I shot Juan a mischievous look. "It went well."
Hale added with barely contained glee, "So well he returned with bio-repairs still processing."
Juan's arm slipped around his partner's waist, his embarrassment making his own pathways flicker. "Star-heart [baby], you're supposed to support me. The damage was supposed to be classified."
Hale turned to him with mock seriousness. "Apologies, darling. I was promised the fiercest warrior in the station, but since Lyra defeated you today, I'm switching allegiances."
The laughter that erupted—from Christian, Orion, even me—echoed through the dining hall. Juan's exaggerated pouting only made it worse.
Looking back at Orion, I asked, "So, did you dismantle your cousin or did he dismantle you?"
Christian was already laughing. Orion's pathways shifted to false distress. "2-1 ratio. Nearly lost because you didn't wish me fortune when you abandoned me."
"Fortune was never going to save you," I retorted.
"But you wished him fortune." He actually whined, gesturing at Christian like a youngling tattling to a parent.
"And did it help him?" The question was purely rhetorical.
Knowing he'd lost this exchange, Orion squeezed my waist playfully before pressing his lips to my temple. The casual intimacy sent unwanted warmth through our bond.
We collected our nutrient trays and found seating. Christian positioned himself beside Orion, his golden pathways suddenly dimming with concern. "So... cousin." His gaze directed ours across the hall. "What brings Greg to the Summit? Didn't think he cared about inter-species cooperation."
I recognized the Lyrokan from earlier—the one with the dying-star pathways. Greg now circulated among female Lyrokans, all offspring of Ministers, their modified pathways glowing with artificial enhancement.
Political maneuvering. Never a good sign.
Orion's pathways darkened to worried purple. I caught his tension through our bond, sharp and acidic. "Do you two need privacy?" I offered, not wanting to intrude on Imperial family matters.
"No, no." Orion captured my hand on the table, thumb stroking across my knuckles. "You'll discover this eventually." He addressed Juan and Hale. "Christian and I don't mind you hearing this. It's not exactly classified. Just..." he searched for words, "an embarrassing chapter of Imperial history."
Christian's usual levity evaporated. "Greg is Orion's cousin, paternal line. When Emperor Lucas terminated, Greg attempted gathering ministerial support to force Orion's abdication. His argument: superior age and governmental experience." Christian chose his words carefully. "He wasn't entirely wrong, but his character is... questionable."
"Meaning?" I kept my voice neutral, though my skin shifted to defensive silver.
Christian hesitated, glancing at Orion, who nodded permission. "He lacks investment in citizen welfare. Follows profit margins exclusively. Orion mentioned your assessment of Emperor Lucas—his disregard for Kaelari. Consider Greg a younger Lucas iteration, only worse."
"Worse how?" Juan's concern bled through his voice.
Orion's voice dropped, deadly serious. "During his administrative tenure, funds vanished. Never proven, but he suddenly acquired a new transport and nightly companionship."
Hale frowned. "Forgive the observation, but wouldn't his title grant him companionship freely?"
Christian's pathways flickered with disgust. "Yes, but paid arrangements allow more... demands. Inappropriate demands that free partners would refuse."
"Void-scum [disgusting]," Juan hissed.
"No match?" Hale inquired.
"No," Christian and Orion answered simultaneously.
"Fortunate," Orion added. "Imagine her suffering, feeling him with others nightly through their bond."
That would be torture. The ultimate betrayal.
"A younger Lucas," I murmured, processing the implications. "So when ministerial support failed, he just departed?"
Christian nodded. "Took his loyalists, founded an export enterprise. His supporters became employees. Whatever he's trafficking keeps them operational. Haven't seen him in—what, Orion? Sixteen cycles?"
"Sixteen," Orion confirmed ominously.
"So he's returned." I analyzed the situation, my tactical mind engaging. "He wants something. What?"
Orion's pathways pulsed with unease. "That's the question. Greg never appears without agenda."
Through our bond, I felt Orion's deeper concern—not just political maneuvering, but something personal. Fear for... me?
He's worried Greg will target me. Use me against him somehow.
"Your match," I said quietly, the pieces clicking. "He knows about us. That's why he's here."
Christian's golden pathways flared with alarm. "Void, you're right. An unmated Emperor is vulnerable. But a matched Emperor with a Kaelari? From the mining colonies? He'll see it as weakness to exploit."
"Let him try," Orion's pathways went midnight black, his hand tightening on mine. "Anyone who threatens Lyra—"
"Will face a Combat Commander who's survived five rejections and seventeen assassination attempts," I interrupted, keeping my voice level. "I don't need protection, Orion. I need information. What's Greg's typical strategy?"
Juan leaned forward. "Lyra's right. Know your enemy. What's his pattern?"
Christian and Orion exchanged looks. "Divide and conquer," Christian said finally. "He isolates his target, makes them doubt their support system, their worth, their relationships..."
Sounds familiar. Just like my previous matches before they rejected me.
"He preys on insecurity," Orion added, his thumb still stroking my hand. "Plants doubt. Makes you question everything you thought was stable."
I laughed, short and bitter. "Good luck with that. I already question everything. Hard to plant doubt where it's already flourishing."
"Lyra—" Orion's voice held pain.
"It's strategy, not self-pity," I clarified. "My cynicism is armor. Let him try to make me doubt you—I already do. Let him try to make me feel unworthy—been there, survived that. Five times."
The table went silent. Through our bond, I felt Orion's emotions churning—hurt that I doubted him, understanding of why, determination to prove himself different.
"You're brilliant," Christian said suddenly. "That's actually brilliant. He can't manipulate someone who already expects betrayal."
"Exactly." I pulled my hand free from Orion's, ignoring the loss of contact. "Now, practical matters. Where's he staying? Who's he contacted? What's his financial status?"
As they provided intelligence, I catalogued every detail. Greg might be a threat, but I'd faced worse. The Rogue Collective, previous matches who'd tried to kill me, an entire system designed to keep mining colony trash in their place.
One power-hungry Duke with daddy issues?
Bring it on.
But through our bond, I felt Orion's fear differently now. Not fear for my safety—fear of losing me. Not to Greg, but to my own walls. To the doubt Greg might reinforce.
He's afraid I'll use Greg as an excuse to leave first. To reject him before he can reject me.
The thought shouldn't have hurt.
But it did.
Dangerous. This is getting dangerous.