POV: Lyra
"Transport difficulties, ministers?" Christian asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm that could've corroded metal.
Alfred spoke with that infuriating nonchalance he'd perfected over decades of avoiding responsibility. "Apologies for our delay, Your Grace. The deployment order came with minimal notice."
"Lyra! What happened? Are you functional?" Sebastian's voice cracked with concern as he stepped forward, then froze when Orion's growl reverberated through the damaged docking bay. The Emperor moved protectively, his hands settling on my shoulders with possessive gentleness.
I looked at Sebastian with complete indifference, managing to spit out weakly, "Fine."
Liar. You can barely stand. But I'd rather collapse than let him see me vulnerable.
Orion's worried voice filled my auditory canal as he cupped my face, his purple eyes boring into mine with desperate intensity. "Star-heart [endearment], please don't vocalize. Conserve your energy. Use the neural link if you need to communicate, okay?"
Since when does he call me that? Since when does the Emperor beg?
Completely ignoring Orion's request—because of course he would—Sebastian continued frantically, "You don't appear fine. Your skin's gone grey-pale and your voice modulation is failing. Lyra, what's happening? What occurred during—"
Orion's growl this time was louder, fiercer, his pathways flashing dangerous black. His voice dropped to subzero menace: "Our Empress is recovering from engaging Rogue Lyrokans, which your father and his deputy catastrophically failed to track."
Everyone, including my allied forces, turned to glare at the ministers with enough combined hostility to melt durasteel.
Sebastian, stubborn as asteroid rock, was opening his mouth again when Christian physically blocked his view of me. The Duke's voice carried that authority that came from centuries of noble breeding: "Stop trying to make the Empress vocalize. She requires recovery. But since you three have finally arrived, make yourselves useful."
Christian and his cousin exchanged a brief neural link—I could see their pathways pulse in sync for a moment. When they finished, Orion nodded and Christian offered a slight bow with what looked like genuine respect.
Christian addressed Commander Frederick and his Sub-Commander. "Station leaders, provide these ministers with damage assessment reports for perimeter restoration and structural losses from the Rogue assault. After that, escort them to the memorial preparation area for the fallen specialists. These three will assist with the ceremonial rites." He took a measured breath, his pathways dimming with genuine sorrow. "The Emperor and I extend deepest regrets for the eleven specialists lost in this morning's engagement. Please communicate any additional support requirements."
The station leaders stood frozen in shock. Aid offered without bureaucratic protocols? Without forms in triplicate? They just stared at Christian like he'd grown a second head.
Christian's glare at the ministers could've powered a plasma cannon. Both Alfred and Pierre had their heads down as Christian barked, "I'll be personally interrogating you both about your intelligence failures. One error and you're both terminated. Clear?"
"Yes, Your Grace," they muttered in unison.
"Understood. I'll relay that." Orion's voice had gone soft and gentle. Christian turned to see his cousin looking into my eyes as he lifted my fingers to his lips for a tender kiss before facing him again.
Why is he being so affectionate in public? The Emperor who never showed emotion is suddenly... this?
Christian awaited instructions. Orion said, "Lyra says Specialists Brighton and Sylvia should remain with them. Helps with verification protocols."
Christian threw a smile my way and bowed formally. "As you command, my Empress."
Stop calling me that. I'm not an Empress. I'm a Commander who can barely stand.
I looked toward Brighton, who said, "Happy to stay, Lyra." Then at Sylvia, who smiled with genuine warmth. "No problem at all, Lyra."
I managed a weak smile of thanks. The toxin was winning. My systems were shutting down. I needed to enter recovery sleep. But I'd used most of my remaining energy arguing with Orion about not punishing my people.
"Cuz, I'm taking this one." Christian indicated the unconscious Rogue Lyrokan draped over his shoulder. "Might be safer if everyone else uses your transport. Precaution in case this one reactivates."
My eyes widened immediately, fear spiking through the exhaustion. My skin probably flashed warning orange.
Christian caught my reaction but smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, my Empress. I'll break additional bones and induce another concussion before boarding. It'll be fine. Just taking precautions."
That's not reassuring at all.
I nodded slowly, uncertain. Orion's voice turned soothing as he stroked my face. "Hey, hey. It'll be alright. He won't reactivate until we allow it. Everything's alright. Don't worry, okay?"
I nodded again, managing a small smile, feeling marginally reassured.
When everyone began moving toward the transports, I realized my legs weren't responding to neural commands. They wobbled, threatening complete collapse. Without hesitation, Orion swept me up—one arm under my knees, the other supporting my back—carrying me against his chest.
This is humiliating. The Commander who took down three Rogue Lyrokans being carried like an invalid.
But I couldn't help leaning into him, his scent—ozone and starlight—overwhelming my senses.
Once aboard Orion's personal transport, I remained in his arms. He showed no intention of releasing me. After pressing his lips to my forehead, he looked into my eyes with an expression I'd never seen on him before—pure affection mixed with protective concern.
"Sleep, star-heart. You're safe now."
I shook my head stubbornly, forcing the neural link open despite how much it hurt: 'I'm... okay.'
Void, I can't even form coherent neural transmissions. How pathetic.
Gently, he asked, "Lyra, what's wrong? Why won't you enter recovery sleep?"
I averted my gaze, my fingers fidgeting nervously for a moment before I forced another neural transmission: 'What are you... going... to do... to them?'
After finishing, I bit my inner lip, my entire body tensing as I waited for his response.
Please don't hurt them. They only came because I asked. They don't deserve punishment for my choices.
Something shifted in his expression—hurt? Pain? His pathways dimmed to a sad purple-grey. He lifted my chin, forcing eye contact. His eyes held none of the rage from earlier, only hurt and something that looked like... anguish at being misunderstood?
His voice came out clear but soothing: "I'm not going to do anything to anyone. None of you did anything wrong. I told you—it was my fault, and I meant it. Please, don't worry."
He kissed my nose—such a gentle gesture from someone who could destroy stations with a thought—then pressed our foreheads together, maintaining eye contact as he pleaded, "Please, Lyra, let yourself rest. I won't hurt you or anyone here. Just sleep, okay?"
He means it. The Void Killer Emperor is promising not to hurt anyone. For me.
I nodded twice before surrendering to exhaustion, leaning into his chest, snuggling against him. As my breathing slowed and recovery sleep claimed me, I felt him stroking my arm throughout the entire transport flight back.
The transport remained silent despite carrying thirty beings. Everyone worried about me—I could feel it in the psychic atmosphere even through my fading consciousness. We'd fought together countless times, but never had I emerged this damaged, this depleted. Then again, we'd never faced Rogue Lyrokans before.
Juan's blaming himself. I can sense it even without the neural link.
He was probably torturing himself for letting me pursue that Rogue alone. If he'd followed, or sent backup, I wouldn't have faced three Lyrokans solo when they appeared. But I'd told them there were three. When Juan, Tate, and Raden arrived, only two remained. Which meant I'd terminated one alone.
They don't need to know how close it was. How that one nearly killed me before I got lucky.
From the tension in the transport, from the worried glances I could feel even with my eyes closed, none of them would relax until I woke properly. Their alliance leader—the mining colony girl who'd somehow convinced them all to follow her—was down.
And for the first time in five years of command, I wasn't sure I'd be getting back up the same.
But at least they're safe. That's all that matters.