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“The one running the General’s confidential research on Tyren.”

“She is clean.” Kairen swipes a hand through the air. “She has zero political ambition and possessed no knowledge of the kidnapping plot. Her only sincere desire is to synthesize a cure for the Ghorvek fertility-inhibiting pathogen. She believed Korvann was genuinely funding a medical breakthrough for the galaxy. I almost pity her naivety.”

I furrow my brow. As Kairen’s chief intelligence officer, it is my job to stay informed about prominent people in all kinds of fields. Vessa Korvann is far too ambitious to be dismissed so lightly. But my prince has enough on his plate at the moment, so I let it go.

“I will help process the remaining crew,” I offer. “But we have a far more volatile complication. Zeriah.”

Kairen’s expression hardens. The former partner who sold him out for a crown. The female who spent the last five rotations gloating over his pregnant, imprisoned match.

“Execution feels excessive,” Kairen admits, his voice rough. “She didn’t orchestrate the abduction, nor did she harm Tara physically. But keeping her on Avaris invites future treason. She will spend the rest of her long life whispering poison into the ears of anyone willing to listen.”

“Banishment,” I suggest smoothly.

Kairen’s eyes snap up to mine. He nods once, the decision locking into place. “There is a colony in the outer rim. Breathable atmosphere, sustainable agriculture, and absolutely zero space-travel infrastructure. We drop her there. She can spend the next few centuries harvesting dirt without a comms array to stir up rebellion.”

A fitting end for a female obsessed with status and palace intrigue. Isolation on a tech-dead rock.

“I will arrange the transport.”

“Do it after tomorrow.” Kairen glances off-screen, his attention divided. “I need to go. Tara is threatening to hijack my nanites if something interrupts the match ceremony.”

A smile tugs at my mouth. “Don’t keep the future princess waiting. She carries a terrifying amount of human spite.”

“Tell me about it.” Kairen shakes his head, though the absolute devotion in his eyes is blinding. “Enjoy your evening, Orien. I will see you at the ceremony.”

The hologram vanishes. I retract the cube and step out from behind the pillar.

Maggie is standing exactly where I left her. She isn’t looking at the alien architecture or the bioluminescent forests beyond the reinforced glass. Her chin is tilted up, her piercing blue eyes locked onto an empty glass walkway curving over the departure gates.

I close the distance between us, letting my gaze sweep over the sharp line of her jaw. The memory of her kneeling between my thighs in the cockpit burns through my veins, a sudden flash fire I ruthlessly suppress. I refuse to push her right now. Not until she begs me to.

“My apologies for the delay, Commander,” I murmur, stopping a polite foot away.

She tears her focus from the empty walkway, blinking once before the deadpan mask slides perfectly back into place. “Is the crown secure?”

“The traitors are handled.” I gesture toward the grand exit of the spaceport. “The rest of the evening belongs entirely to us.”

Maggie smooths the front of her jacket, her fingers brushing over the cuff hiding her secret. “Lead the way, Orien. Let us see if your manor meets my expectations.”

A low chuckle vibrates in my chest. I will tear down her walls eventually. I will drag the truth from her beautiful, stubborn mouth. But tonight, I will simply enjoy the magnificent challenge of having Margaret Elmsleigh under my roof.

We board the Sovereign long enough to retrieve her belongings. Maggie packs like a soldier. One canvas duffel, utilitarian and battered, devoid of any personal luxury.

I reach for the canvas strap. She steps back, hoisting the heavy bag over her shoulder.

“I possess two functional arms, Spymaster.”

“I possess enhanced strength and a desire to be hospitable.”

“I’ll carry my own luggage.”

I let her win the minor skirmish, offering a mocking bow before leading her back to the transport lifts.

The flight to the eastern edge of the capital takes mere moments in a royal transport skiff. The sleek vehicle glides silently over the bioluminescent canopy. I ignore the glowing fungi and the sprawling crystal spires of the city entirely. I look at her. My match.

Maggie stares out the viewport. The blue and green light washes over her pale skin, illuminating the sharp cut of her cheekbones. Her lips part. The icy armor she wears like a second skin cracks, revealing genuine, unguarded awe.

The skiff docks on the landing pad of my estate.