Eyurali, with a firm grip, guided Conor across the room. His heavy steps and the lively ensemble music barely masked the sound of the Empress's claws tapping on the tile.

The other nobles watched with curiosity as the Empress dragged the man who had been the talk of the entire gala toward the dance floor.

Whispers filled the room as the onlookers speculated about Eyurali's intentions. They pondered whether she would discuss his role as an assigned Champion, the troublesome nobles, or something scandalous that the Human would never reveal.

Most were not worried about them falling victim to the man whose history of cold, calculated murder they were well aware of. Only a few nobles had upset the Empress over the last few years, and those were minor annoyances; they prayed that was the case.

If anyone was to be the victim of reaping, it would be Ecallar. His house had caused issues for the entire species over the last few decades, and the nobles' disdain for him was evident.

His follies included everything from costing the empire millions of credits, losing battle after battle against separatists, and, worst of all, failing to guide his daughter to a potential Champion.

Most of the nobles could not stand him. For some strange reason, the only member of the Empress's family who favored the man and her house was Feiyala, Eivaleys younger sister.

None of the nobles, or Conor for that matter, would care if Ecallar and his entire lineage were killed. It would not be the first assassination Eyurali would have ordered for the good of the species.

While few enjoyed that she and the past Empress’ would kill people who caused strife, they could understand its reasoning.

Eyurali, like anyone tending a garden or raising fruit, would sometimes have to remove a plant infected with blight. It was necessary to ensure that the rest of all she cared for survived.

Without the removal of those cancerous individuals, the rest of them would be targeted by dissidents. The average commoner did not think of nobles as individuals; to them, all nobles, except for the Empress and her direct family, were a monstrous congelation simply referred to as nobility.

To the commoners, the gap between their lives and the nobility was as vast as the Denyila ocean. This difference was an insurmountable obstacle, a chasm that could never be bridged.

The space around Eyurali and Conor quickly cleared, and the attendees gave them a wide berth. It was as if they were a flock of game birds scattering from a pair of predators entering their midst.

In a way, that assumption was correct.

Eyurali and Conor were monstrous killers with their own flavor and methodology.

While yes, in the literal sense, both came from species who were apex predators on their own worlds, that was not the predation the lessers cared about.

Conor, the beast, the savage, the brute; through a combination of augmetics, his weight, training, and demeanor was a spring ready to snap. He had already shown the congregation how little patience he had for them through threats and his general goings about.

Conor was The Wolf of Heavalun, a wild animal with the heart and mind of a calculated killer, and was given distance to protect them physically.

On the other hand, the Empress was A wolf in sheep's clothing. Her elegance brought a gentle violence to the table. Eyurali, though none dared to call her by the name she buried upon corrination, most knew her title during her rise in the ranks to be Empress; The Flower of Death.

While Eyurali’s sisters fought tooth and nail to be Empress, killing one another in open and brutal fashions, she was not. The current Empress was subtle; she would poison her sisters through various means: Helit root powder, Durala venom, or naturally injected venom of Vuraley once she found him at a military ceremony, and he swept her off her feat.

No one could confirm what happened during the last battle to be Empress, but many suspected Eyurali had caused the deaths of the vast majority of her sisters.

Dozens of the other candidates died silently in their sleep, some were found having fallen to a strange illness, and a few fell victim to sudden onset envenoming; there even was one who felt it pertinent to suck-start a rifle through the back of their head.

“Alright, Assigned Champion. I hope you know how to dance,” Yurali purred, stepping closer to Conor and tightly wrapping her tail around his thigh.

Eyurali pressed herself against Conor, letting her angelic curves mold against Conor's warm muscles. Simultaneously, her coiling snake of a tail gently squeezed his leg from near the crotch to mid-calf.

At the same time, her fruity perfume invaded Conor's nostrils, transporting him to a spring oasis just after a rainstorm. The scent was subtle and filled with the notes of thousands of flours and fruits that thrive at the water's edge.

The potpourri was disarming in a way Conor had never experienced. His muscles relaxed, similar to the feeling of having an ice-cold drink after a long run.

If Conor could not see the toxicology screeners active in his HUD, he would have sworn there had to be some kind of poison or drug affecting him--- but all the readings were within safe parameters.

The watching crowd oohed and awed, with many of the ladies fanning themselves from excitement; it was not because of the Empress readying to dance with Conor; no, the women pictured themselves in her shoes.

Conor did not yet understand how he behaved like the most flawless Kurlatra male, but he would soon enough.

He physically was their species' definition of a picture-perfect mate, tall, muscular, and with a jaw you could crack granite on. A few thought his lack of scales and a tail was a turn-off but overlooked those minor setbacks for everything else that came with the Conor package.

Any of the women around the gala would gladly take the Human from Eivaley if she no longer wanted him. Especially after the Fifth princes explained how Conor was a solid ten degrees Celsius warmer than any Kurlatra.

Who would not want a living heater that would hold you as you walked around or would let you snuggle up and take a ride on?

A few had any plans to make an attempt. The women who would attempt to steal Conor wished to do so for their self-interest and nothing but: Some wanted a piece of arm candy, others a man to drive them wild, but most sought power and saw him as a way to get it.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“I never have danced,” Conor admitted.

A choking hollowness filled Conor's chest, feeling similar to oddly feeling like he was failing someone he had known his entire life.

“That's alright. Vurii did not know how to either,” Eyurali assured, guiding Conor's hand to her shoulder and the other toward just over her tail base. “I can show you a simple one that will work for you.”

Eyurali looked up at Conor with a sly grin, not elaborating on his need for the dance. She teasingly walked her fingers up to grab his shoulder, each claw clinking against the metal plating of his augmented chest. Her other hand slipped under his arm, settling in the center of his broad back.

Closeness like this was typically reserved only for one's mate, but in Eyurali's case, she had to show Conor how to act like a mate for a Kurlatra, so this was not taboo.

Besides, she was the Empress, and no one would question her on what she decided was a necessary action. However, seeing Eivaley standing next to Vuraley in the crowd, glaring daggers at her, did make the Empress giggle.

There was no chance Eyurali would ever consider doing anything like taking her precious daughter's new plaything away. The Empress had Vuraley anyway.

“Just don’t get handsy with me,” the Empress teased.

“I wasn’t planning to,” Conor replied, surprisingly flatly to her.

Eyurali giggled, finding the undemanding tone Conor used to be refreshing. Similarly to her husband, having someone around who puts less stake into her position might be refreshing to keep around, should her daughter manage to worm into his soul.

“Good, now, follow my lead for a while,” Eyurali said, stepping back and looking down. “Just try and keep your foot in front of mine.”

Looking down, Conor positioned his boots a few centimeters away from Eyuralis's ' clawed feet. Seeing the sight reminded Conor greatly of the insurmountable gap between himself and the nobles, including Eivaley.

His boots were well worn, covered in abrasions and burns. That, along with his black rip-resistant pants, he was just so different than them. Eyurali especially. She had bangles of solid gold shimmering around her ankles, barely visible through the flowing motions of her dress.

"Let's start slow," Eyuali smiled, taking the first step of their in-action lesson.

Over the next ten minutes, Eyurali showed Conor one of the simplest dances she had in her repertoire. It was nothing fancy and only had six steps in its order. After Conor stepped on her toes half a dozen times and seemingly grew a second left foot, the pieces started falling together.

They began to move in a slow sloping triangle on the floor, one step to the left, feet together, one step to the left, feet together, and so on and so forth.

“That's it,” Eyurali encouraged, closing the gap, knowing Conor did not need to watch their feet anymore. “I’m surprised you did not break my toes.”

“Yeah, I am too,” Conor cringed, remembering each time he felt the claws on his mid-back dig in with a swift reminder to slow down.

In true mercenary fashion, the only reason Conor managed to master any amount of the simple little dance was because of the martial comparison he made. Conor compared the simple, consistent steps to how a weapon worked.

Brakuls pistol each time followed the same steps: feeding, chambering, locking, firing, unlocking, extracting, ejecting, cocking, then the entire process began again.

In this case, Conor and Eyurali’s feet were the components, both moving in planned synchronicity that flowed like it was ingrained in their DNA.

“Now that my feet are safe and since I have you alone,” Eyurali breathed, laying her head against Conor's chest. “Tell me, how do you feel about everything happening?”

“Happening with what?” Conor replied, scanning the crowd now that he would not crush his dance partner's toes.

Amidst the crowd were many of the faces he had seen already throughout the night. Even Eivaley and Vuraley were toward the side, watching the pair dance.

They were whispering to one another, but through the other conversations going on, it was impossible to make out any of the words.

Eivaley did notice Conor look at her, she smiled and pulled her tail up into her palms. Something Conor knew very well was something she only did while nervous.

He wondered what she was nervous about but was brought back to the intimate dance by Eyurali nuzzling under his chin. “There is no need to play coy. After your story, you told me. I want to understand how you are feeling. Just like my little daughter, you are staring at.”

What has been going on with the women in his life lately? They all want to ask personnel questions he lacked a solid answer to. Come to think of it, all the women Conor knew were like that—save for fae.

That monstrous woman could care less about how Conor felt ninety percent of the time. With the other ten being if he wanted to fuck.

Eivaley and Eyurali, however, just had the predisposition to dig under his skin, peal back layers, and seek out valuable nuggets of intel.

“I am not sure—” Conor began as he looked back down and into the green oceans of the Empress’s eyes.

“That is alright,” Eyurali nodded. “You can take all the time you need to figure it out. But a fair warning, no one's patience is infinite.”

Conor raised a brow at that. What did she mean by patience? Patience for what? She could be referring to an infinite number of people around the nobles and for just as many reasons. But deep down, he knew she was talking about her daughter.

Eivaley had been patient with Conor and his issues. She had been gently trying to coax him out to speak to her about how he felt and do more than just be a bodyguard.

So far, all he had done was keep her at arm's length. Save for a few small moments, when they held one another during a lingering hug, he was still the same—giving her nothing.

But Eivaley had been honest to a fault with him. She offered support and lived her words by letting the subject die when Conor showed discomfort.

Eyurali, having decided that all that needed to be said to the man had been, stopped following his lead and stepped back, holding a hand out to where Vuraley waited in the wings for her.

Vuraley stepped forward, with both collaring the other with their tails. Conor stepped to the side of Vuraley to reach for Eivaley so they could go somewhere else and he could protect her. But she was not there.

Conor looked frantically around the room for her. Most of the crowd shifted like waves as they danced.

"Where did she go?" Conor snapped at Vurlaey, knowing the Eivaley could not slip away from him without it being intentional.

"Relax, Conor," Vuraley assured, gesturing to the gardens. "She is right outside."

Without missing a beat, Conor strode through the crowd toward the dark glass doors leading into the chilly night. Those who did not move and heed his warning were pushed aside; all were a waste of time for Conor.

Once on the veranda, Conor looked around and saw a few party guests drinking and mingling, but saw no imidate sign of Eivaley.

In an ingrained reaction when seeking out any sentient being, Conor scrolled through the optical abilities of his augmetics, looking for any trace of motion.

His motion tracker, night vision, or particulate sensor showed no hint. But FLIR was not a bust. A lone figure draped in a flowing gown drifted through the night amidst the ancient swaying trees.

The glowing warmth of oranges and reds made the figure look like a specter haunting the woods.

To confirm it was Eivaley, Conor activated his audio enhancer to focus on that direction alone. What he heard broke his artificial heart.

"Stupid, stupid. How could I be so stupid to think he would stay with me," Eivaley sniffled, wiping tears away with her sleeve.

Conor mantled the banister without missing a beat, falling two stories to the ground below. His servos whirred and whined as they shielded him from the damage caused by the impact.

As Conor burst forth from the small crater his landing caused, he could hear the nobles on the veranda gasping and gawking at what the Human had just done.

They likely just learned more about how truly different the Human was to them. But their opinions did not matter for the time being. Eivaley was upset, crying, alone, and in the cold.

With Eyuralies words bouncing in his mind about how no one has infinite patience, freshly bouncing in his mind, Conor maneuvered through the encapsulating bows, determined to find Eivaley.