Eivaley paced back and forth near the main hatch leading out of her ship's hanger bay, the ticking of her long-toe claws on the metal keeping time with her rapid heartbeat. The fleet they were a part of had passed through GU customs almost a week earlier, and she still had no real word on what was going on with Conor.
The last time she had seen him, the royal guards were carrying him on a stretcher onto her father's ship. He was torn to shreds, had no heartbeat, and was, for all intents and purposes, a dead man.
The image of Conor with that massive piece of frag sticking from his back, yet still giving her a gentle smile, was burned into her mind. According to the ship doctor, she likely was feeling a form of survivor guilt, especially since the rest of Conor's friends and her entourage all died, but she, as far as her mind saw it, was the only one left.
While likely not intending anything by it, the doctor commented that Conor would likely feel something similar, especially since he would now be in an unfamiliar and isolated environment. That only made Eivaley worry about his state of mind more.
Her father had insisted that Conor had survived the ordeal and that the royal doctor and other medical personnel were taking good care of him. But other than that, he forbade her from contacting him; not even the servants on her ship she was relatively close to would call someone over there and have them give Conor the datapad.
This was not because they wanted to upset her but because, other than official transmissions, her father's ship was blacked out completely; nothing was going in or out, save for her father's calls and the calls of the ship's bridge.
Each of these things was not negative in itself, but when combined, Eivaley felt isolated and entirely in the dark. Why would Daddy do this to her? She had made it well known to him and the doctor he let her speak to that she was angry and wanted to talk to Conor, but they would not budge on the matter, insisting it was for both of their good.
Instead of pouting and throwing a tantrum like a little girl, Eivaley began to plan for once they were back on her home planet of Guelur and in the palace overlooking the city of Livayie. She had so much to show Conor—after all, she still had to convince him to take the leap from being her assigned Champion to one in full right. She also had to ensure he would not feel alone on this new world.
She would also have to apologize to Conor for trying to trick him into giving himself to her. According to the chewing-out daddy had given her, that would not have counted at making him hers but also would have been an extreme violation of the will of the gods, one that even her royal standing could not shield her from punishment.
If she had paid more attention to her studies growing up, Eivaley would have known that, but she found that realm of academics dull, mothballed, and not worth much effort. Their species should be beyond archaic practices bequeathed by the Gods—the challenge for the house matriarch being at the top of that extensive list to the fourth princess.
As of now, Eivaley had decided there would have to be a few things she assured Conor got a taste of to keep him around: the glorious food that the royal chefs offer, a velvety bed safe from having to watch over your shoulder, some of the royal gardens that extended for dozens of kilometers around the sprawling palace grounds and, of course, unfettered access to her.
She could also not wait for the other proper champions to meet Conor. While the women of the palace gave one another a respectful berth due to the nature of the competition they were born into, the Champions tended to spend time together regardless of rank. Hopefully, the other champions will become pillars in Conor's new life.
Most were warriors and had much in common. Though many came from other walks of life: police chief, ambassador, intelligence agent, and even one or two former royal guards. Why her sisters chose those other roles was for her to imagine. All she knew was why she picked Conor.
In the Human case, he was magnanimous, filling the room with his presence and possessive to a near animalistic degree, yet on occasion, he let a little glimmer of his emotions free from his stoic demeanor. All of that protection and mystery he offered was titillating and precisely what she needed in her life.
Conor does not care about her rank and treats her like everyone else. His demeanor was something she and Daddy both enjoyed sincerely. It was rare for people not to place some respect or awe in their status as royalty.
Eivaley looked around the area and saw that more of the ship's crew had started to join her while waiting in the hangar. They were the family members of the crew on her ship and would not have any duties once her ship's captain permitted them to depart the vessel once they landed—something that was only a few minutes away.
They were all dressed in relatively traditional Kurlatra attire, loose-fitting earthen-tone garments. While most were commoners and did not have anything boisterous, the families of the officers and low-born nobles did have additional accouterments to fill out their styling: spangles of house colors, piercings of gold in the horns running along their snouts, and even a few wore illustrious bangles.
While Eivaley wore similar garbs, her top was colored baby blue and oozed with golden filigree. The only clothing she wore that was of the more expansive universe was the jeans that Fae had sold her. They were comfortable, and after the adjustments needed for her digitigrade legs and tail, they would undoubtedly work well in the deserts of Guelur.
The arriving families bowed to Eivaley and offered her greetings; some were just general good afternoons, and a few asked the gods to bless their meetings. The small children going around, taught well by their parents, greeted her as the fourth princess and wished her a fruitful life.
It had taken her years for most of the adults to feel comfortable greeting her like a person, but they refused to teach their kids to do the same. This was likely because they knew not many of the Kurlatra royals would be as forgiving as Eivaley for such casual treatment.
Most of her sisters would have them punished, fined, arrested, or, in the worst case, imprisoned for years for such a slight.
For her part, Eivaley put up a front, buried her nervousness, gave them proper greetings, and casually spoke to them all. She asked them about their plans, what family members they would visit, and if any were going to get life coils with a prospective partner.
Almost all of the Kurlatra Eivaley spoke to she knew by name and had most of their life stories nearly memorized. She did falter on a few names here and there, but even these commoners understood the Sisyphean efforts she put in with learning the ever-changing ship's crew. The occasional misnaming or failure to recall their exact life goals was forgiven.
After nearly an hour of going around to everyone, she could finally feel the inertial dampeners kick on as the ship breached the atmosphere and drifted through the grey clouds outside.
It was a shame this ship did not offer ports to view outside from the hanger bay. It was always a treat looking at the vast deserts and vast reaching river deltas that poured out from the Capital and royal palace.
But there would be plenty of time to enjoy the desert's beating heart once she had reconnected with Conor and he had a place to stay, which her Father had already arranged. Something that slightly annoyed her was that it was clear Conor could not stay in her room. Until the Human was her Champion, he would be stationed in an adjacent room—she just hoped it was not the one currently in her mind.
The multikilometer-long ship lurched to a stop, not even the inertial dampeners being able to restrain that much mass abruptly stopping.
It took the captain an agonizingly long time to arrive. It almost seemed like he was not in any rush to be home, but he would be on the ship all day regardless of how long it took him to welcome everyone back home and let them depart.
Once he arrived, he quickly lowered the ramp, letting the hot, dry air of mid-spring surround them all. The bright light momentarily blinded Eivaley and everyone, having been adapted to the near-constant dim lighting of the ship corridors and datapad screens.
Once that had passed, the grandeur of the spaceport outside the capitol was the first welcoming sight of their home. Thousands of ships and personnel bustled around like insects, performing maintenance, waiting for their families, and unloading equipment from the ships.
Beyond that, Eivaley's lifelong home reached toward the sky like a stairwell for the gods to reach mortals. Glittering blue rivers flowed down from on high out of grand depictions of the gods standing hundreds of meters high. The water guided the direction of the cities' streets, just as the word of the same Gods guided the lives of the Kurlatra.
Livayie’s buildings, including the palace, were carved of uncountable tonnes of bright white stone. Each was given elegance through the craftsmanship and accuracy of its creation; spiraling stanchions, grand statues, and photorealistic depictions of life on the buildings' faces gave life to each.
Lush green gardens, standing just as tall as the buildings themselves, were scattered amidst the buildings, canals, and flowing pristine water.
Atop it all was the palace, which was just as lush and even more grand. While the city took hundreds of empresses and millions of workers thousands of years to create, the palace took twice that long.
But Eivaley and the people's appreciation for the history and meaning behind the palace's legacy would have to wait until they managed to arrive home. For most of the people, the royals had arranged buses and other transport from the military airfield they landed on. For her, however, it would be a private escort.
“Princess, are you ready to depart?” Captain Calital asked, the light making his green scales and white uniform practically glow.
After a brief moment, Eivaley remembered that she had been waiting and rushed over to the man, wrapping him a hug.
They had already spoken about how, since she had a potential Champion waiting for her on the other ship, they would forgo the usual method of her having to wait for the Commoners to disembark before she could.
“Thank you,” Eivaley preened, letting go of the hug and rushing down the ramp.
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“Don’t forget their ship is on the far end of the rows to the right,” The Captain yelled after the rushing royal, not having much time to see if she heard him before other Kurlatra, eager to leave, demanded his attention. “Yeah, yeah, hold on,” he chuckled and faced a lesser duke's daughter.
While Eivaley was not the most athletic of the brood she was born from, she had put a decent effort into keeping herself fit. And the struggle she had been doing over the last month to keep up with Conor was paying dividends.
Granted, she knew her abysmal abilities were nothing compared to him, nor were they anything against the nonaugmented Kurlatra hull busters, who were more than happy to teach her the basics and encourage her on runs up to a few kilometers.
She skidded around the bottom of the gangway, the landing pad's hardpack duracrete. Thankfully, the tough ground was similar to the training rooms on the ship, so it did not bother her feet, nor did she slip.
Her heart pounded like a speeding drum, keeping up with her increasing breath. Dozens, if not hundreds, of the local Kurlatra stared at her in confusion and worry. They likely wondered why a red-scaled was running at all.
Unless it was a Champion or someone going through military training, you should never see a ruby-scaled running—much less a female rushing anywhere. But once they realized it was the fourth princess, known for her eccentricity among the royals, they let her pass and returned to what they were doing, chuckling about the odd sight.
As she passed the last of the gargantuan ships parked in neat rows on the landing stips, her target came into view. Her father stood proudly in his golden power armor, directing dozens of troops around as they took supplies into a waiting caravan of heavy blacked-out SUVs.
It took her a moment to spot her Human, but as her father glanced behind himself and spoke to someone out of sight, Conor came out from behind one of the vehicles, wiping sweat off his brow.
Conor was the type of man any Kurltatra woman would pine at, even while in armor and wearing simple battle fatigues; with how he was dressed now, Eivelay knew she would have to fend them off with a stick, at least. It might take her using Conor's gun if he even so much as tried to flirt with any of them, her sisters especially.
Conor was wearing a simple set of grey trousers that were cut off just above his knee. They likely were some of the soldiers' old uniforms that he had cut to fit his larger legs. The thing that had Eivaley nearly drooling was his top.
Like Kurlatra, he wore a simple cloth top hanging off one side of his broad shoulders. Its flowing build let her see every fiber of Conor's bulging muscles, defined abs, and Adonis belt.
As she neared, Conor spotted her. He quickly told her father, who looked at her, chuckled momentarily, and then told him to go to her. The only reason she knew that was what was said was that Conor started to jog lightly toward her.
That spurred her to push her already burning lungs further. Sure, she had not dashed to this point. But for her, hitting the solid seven-minute-a-kilometer pace she had was an achievement.
Conor slowed once he was within a few meters of Eivaley, likely expecting her to slow down as well. Instead, she leaped at him, forcing her whole weight into him. If Conor was the average man and did not have millions of credits worth of augments, he would have undoubtedly collapsed under the force.
Instead, the Human wrapped his arms around her waist and halfway spun to keep Eivaley from feeling the entire brunt of the force, allowing her to cling to his neck.
“I was so worried about you,” Eivaley wined, finally being able to speak to the man she had fretted over for the last month. “Are you alright? Did Daddy or the doctors cause you any trouble? Did you miss me?”
“They helped me get settled, and the doctor even managed to make more of the medicine I need,” Conor said calmly, setting Eivaley down.
“That’s wonderful,” Eivaley nuzzled into Conor's chest, taking in the comforting smell of oil and gunsmoke rolling off him. To her joy, he placed his hand on the back of her head and ran his thumb along the last few of her short horns that end at her mid-neck, sending a soft pleasure through her spine.
“I’m glad you are alright,” Conor admitted, having not even told that to Vuraley over the last month. Conor had simply been taking it on the chin and acting like this was a contract, taking payment, and setting up everything for his new gig as her personal bodyguard. But even he had to admit he had taken a little bit of a shine to Eivaley.
How much he was willing to give up following this shining ruby had yet to be seen, which is why he was her assigned champion. He now had time to decide what he would do, save money, and act accordingly.
Eivaley looked up at him with adoration and lightly squealed. The simple admittance he missed her made every fiber of her heart scream in joy.
The two stood there, lost in each other's eyes. For those few moments, there was nothing else in the universe to the duo. The only thing that mattered was the person they were looking at and the comfort of knowing they were alive and well.
“Oi, warrior, I said grab Eivaley and get in the car; not look like you are about to undress her on the tarmac,” Vuraley shouted, yanking both of them back down to earth.
Conor looked back and saw Vuraley cross-armed, shaking his head with a shit-eating grin. So at least the man did not seem disappointed.
Conor just wished the other workers had not taken the First Champions' yelling as an indication of a spectacle to watch. Dozens of Kurlatra from all around the area had taken to watching the Fourth Princess embracing the Human, with a few taking pictures that undoubtedly would end up spreading like wildfire on the data net.
“Come on, Eivaley,” Conor said, turning around and taking her hand in his. He was not on Heavalun and knew that threatening these people would earn him no favors, as such a graceful exit would be prudent.
Eivaley had moved her tail and was about to wrap it around Conor's neck until Daddy silently glared at her and whipped his tail against the duracrete, reminding her of exactly what that action meant and how many people were watching.
With a slight grumble, Eivaley coiled her tail around Conor's waist and followed to the SUV. Wrapping one's tail around someone else's waist was considered far more socially acceptable for friends and other companions. In comparison, around one another's neck meant you two were mates and had or were waiting on your life coils to be imbued by a priest on your neck.
Once inside the plush SUV, Eivaley settled in next to Conor, rested her tail across their laps, and leaned into him. Conor relaxed, looked out the window, and waited for the rest of the convoy to be ready to roll, which did not take long.
Vuraley joined them in the SUV and made a radio call using a speaker built into the wall so the Convoy could start rolling out.
Conor looked around as they set off, as he would have on any other protection convoy. He scanned each face as they passed and watched their bodies for any signs that they may have a surprise: bombs, slug throwers, blasters, drones. The threats to a target as large as a dozen SUVs were uncountable, and Conor knew it.
But once Vuraley Caught onto what he was doing, he assured Conor that he could relax. When Conor turned to object, the older Kurlara explained that he was in their car to keep Eivaley safe from any of her sisters who wanted to attempt to knock her out of the running.
His reasoning was that while assassinating one of their brood who was higher in the running might be acceptable, killing the high champion was not, primarily because if they did kill him, the empress would not let them survive the night.
Vuraley then looked somewhat sullen as he explained the most common method of punishment for that would be summary execution by being drowned in the springs at the center of the palace gardens.
The strategy made Conor slightly chuckle. It was a tactic he would have never thought of, and the fact that Vuraley knew it would work meant he must have learned the hard way; his grim look alluded to that.
The other thing that Conor found slightly amusing but in a more cruel way was the punishment that the empress would give them. Apparently, it did not matter if you were a warlord, gang leader, head of a crime syndicate, or the empress of a species; the violently brutal punishments did not change.
Eivaley did not appreciate the ruthless chuckle, but once he explained why it was funny to him, she did not argue; even the princess could see the graveyard humor in it, even if it was no joke to her.
It took the convoy about an hour to reach the city’s outskirts. Once they did, crowds of Kurlatra waited for their arrival. Tens of thousands of the locals shouted in joy, welcoming the return of the fourth princess and the High Champion.
Even though the blast-resistant glass, the roar of the people shook the air in the cab. The ocean of Kurlatra carried hundreds of signs with names and even depictions of their faces.
There were hundreds of colors of scales and uncountable professions, including civilian and soldier alike. The full scope of the idolization of the royalty was only now fully coming into scope for Conor.
“I never expected you to be this famous,” Conor poked Eivaley in the side after seeing a body pillow of her being held high and proud, trying to add some comedy into a situation that would undoubtedly make his typical mantra of slinking in the shadows more difficult.
“I don’t want them to act like this,” Eivaley groaned, covering her eyes with her hands.
“Why not? They seem to love you,” Conor questioned.
Eivaley gestured somewhat violently at the crowd. “Because it's ridiculous. They just want me to be the next empress, and I have no desire to do that.”
Conor nodded and looked back out at the passing crowds as they passed more and more crowds of people. He took a moment to reflect on what he heard about Eivaley, how the people supported her, and even his grim past regarding people with near uncontrollable power.
“I’ve heard that would be a sign of a good leader,” Conor replied, parroting a lesson he had heard from Brakul.
“That is a wise thing to say,” Vuraley nodded.
Eivaley grumbled, disapproving of the comment. Conor was supposed to help her accomplish her goals, not support the populace. It was also disappointing that Daddy agreed with him.
The rest of the ride was silent, namely because when Conor thought about Brakul, he felt like he was about to vomit. The reality of his lost friend and father figure was something he was not ready to face.
Conor tightly grabbed Brakuls magnum in his pocket and watched the streets pass by, noting the drastic differences between this city and Heavalun.
Unlike Heavalun, Livayie’s streets were clean. The people were all smiles and wore clothes that were not in tatters. Not even the welcoming atmosphere could pull Conor from his sickly feeling.
The vast culture of the cityscape, from the statues, frescoes, immaculate shops, apartments, and luscious town squares, made him somewhat regret not having listened to all Vuraley had to say about it over the last month; learning about this place not as a reason to fight but to appreciate it might be a nice change of pace for his life.
Everything seemed perfect, And that only made the Human feel worse. Anything too good to be true likely was, and to him, this had to be. To try for some vindication, Conor focused on spotting some of the city's underbelly.
No matter how much Eivaley or Vuraley hyped up the capital, something had to be wrong, seedy, and illegal. It did not take Conor long until he spotted what he was after.
Down a side alley, they passed on a turn where two male Kurlatra lingered about and looked around for anyone watching. The pair of green-scaled lizards were sloppy and exchanged a cred-stick for a bag of something in board daylight. Conor could not tell what drug the one was hocking but knew a drug deal when he saw it.
locked eyes with him, gave him a smirk, with one of them flipping a knife in his hand.
That duo was part of the city's underground in some way, and seeing this place was not some utopia was, in an odd way, comforting for Conor. But those thoughts did not last long. Shortly after, the convoy rolled to a stop, the doors opened, and everyone exited into the palace courtyard.
It was grand and beyond anything Conor had ever seen in his travels. But with his mind lingering on Eivaley's sisters and the deaths of Brakul and Stitch, he hardly paid attention to the grand details throughout the tour.
Eivaley quickly noticed Conor's attitude and attempted to cheer him up, but after realizing something was wrong that she did not have the skills to address, she decided to let it lay and instead would just keep him company to his room.