The underbrush was thick, and barely a fleck of the red and blue moons orbiting the Kurlatra homeworld were barely visible through the boughs. When combined with the vibrant pastels of the garden, the iron and corundum of the two surfaces reflected a gentle shifting kaleidoscope.
Reds, blues, yellows, oranges, and greens all shifted in and out of sight as the plants gently swayed like dances in the breeze.
Conor pushed his servos to the limit, bounding through the undergrowth. He leaped across growing beds and lawns and swerved around trees. Despite his nearly three-hundred kilograms weight, he was like a ghost.
The only sound Conor made while taking his long strides was the soft rustling of the trees, which was perfect because it allowed his enhanced senses to hear the sounds of Eivaley's painful sobs.
Through the brush and the chirping of nocturnal insects, Eivaley's sobs were nearly silent. It was as if the sound had to travel across the entire universe just so he could hear the slightest note of her lonesome song.
Even at a low tone, Conor's heartbeat was drowning it out; hearing Eivaley cry felt like a vibroblade through the ribs. Each time she sniffled, a sharp, shooting pain pierced his chest.
In his soul, Conor knew Eivaley was crying because of him—because he kept pushing her away. Eivaley had tried multiple times daily for nearly a month to reach out.
She would greet him every morning, exercise, and eat by his side. Between her own errands, which he escorted her to, she would still reassure him that life would work out.
Why had he been like that? Conor was not that stupid. He had dated and had short-term relationships with plenty of women. Fuck, he and Fae were in an on and off again relationship for years.
Those relationships had never needed more than what he was giving her. Conor was with Eivaley, helping her where she needed it and even listening to most of her issues. He wondered what was wrong?
As he skidded onto a cobbled path and tracked Eivaley's cooling footprints, he realized what was wrong.
Eivaley was not just trying to fuck like most of those women, nor was she attempting to just use him like Fae was. For Fae, Conor was a means to an end. Namely, the gangs would no longer steal from her shop, nor would the junkies try to fuck her. Conor was a means to an end at the end of the day, and Fae was a businesswoman.
Eivaley, in contrast, meant it when she said she wanted to hear from him. They were not hollow words or useless flattery.
She was the first woman to try to dig into Conor and learn all the darkness swelling inside him. Her prying, his rejection, and his confiding in Eyurali must have hurt.
It might as well have been a betrayal of all her work. She had given everything to him, someone she cared for despite his distance.
By Urla, if someone had done what Conor did to her to him—he would have killed them. But not Eivaley; she had run away, bawling her eyes out.
Urla dammit. Conor had treated it all like fake smiles with a loaded gun behind them. He was suspicious of Eivaley. With her ability to read his soul, there is no way she did not feel betrayed.
Eivaley knew assuredly Conor was putting up a front for the nobles. That she understood his heart and soul must have felt like a twisting knife to the gut.
Realizing this, Conor pressed on faster, the chilly air burning his lungs. The sound of Eivaley grew louder with each footstep.
He was surprised she had traveled such a distance in the time she had. Eivaley had never run half this fast while she trailed him during training, and she looked ragged at those times.
Thank Urla, it did not take long for Conor to find Eivaley. His Charge—no, his woman by a large pool of water in the garden's center.
Eivaley sat atop the coping surrounding the pool. The moons reflected brightly on the glasslike surface. The border area surrounding the pool was filled with bright, blood-red flowers that glowed in the breeze.
Eivaley looked angelic and made Conor's heart ache with desire. It was like she was a creature of myth that sat near the edge of oceans, luring sailors in with her beauty. Crying or not, the halo of colors surrounding her red scales and long, flowing golden robes made Eivaley look like the most precious treasure in the world.
Conor slowed his run to a walk as he neared her. As he approached, Eivaley looked up from her palms at him. She looked horrified to see Conor. Her usually loving gaze overflowed with fear, uncertainty, and concern.
“What? Are you here to rub in that you are leaving?” Eivaley implored, somewhat wishing that to be true.
She said he should leave, but this was not true. Eivaley wanted Conor to be hers, to show that he would live and die for her.
She had tried to be blunt and just convince him to be hers. She had been with Conor day in and day out for over a month, yet he refused to speak openly to her.
Initially, Eivaley was patient, believing her man just needed time. But, the moment Conor was in front of the Empress, he spilled his guts. Eivaley did not want to consider it a betrayal of her trust, but she could not call it anything else.
Sitting down next to her, Conor reached over to grab her hand. Eivaley noticed this and pulled her hand away. “Don't you act like everything is alright,”
That simple act of her recoiling from him felt like a dagger to Conor. He had no idea how genuinely hurt Eivaley was, but he needed to fix this. Conor was a simple man and emotionally stunted for all intents and purposes.
He acted like an animal in a cage, not a man needing help. Having treated Eivaley as he had did not help him or her.
Swallowing his pride, Conor knew he had to open up, but fear of what that ultimately meant for him screamed in his ear as he moved.
“I know it's not,” Conor sighed, sliding closer and wrapping an arm around Eivaley.
With ease, Conor tugged Eivaley into his lap, setting her down so she could sit across his legs. She looked up at Conor and tried to glare at him, but Conor's intense stare back broke her.
That gentle, caring look in his eye was the same one Conor had when he strapped body armor onto her before dragging her through the Heavalun streets.
She could see the real Conor in that brief moment, not the facade he had put up for everyone else.
Eivaley could see past the augmetics, the armor, weapons, and his imposing bulk. When Conor looked at her like that, she could imagine the two of them on the far side of the planet, sitting in front of their home, overlooking a vast ocean of crops they tended to.
It was just a dream, but it seemed as tangible to her as his hands moving up her back and supporting her. But that dream could not be a reality for them. She was a princess and had so many expectations imposed on her.
Unless all of her sisters died, Eivaley would never be safe; they would never be capable of settling down, leaving all of this behind, and finding joy in one another's lives.
“I’m sorry I upset you,” Conor whispered, leaning down and nuzzling his head against Eivaley's snout.
“No, you are not,” Eivaley argued, trying to not have her tail wag in excitement from Conor snuggling up to her. “You would have told me how you feel long ago if you did.”
“I am,” Conor replied. “I did not think about what you would feel from me talking to your mother about my past.”
That did not soothe Eivaley's damaged trust. She pouted more and looked out across the pond, trying to give Conor a stern yet upset front.
That was just what Conor loved about his little ruby, her attitude. She wore it on her sleeve every second when it was just the two. It was attractive to Conor, making her as sweet as candy.
He, like her, had a front that could never falter in public. An easy-to-understand example was how she stood by with Vuraley while Conor and Euyurali danced slowly. Eivaley swallowed her pride and stood tall despite seeing her man and mother dance hurt.
But when their time ended, she was off into the gardens, her safe space to cry where no one would witness her cracking facade. She had retreated to a place where no one would care about her sobbing or feeling sorry for herself.
While recalling the events of his and the empress’ dance, a detail stood up and punched Conor in the nose. Eyurali had mentioned Conor would need to know how to dance but was vague about why.
Now, it made sense. Apparently, not only was the daughter a master manipulator—but the mother was as well.
Conor shuffled Eivaley off his lap, something Eivlaey initially started to argue about through a series of chippering sobs. However, that stopped when her Human turned about and extended a palm to her, his long sash draping over him like waterfalls of light.
“Would you like to dance?” Conor offered, unsure how to ask beyond that. But Conor did understand that dancing was significant to the Kurlatra and meant an opportunity to be intimate.
Eivaleys words caught tight in her throat. The sight of the man she was enamored with shining under the twin moons and offering her a hand crushed all semblance of her demure, regal attitude.
Eivlaley could not help but recall her imagined image of Conor months ago in the nightclub. The time when she imagined Conor was a knight of old offering a hand to his lady. His metal arm looked more like a full plate than the necessary augment it was.
The young Kurlatra princess did not think of it at the time, but amidst the tales of the first empress was one not too unlike this.
When Nikitals, the first champion, and Eyalta, the first empress, had met, it was not because of his crushing enemies before her. No Eyalta was at the time a slave, a young lady who was rejected by her at the time master.
Nikitals had found her out near a riverbank, sobbing, cast away, and rejected. At the time, thousands of years ago, he had offered the first empress a hand and a dance.
Granted, as a slave knight, the man only knew one dance—the same one Conor knew now that Eyurali had taught him.
Once again, it was as if the gods were guiding Conor and Eivaley's hearts and souls to have their tales rhyme with those of antiquity. The pair were taking another baby step towards their destiny and another tentative stride closer to one another's hearts.
“I would,” Eivaley replied, taking Conor's hand.
With the soft, controlled elegance of a man of a million galas, Conor led Eivaley into his embrace. Mirroring his dance earlier, Conor moved his hands to support and guide her while she nearly hung off his muscular frame, leaning on him for each future move of their dance.
With beatific steps, Conor and Eivaley allowed the moon's light to drape around them, wrapping them in luminous rays, giving each an angelic presence. Slowly but surely, as if their heartbeats and breaths were music, a rhythmic yet calming serenade formed between their gates. Eaches body was singing softly to their paramour, assuring them of eternity by one another's side.
They drifted around the garden's wide opening; Eivaleys tail brushed against the glowing flowers around the border, sending loose petals drifting in the breeze around them. Each flame-like petal flew high into the sky like a lazy tornado of sparks.
“You can put your tail around my neck,” Conor breathed, knowing Eivaley likely wanted to.
“Conor, you know I can’t do that,” Eivaley blushed, leaning her head against Conor's broad chest.
“No one is around,” Conor replied, knowing the reason was because she was fearful of others seeing them.
With his enhanced senses, Conor knew not even a mouse could see them. They were truly alone in the universe for these few moments. No one could stop them from doing what they wanted, namely, in this case, Eivaley.
While Conor was still unsure of staying forever, the idea was growing on him, especially after seeing how much his guarded distance had affected his little ruby. If Conor could give her this amount of comfort for now, he would, even understanding it would draw him closer to someone than he had ever allowed himself.
“That, and I want you to,” Conor added, kissing the top of her snout.
Eivaley nearly stumbled over her own feet, hearing Conor admit that. She was still under the impression that he had no real interest in staying. But like a true Champion, Conor stopped, prevented her from falling, and smiled softly at her. “Are you alright?”
“I am,” Eivaley replied, resuming their dance.
As naturally as breathing, Eivaley ran her tail up Conor's spine, coiling it like a viper around his throat. At the same time, he pulled her tighter, ensuring there was nothing but molecules between their bodies.
Conors warm embrace, firm guidance, and assured confidence bled through their clothes; it filled Eivaley with a confidence and assurance she had never known.
Her mother and sister said she would know what the love of a Champion would be someday, but until now, she has never comprehended what they mean.
It was as if all weight had left her body, and she was protected against all threats. Conr was a bulwark against all darkness. A stalwart station against any danger.
Not even her sisters could breathe on her if Conor was beside her. Conor was her champion, man, hero, knight, and love.
The only downside to this that they both understood was the context of their relationship for the time being.
With Conor's demons howling for his blood, the expectations they both had and especially Eivaley having the church ruling her life, this was a relationship just between them.
This was all they could be until Conor was ready to bring everything into the light. Defey, all the Kurlatra wished and would wage war against thousands of years of expectations.
They could only have a private dance, an embrace in the shadows. Similar to how both knew they wanted a simple life that was not their destiny, this small moment was all they could grasp.
They could become Champion and Lady. But to be one another's love with no political strings attached—never. It was impossible, but for now, they could pretend.
By the time their second trip around the small pond was coming to an end, Eivaley had almost accepted that as reality. But Conor proved himself to be far the more cunning man than she had ever thought and admitted something to Eivaley that not even her mother was permitted to know.
In truth, what Conor said to Eivaley next was something that not even the revered Brakul had ever known. At least the first part.
“I remember my mother,” Conor admitted, not even thinking about what he was saying.
Having Eivaley this close to him was like unlocking the Pandora box that was his heart. She had the key all along, but finding him caused him to expound beyond what he knew possible.
“I thought you didn’t,” Eivaley replied, remembering what Conor had told her mother.
“I lied,” Conor said, turning them around to circumvent the pond once again and taking a moment to scan the area. "I have never told anyone about her."
Eivaley waited with bated breath, knowing Conor was once again assuring they were alone. He had done so every few moments, something she understood but detested he must do. If any other nobles saw them being so close, it would undoubtedly cause a planet-wide scandal.
Conor looked back down at her once he knew they were alone. “Her name was Judith. I think my father's name was Micheal.”
“You think?” Eivaley questioned.
“Yeah,” Conor nodded, not giving the man any more credence than that.
Before Eivaley could question the bluntness about his father, yet the haunting remembrance of his mother, Conor went on to explain all he knew about his early life before meeting Brakul.
Conor was born in Heavalun and was quickly swept up in crime. While he did not know the details of his early life, no one was expected to remember his birth and baby years; what he did was horrifying.
Conor could recall vivid memories that made him shudder against Eivlay, his mother and father fighting over drugs, yelling and screaming at one another, his father beating him, and the ultimate betrayal of him as their kin.
They sold Conor to Voodal. His parents were in debt to the croaker and used him for collateral.
While Conor could not recall everything Voodal made him do to pay off his parent's debt, he did remember being tossed into a ring to battle animals to death at the ripe age of five.
His descriptions of the battles were haunting, to say the least. It was as if the memories were bound to his soul and burned into his mind. Conor could recall each creature's screams, roars, and cries, and they fought before an adoring crowd.
The aliens would hoop and holler, cheating on the Human and his bloodlust. Conor would use everything he could to rip the creatures to shreds. Conor would gouge out eyes, bite their throats just to have some food in his stomach, and use their own claws to gore the beasts.
He did not understand anything but violence at the time; Conor might as well have been feral for several years of his life. Until Brakul arrived.
Brakul, though just being a young stud of a ganger, through some means, managed to get Conor out of his parent's debt and freed him.
That was just the beginning of their lives as street rats, slummers, gangers, and contract killers, hand in hand as friends, allies, brothers, and an odd father-son duo.
The rest was history. Everything else was something Conor knew Eivaley knew and did not recount. Instead, he sighed and looked up into the stars as if he were looking for Urla to forgive him for his youth.
“I’m sorry you went through that,” Eivaley said as Conor slowed their dance.
“I’m not. Without all that—” Conor paused and tilted Eivaley's chin up, pausing for several seconds before sinking down and kissing her.
She did not have the means to kiss as a human did and instead just clung to him as his soft lips enraptured her presence. Eivaley made no attempt to change what her Human was doing. It meant something to him that to her was beyond alien, but that he cared enough to show her affection was a plentiful bounty.
“I never would have found you,” Conor finished, breaking the kiss.
Eivaley melted hearing Conor's words of assurance. She knew a sentiment that intimate was only reserved for her. No one would ever know the details of his past like she now knew, and Eivaley adored that reality.
“Come on, it is getting late,” Conor stepped back, leaving Eivaley feeling colder and more alone than ever.
It was as if the only warmth she had ever known had been ripped away. Not having Conor hold her made it feel like she had been given a chair for the first time and now must stand.
“Will you take me to bed?” Eivaley asked, nearly begging Conor to not leave her alone.
The look he gave her said a million words in a picosecond. Conor wanted beyond everything to say yes, to snuggle with her and hold her close for eternity. Still, the pain in his eyes also communicated the limitations of them being able to be together publicly—for now.
“I will take you to your room,” her Human replied, hating that he could not publicly say he wished to be hers forever.
Eivaley nodded, removed her tail from Conor's neck, and secured it around his waist, understanding his position and hers. Even though removing her tail felt like she was ripping her tail off.
Conor escorted Eivaley back to her room. They were silent as they drifted through the halls of the palace. Would some of the nobles have wondered where they went? Sure, but most were too drunk to care this late in the night. As such, they only had to wave at a few servants throughout their half-hour march to Eivaleys room.
“Are—are you sure you won't come in?” Eivaley pleaded, wishing for nothing more than Conor to warm her bed.
She genuinely meant that statement of nothing more. Eivaley did not wish to impose more strife or issues on Conor than he did. If he simply wanted to join her in the divot that was her traditional Kurlatra resting place—so be it. Even if she felt flushed and ready for him now, she could endure that if he stayed.
Conor meekly smiled at Eivaley, understanding what she meant but unwilling to damage her reputation or cause her issues. It was a shame she was a princess. Otherwise, Conor would gladly join her.
Very much like her, Conor yearned for a warm embrace, someone to be there for him. But now, with all the nobles drunkenly stumbling about the halls, was not the time to breach that step in their relationship.
“Maybe tomorrow,” Conor nuzzled her, enjoying the soft perfume rolling off her scales.
He could not tell her a firm no because of his desires but did not want to assure her of a time when it would happen. He knew it would be soon; an exact time frame was something he just could not imagine at this point.
“Very well—my Champ—” Eivaley started, planning on calling Conor her Champion. A title she had always assumed she wanted him to be, but now she was unsure.
Conor had spewed his guts to her and told her things no one should ever know about him. Eivaley felt a closeness to the man she never thought possible. Calling Conor a Champion was not right. He was Conor—her Conor, as she was his ruby.
“I will see you in the morning, Conor,” Eivaley smiled, stepping inside and closing the door, finding calling him by his name to be far more intimate than the title he had to use.
“Yeah, Eivaley,” Conor smiled back as the door closed, leaving him alone in the hall.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it