Through her years of practice as a diplomat and experience navigating the fickle politics of the Kurlatra empire, Eivaley did not just excel; no, she shined with the sun's radiance.
Like her mother, she exuded a radiant presence everyone in the room could feel. It was warm, violent, yet controlled. She might not have believed herself to be the empress, but everyone within the bunker did—well, save for one.
From Conor's point of view, he saw a woman of reverence. Eivaley was everything he saw in her and then some. She was flawless even after being covered in blood, tired, and beaten down by the witty battle of words with high command.
Nothing in the universe could compare to her perfection. Conor could have all the credits in the universe, and he would give it all away just to hold her close once. He could not help but smile, knowing she was his and he was hers.
It took Eivaley only a few minutes to have the Kurlatra army and airforce under her control. They followed her will to the letter.
The army would quickly move to cordon off the capital and suppress uprisings across the planet. She did make it explicitly known they were to do their absolute best to attempt to have rioters and dissidents surrender. Eivelay still did not want to order endless slaughter and made it clear that anyone who did so would have Conor to answer to.
While the army would deal with the battles on the ground, the airforce would ground every aircraft in the star system. Every stellar cruiser, jet airliner, fighter craft, and even the smallest drone would be forced to land within the hour. No one but those under Eivaleys order would be allowed to so much as jump until she gave the word.
Controlling the sky was something Conor had not even considered as vital to their efforts. He understood that airpower was essential to turning the tides of battle. If one held control of the air, odds were you would come out victorious on the ground; all of history pointed to that being the case.
Conor just did not comprehend how much dominating the air would affect the tides of battle. He thought in terms of ground warfare. Having him understand the complexities of air battles would be like trying to teach a brick chess.
As his paramour shined like a quasar, Conor prepared for the near-endless night ahead of him. The first matter of business was more carnal than most would assume the Lord of War to take: water. Conor slammed back a bottle of ice-cold liquid ichor before even reloading his magazines.
Until the glorious liquid caressed his pallet, Conor had not realized the extent of his dehydration. His mouth ran red with blood as innumerable cracks opened when the floods crossed them. To him, that feeling was nothing new. He had choked on his blood dozens of times, hell, even once while Eivaley lugged him from an APC. This was just another time he pushed his body to the absolute limit.
Once he tossed the bottle in the trash, Conor turned his attention to two men he knew would fight side by side with him without question. They were loyal, trained by himself and Vuraley; other than himself, there were no other fighters on the planet who could handle any weapon, face any foe, and believed that they were truly better than anyone in the field of combat.
Conor knew his two bodyguards better than anyone else in the universe—other than Eivaley and Fae. He knew those two women in ways Vitul and Cur’sh would never know. It did not matter how many nights they drank beer together or how many training days they clocked; that was one gap those two men would never bridge.
Conor liked them; he might dare say he loved the two idiots as brothers. By Urla, he was glad he had these two brave men by his side. Sure, they tried to stay in the bunker and not go out and fight, but the reason was understandable; they both had families to return to and avoiding combat was only natural. But they relented after Conor reminded them that he had Eivaley and was still getting back in the fight.
Did he also mention how he would be sure to inform their kids and wives that they cowered in the bunker while he valiantly fought? He might have. Conor made special efforts to prospect what their dozens of kids would think of them at the end of the day.
Just as he had assumed, the idea of their kids calling Uncle Conor a hero and not them was just the kick in the ass they needed.
“Fine, fine, we will go with,” Vitul groaned, patting Conor’s shoulder while heading to the armory to get the combat load Conor had asked them to.
“Besides, if we did not go with you, Eivaley would kill us,” Cur’sh laughed, stepping beside Conor.
Vitul laughed in the hallway, having heard the joke from a distance, but Cur’sh lingered until their friend was out of earshot. Conor wondered momentarily why the man remained, but the stern look on his face informed him that it was not to take another jab at him.
“Alright, big guy, while we get our gear on, I have a mission for you,” Cur’sh said flatly, not a hint of his typical jovial attitude in his voice.
“So what, I’m taking orders from you now?” Conor replied, not with any malice but just genuine confusion.
The sudden shift in Cur’sh’s demeanor was honestly shocking; Conor had never seen the man look like anything but a goof. That he was behaving like he was about to go tell Conor to run through a known minefield was borderline disturbing.
“Nah, man, nothing like that. I just have some advice for you,” Cur’sh replied.
Conor raised a brow but did not interrupt the man's explanation. When he had first arrived, he would have told him to pound sand, but now, after Vuraley had injected wisdom into him and Eivaley had softened his approach to others, he heard the man out.
“While we are getting ready, go talk to Eivaley. She will need it,” Cur’sh gestured down the hall.
From the ajar door, Eivaley could be heard still commanding the Kurlatra military. She proudly ordered others and filled her role as the temporary empress to the letter.
“What do you mean?” Conor asked.
From Conor's point of view, Eivaley seemed to be doing fine. She had killed someone, and that would haunt her, but she was in no way breaking down as he had seen so many others do when faced with the reality of slaughtering their kin. The fact that she was still coherent and could keep calm while commanding thousands of soldiers was proof enough of that.
What else would matter? She was safe, and he would go stack bodies. Both would fulfill their role in life to the best of their abilities. Does he need to talk to her before he goes?
“Dude. I get that you are dense, but she is your wife, your Lady. You are about to go to war and need to talk to her about it. I wish I had back then,” Cur’sh said, trailing off toward the end, his shoulders seeming to slump.
“What do you mean you wish you had?” Conor asked, patting his friend's shoulder, clearly able to see how much this topic upset him.
Cur’sh looked down at his feet and sighed, taking a moment to put together his thoughts.
When Conor and Eivaley visited his family, he made it very clear they were not to talk about combat, war, or anything remotely similar.
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At the time, Conor wondered why because Cur’sh was more than willing to talk about his deployments when he was away from his family. But at home, he refused to, for damn good reason. To say that his first deployment was a rough spot in his and Juyila, his wife and Lady’s relationship, was putting it lightly.
At the time, he thought nothing of going off to war. It was what was expected of men, so why would his leaving cause any problems? But after he left, had not contacted Juyila for nearly two months, and returned after taking a blaster bolt to the neck, he saw the full scope of how his absence and lack of communication affected her.
For months—no to this day Juyila was paranoid about him leaving for extended periods of time. Each time he was leaving for a deployment, she would get increasingly clingy, horrified that when he left, it would be the last time she saw the love of her life.
No matter how much he attempted to assure her that that first deployment was a fluke, she did not care. She was still horrified about his untimely death being right around the corner.
While Cur'sh did not consider himself a wise man, he had trodden the path Conor was about to walk. If he could in any way help his friend from making the mistakes he had, he would do so.
“Look, brother, I will tell you what this is about once we are through this. Just go and say goodbye to her—for her sake,” Cur’sh sighed.
He paused and looked down the hall to see if someone was listening as if he would be embarrassed by someone hearing what he was about to say. He continued once he was confident they were not being listened in on.
“You might not care about you dying, but she does. You get it?” Cru’sh finished, tapping his head to emphasize the question.
Before Conor could respond to the man, Cur’sh had already walked off. He knew that Conor would understand. The Human might be dense and slow sometimes, but he would do what was needed for her sake. Even if he did not truly get what was being told, he would still go talk to Eivaley, and she would say what needed to be said, so he did. She wore her heart on her sleeve; there was no way she would not make it understandable for him.
—
Eivaley stood in front of Conor outside the command center. She had left several troopers there to continue monitoring the progress of the veteran units and whatever loyalists were in the area.
He had pulled her out of there, saying he needed to talk to her. She was reluctant to follow; she already had a sinking feeling in her gut that it was about him leaving the bunker to go fight.
She felt that if she did not talk to him, he would not leave. Conor would stay in the bunker, safe and sound, but she knew Conor too well; of course, he would go out there and stack more bodies.
She might have taken the man from Heavalun, but Heavalun was in his blood. He had made significant steps to completely forget that place and firmly place it in his past, but that was a journey of a million light years, and he had only taken a single step. It would be many years before the palace was his home, but someday, through her efforts, Conor would find absolute comfort in her embrace.
She was glad he felt a resonating connection with her deep enough to talk to her about what was on his mind, even if it weighed on him like an anchor. Her paramour looked awkwardly between her and the wall. Each time he did, his eyes would flicker between settings, their color changing between his typical verdant green, a glowing yellow, and the infernal red she occasionally saw.
She had noticed that his eyes did that whenever he felt uncomfortable or threatened by anything. Conor had explained that it was due to many of his body's functions having semi-automated activation. That meant that they would activate when AI worked those systems believed he was in danger.
Eivaley did not entirely understand the feeling, but she had begun to think of it similarly to how she twiddles her tail while nervous. It was simply something she could not control unless she made a conscious effort not to.
Conor even agreed that they would not if he was actively focusing on keeping those threat-alleviating functions deactivated. That he was not doing so was evidence to Eivaley that whatever was on his mind must be weighing heavily, demanding his wholehearted focus.
Eivaley reached up and ran her hand along Conor's jaw, her claws tinking against the cold metal. She smiled and guided his eyes to look right at her. “What is it, my love?”
Her little invitation was all it took; Conor leaned into her touch, clasping her hand with his. She watched as his nervousness melted away and his gentle appreciation replaced his unassuredness. He smiled as gently as a satin curtain fluttering in the breeze—a smile that infected her as well.
Many months ago, Conor only thought of her as a little brat of a princess, someone who was no better than the other assholes in charge of Heavalun. He had tried to use her, get his rocks off, and essentially blackmail his now mentor, Vuraley, into paying him a large sum for her return.
Now, he could not picture his life without her. Her dreams were his, her will was his orders, and her heart was his.
Back then, Eivaley thought of him as little more than a concept. He was nothing more than the idea of a strong man who would protect her valiantly; he was a gallant fantasy. Now, she saw him, genuinely him, not the monikers, titles, or rules that life had imposed upon his existence.
Conor was a sensitive soul, anchored to reality by countless bodies, regrets, and an animalistic desire to prevent others from becoming him.
Despite this, she saw the man who held her like she would be broken by a single wrong move. For her, he was not the Wolf of Heavalun, God Slayer, Lord of War, or the Dog of Eivaley; he was just Conor. A mere mortal man beaten down by life yet still able to smile, wipe away her tears, and assure her everything would be alright.
He might value her over others, but his actions showed his care for all he met. He trained others despite constantly complaining about doing so. He mentored his guards to become truly great men. He had even given Eivaley and Mulaney the means to guard themselves from the dark and endless hatred of others.
Without his vigilance, neither Eivaley nor Mulaney would still have beating hearts. His valiant desire to protect and guard others, yet his understanding of his limitations, gave them the chance they needed to survive this night.
Conor and Eivaley had significantly grown since meeting; thank Urla. Their growth made the following conversation far less awkward than it had to be. Both, in simple terms, showed their hearts to the other. There was no need for flashy bravado or pomp of regality.
“I love you, Eivaley,” Conor whispered, pulling her closer and letting their breaths mingle.
‘I love you no matter the distance between us, and even after we are both gone, my love will burn, waiting for us to be joined again in the endless deserts,” Eivaley whispered, wrapping her tail around Conor's neck.
Eivaley could not help but glow like a star. She snuggled against her man, savoring each bass-filled heartbeat. Her understanding that he could be gone come the morning did not matter. He was hers, and these moments should be cherished.
Cherishing that moment, she indeed did, as did he.
They stood there, uncaring of the soldiers flowing past them for several minutes. No trooper dared interrupt them. Most of the soldiers understood that Conor was trying to express to her his fear of returning on a riderless black, while the others simply ducked away from a pair of individuals they thought as divine.
“I will come back,” Conor said, not knowing how to broach a topic like this without being direct.
“You can’t promise me that,” Eivaley sniveled, burying her head in his shoulder.
Eivaley's heart sank, and her body deflated from her fears coming true. They had made it; they were safe, so why would Conor ever want to leave? Sure, he was a notable fighter and well-known as a man dedicated to the craft of violence.
The veterans had requested his help at the front gate, but she still did not want him to go. They could handle themselves; they did not need to take him away from her. She needed him, now and always.
Conor sighed, knowing that Eivaley was right. He could not promise to return. War was violent, unpredictable, and chaotic. One millimeter of movement could spell the difference between life and death when bullets were flying.
Despite his understanding of battle's chaos, he wished to defy it for her sake. He was the Lord of War, the Dog of Eivaley. If anyone could rally the troops around the palace, find her parents, and skin her sister alive all in one night, it was him.
“You can't promise me that it will all be alright. Please say something else,” Eivaley clutched his shoulders.
Conor slumped his shoulders and held her tighter, not wanting the moment to fade. He understood why Cru’sh told him he must talk to her before leaving. All of his life, he had next to no one he cared about, now feeling her trembling body and agony in her voice stabbed him in the heart.
He did not wish to leave; he yearned to remain by her side until the end of the days. But he understood his role in this war. Remaining by her side would only lead to more deaths than was needed.
“I will finish this, and I need you to help me from here,” Conor whispered, wanting to show her how he needed her to do her best while he did his. “Can you do that for me?”
She sniffled and looked up at him while Conor wiped a tear from her eye. Her lips slightly tilted in not what looked like a forced smile, but it seemed like she was swallowing the reality of him diving headfirst into danger.
“I will,” Eivaley replied before licking Conor on the cheek.
With that final word, Conor kissed Eivaley's cheek, and they separated. Both went to their stations in the battle, Eivaley resuming command and Conor taking the fight to the enemy.
They would do all they could to return to one another and show that they were there for their paramour; despite the fire burning in their chests and their willingness to do what must be done in their souls, taking those few steps away hurt. It left them feeling cold and alone, enough so that they both looked back and shared one last glance at their reason for fighting.