Page 90 of Nansar
Following Ako and Helene through the palace corridors felt like walking through a gallery of impossible beauty. I couldn't stop staring, my eyes hungry for every detail, every shimmer of light on precious metal. The walls themselves were works of art—copper, gold, and something that looked like liquid silver caught mid-cascade, all inlaid in patterns that seemed to shift and breathe as we passed. Above us, intricate mosaics sprawled across vaulted ceilings, depicting what had to be pivotal moments in Alliance history: epic battles frozen in tile and stone, coronations of long-dead rulers, triumphs that had shaped the fate of civilizations.
Towering sculptures punctuated our path every few meters, carved from stone I'd never seen on Earth—deep purple veined with threads of purest white, or black as the void between stars but somehow translucent, as if you could peer through them into another dimension entirely. Massive arrangements of alien flowers, taller than Nansar's impressive height, filled alcoves carved into the walls. Their blooms released fragrances that made my head spin in the most intoxicating way—sweet and spicy and utterly foreign.
"This is incredible," I breathed, my fingers seeking Nansar's and threading through them like they belonged there. Like they'd always belonged there.
He squeezed my hand, and I could hear the pride warming his voice. "The palace has stood for over ten thousand years. Each Prime adds to it, leaves their mark on history."
"Your quarters will be in the east wing," Helene called over her shoulder, her tone casual despite the magnitude of what she was saying. "I've had them prepared for you."
My quarters. In an alien palace. With Nansar. The surreal reality of what my life had become crashed over me again, a wave of disbelief and wonder.
We rounded a corner into a grand hallway where the floor itself seemed to pulse with inner light, casting everything in a soft, otherworldly glow that made us all look like we were walking through a dream.
"The Prime is expecting us in her private chambers," my father said, his tone shifting into something more formal, more careful. He indicated a doorway at the far end of the corridor, flanked by guards who stood motionless as statues.
When those massive doors swung open, I was struck by the jarring contrast. The Prime's private chambers bore no resemblance to the imposing grandeur we'd just walked through. Instead, we stepped into a space that felt... lived in. Comfortable. Almost cozy.
A stone fireplace dominated one wall, flames dancing within and casting restless shadows across furniture that showed the gentle wear of years of use. The deep green velvet couch bore slight indentations where someone sat regularly—the same spot, over and over, until the cushions had molded to their shape. Armchairs were upholstered in fabric that had faded in places from sunlight and time, and woven blankets draped over their backs in casual disarray. The rugs underfoot were thick and plush, worn smooth along pathways between seating areas—evidence of countless hours of pacing, thinking, wrestling with the weight of worlds.
Books were everywhere, stacked on side tables in haphazard towers, some with markers tucked between pages as if she'd been interrupted mid-chapter and fully intended to return. A half-finished cup of tea sat on a low table, still steaming, releasing the scent of something herbal and soothing into the air. The walls displayed art and small treasures rather than the formal portraits and historical artifacts that dominated the public spaces—personal mementos that spoke of a life lived, not just a position held.
A figure rose from behind a desk positioned near the window, backlit by the twin suns of Calpa, and my breath caught.
The Alliance Prime was breathtaking in a way that transcended conventional beauty.
She was Vaktaire, like Ahrick, with a pale pelt that shimmered in the firelight—cream-colored with the faintest whisper of silver where the light caught her just right. Thick dark braids were woven atop her head in an elaborate pattern that formed a crown more regal than any metal circlet could ever hope to achieve. But it was her eyes that truly captivated me—golden irises that seemed to glow with their own inner fire, set against a deep blue sclera that reminded me of Earth's ocean at twilight. They held an intelligence and warmth that immediately eased the knot of anxiety in my chest, despite the obvious power she wielded.
She wore flowing robes of purple, red, and teal that moved around her like water, the colors blending and shifting with each graceful step. The garments were clearly formal, befitting her station as leader of the Alliance, yet they draped with a comfortable ease that suggested she'd chosen them for more than mere ceremony.
"Welcome," she said, her voice rich and melodious, carrying the weight of authority softened by genuine warmth. She came around the desk with fluid grace. "You must be Chloe." Those remarkable eyes settled on me, crinkling at the corners with what looked like amusement. "Welcome to Calpa."
Then her gaze shifted to Nansar, and the atmosphere in the room changed. The warmth remained, but it was joined by something harder—a flash of steel that reminded me this woman commanded the loyalty of entire worlds. And beneath that, something that looked almost like sorrow, or perhaps regret.
The moment stretched taut as a wire, tension building with each passing second. I felt Nansar go rigid beside me, everymuscle in his body tensing. "Lady Prime," he offered, bowing his head with careful respect.
She studied him for another long moment, and I found myself holding my breath, my heart hammering against my ribs. This woman held absolute power here. One word from her, one command, and she could send him back to Palaydium. Everything we'd fought for, everything we'd survived together, every moment of pain and triumph that had brought us to this point—all of it could be torn apart with a single decree.
What if she didn't believe in second chances? What if she looked at him and saw only the crimes documented in his file, not the man he'd become? Not the man who'd kept me alive, who'd protected me, who'd chosen me over everything?
I squeezed his hand tighter, my heart pounding so hard I was certain everyone in the room could hear it. I wouldn't let them take him. I didn't care who she was or what authority she wielded. We were bonded. He was mine, and I was his, and nothing—not laws, not politics, not the weight of entire civilizations—would separate us.
"Welcome, Nansar," the Prime said finally, and the hardness in her gaze melted into something that looked like understanding, perhaps even compassion. "Please, sit." She gestured to the comfortable seating arranged around the fireplace. "I spend enough time being formal in the council chambers. Here, we can speak freely."
We settled onto the plush seating, the fabric impossibly soft beneath me. Nansar and I claimed a loveseat that kept us close—close enough that I felt the steady rhythm of his breathing, the warmth of his body anchoring me. Ako and Helene took seats across from us, their postures relaxed but attentive, while Dad remained standing near where the Prime settled into her chair. Ever the guardian. Ever watchful.
The Prime reached for a delicate crystal bell on the side table. When she rang it, the sound that emerged was pure and delicate, like wind chimes made of starlight. Before the last note faded, a door I hadn't even noticed—cleverly concealed in the wall's ornate paneling—whispered open. A tiny female with skin the color of a summer sky entered, balancing a tray laden with refreshments. She moved with practiced grace, setting everything on the coffee table before vanishing as silently as she'd appeared.
"Please, help yourselves," the Prime said, her movements fluid as she poured herself a cup of tea. Steam rose from the liquid, carrying with it a scent that reminded me of honey and something floral I couldn't quite place. "I find these conversations go better with something warm to drink." Those blue-gold eyes—ancient and knowing—fixed on my face with laser focus. "Tell me about Declan Hewes."
The name alone sent ice through my veins. I drew in a breath, feeling Nansar's hand find mine and squeeze reassuringly. "On Earth, I was an FBI agent—a law enforcement officer," I explained, catching the slight arch of her eyebrow. "I was working a case involving human trafficking. Young women were disappearing without a trace, and all the evidence pointed to one man: Declan Hewes."
The Prime leaned forward, and suddenly I understood what it meant to have someone's complete attention. It was like being caught in a spotlight, but not an uncomfortable one. She listened with her entire being.
"I got too close to the truth," I continued, my voice steadier than I felt. "Too close to proving his involvement, to bringing him down. So he had me kidnapped." The words tasted bitter. "He held me prisoner for eighteen months."
Beside me, Nansar's grip on my hand turned almost painful. I felt the fury rolling off him in waves, a storm barelycontained. A low, dangerous growl rumbled deep in his chest—a sound that would have terrified me once, but now only made me feel protected. Across the room, Dad's jaw clenched so hard I could see the muscle jumping. His hands balled into fists at his sides, knuckles bleaching white.
"Cullen," the Prime said softly, and there was something in her tone—understanding, perhaps, or shared pain. Their eyes met, and I witnessed a wordless exchange, something deeper than I could interpret.
