by Ada Harper
Galen’s brows furrowed, as if he begrudged the effort of thought. “It...is possible I may be drunk in more than one language.”
Olivia was certain that wasn’t what he’d said, but she had to agree with the sentiment. She sighed and plucked the bottle out of his hands—an easy task at the moment. She sniffed the bottle before taking a small sip. It burned but left a faint herbal aftertaste that wasn’t half-bad. She felt Galen’s eyes follow the line of her throat as she swallowed. It was difficult to look bored under that gaze. “I’d say you’re quickly passing drunk into wasted.”
“Heresy,” Galen mumbled. “This is spesic. No man wastes a drop.”
Olivia bit the smile between her teeth. “You’re a witty drunk, just my luck.”
“Am I? Words are easy, pay me no mind,” Galen said. Olivia fought the urge to disagree with him. There was nothing more difficult than words for her. But Galen had always had a font of them at hand. He blinked at her once, twice. “What kind of drunk are you?”
“A private one. I don’t drink in front of anybody,” she said and took another sip. Galen’s eyes followed the motion heavily.
Olivia looked down as she handed the bottle back to him. He’d swayed forward against his knees, leaning his cheek against her side he looked up at her, lips half-pressed against her thigh in a distracting manner. She rarely had the opportunity to look down on Galen. Even sitting he had a towering presence, but this angle had its advantages. It accented the regal slope of his features. A line of thick, plush eyelashes softened the ridge of his brow, a ridiculous discovery that was hidden from any other angle. She wondered if the Red Wolf had ever been told he had pretty eyelashes. She wondered if anyone else even knew. She wondered what other secrets she might learn if she drew in for a closer look.
His cheek was already a branding heat against her hip. Olivia nearly reached for the bottle again. She cleared her throat. “What are we not drinking to tonight?”
“War.” The easy flush on his cheeks faded with his mood. He frowned at the bottle in his hands. “Or near enough to it. After I left you, I’ve spent the last four hours running simulations with Lyre.”
“And what do the simulations say?”
“That if we do not identify and eliminate the conspirators quickly, we’ll lose all of the bardic alliance and half the northlands.”
Olivia pursed her lips. She had no clue what the bardic alliance was, but she remembered the northlands as a jagged streak across the top of Empire maps, strategically placed aetheric gun towers making the mountains nearly unpassable for any pulse or aether-based craft. The northern mountains were not just a strategic asset either. The northlanders were wealthy. Nobles like Alais in control of aetheric mines and producing some of the best technological scientists of the Empire. Unrest always made the scholarly classes uneasy. If even Sabine’s pretty words were failing with some nobles, the battle was not going in their favor.
Somewhere along the way, she’d begun to count herself in their. That was alarming.
“We lucked out on intelligence. Intercepted a narrow-range aetheric with bad encryption. Lyre believes she’s located a majority of forces marshaling near the ruins of Meteore.” Galen continued talking into the neck of the bottle, heedless of Olivia’s alarm. “My sister has ordered me to lead her forces for a decisive push in less than a week. End this before it tears our empire apart.”
“Sounds like there’s hope then.” Olivia narrowed her eyes as Galen grimaced. “It’s a battle, you’ve got a knack for those. What aren’t you telling me?”
“Oh, it’ll be a great battle. Every altus soldier and aetheric craft we can rally here in Chrysanthine will take part.” Galen evidently decided the bottle made for a poor conversation partner because he set it down carefully and pulled himself, slightly less carefully, to his feet. He squinted at the night sky, the flutter of color against black the only indication of the shield above them. “Lyre wants to ensure we force the conspirator’s hand. Force them to draw their defenses to their head. But at the same time, that means only skeletal forces will remain here in the city.”
“And you worry about the city.”
Galen’s eyes fell to her. “I worry about a lot of things. I know Ameranthe proper will be fine. Nothing penetrates the palace shield. And the city of Chrysanthine is defended. It’s just...” He huffed, troubled. And so sincere it warmed her heart. “I’m sorry. I feel we’ve provided you a poor sanctuary right now.”
Olivia could sense where this was going. Galen was trying to be diplomatic, but he was also operating on three fourths a bottle of spesic. She turned and faced him. “Where do you see one Syndicate sniper in your battle plans?”
Galen’s expression fell. It made Olivia feel a little bad for prodding him. “I’m not taking you to the battle.”
“We met in a combat zone, Galen.”
“That was different.”
“I shot two men and took you hostage at gunpoint.”
“A powerful first impression.”
“A bad one,” Olivia corrected. “You spent the first day trying to knock me over the head for it.”
“And you used a shock prod on me. We developed an understanding.” Galen swam his arms expansively. He appeared to rally back to his point. “Now...is different.”
So predictable, Galen. Olivia reached down to grab the bottle and take a skeptical swig. “Is this some creepy altus obsession with protecting your supposed mate?”
Galen shrugged, a slight allowance that told her that she wasn’t entirely wrong. But then he held up a hand. “You may not need protection, but you’d make a terrible soldier. No one gives you orders.” His wry smile crept up at the idea of it. “I’m told I’m a domineering bastard in the heat of it. You would not enjoy being under my command.”
“I can be agreeable under the right person.” An image of hot flesh and firm hands escaped her brain unbidden and left a lick of interest in her gut. Olivia bit down on her lip and the thought. The chance to prove that could be fun.
Galen’s chuckle abruptly cut off with a staccato of air, which was the first clue that Olivia had said that out loud.
Her hand clenched a little too tight on the bottle as the words landed on the dead silence that followed with far too much meaning and innuendo. She’d meant far too much innuendo. In her head. Where it was nice and deniable. It was probably too much to hope the balcony would experience a sudden structural failure and she could fall to a convenient death.
Her eyes slid closed. “I am not nearly drunk enough to have said that.”
A hum preceded Galen’s response. “Unfortunately for you, I’m not nearly drunk enough to have not heard it.”
“We can fix that,” Olivia muttered. She shoved the bottle into Galen’s chest. His hands came up and captured hers on the neck of the bottle. His knuckles were scuffed, as they always were. Thick gold bands covered the little scar on his wrist and matched the heavy house torque against his collarbone. These were the things Olivia found herself studying intently before she found the courage to lift her head up.
Galen smiled. He tugged until her knuckles were trapped over his heart. “I am sober enough for many things.”
Her laugh was only a little nervous. “Oh, no. I’m pretty sure taking advantage of a royal heir while drunk is the way my political asylum gets revoked. Or a guaranteed ticket to the empress’s dungeons. Sabine has dungeons, right? Old-timey ones with bars and handcuffs? That seems like a thing the Empire would have.”
The edge of Galen’s mouth twitched up. “You think a lot about handcuffs, do you?”
Strike that, he wasn’t a witty drunk. He was a saucy drunk. The heat that shot up Olivia’s neck and set up camp on her face had to be visible. From space. She wet her lips. Tried to make her voice sound admonishing rather than breathy. “Galen.”
“Olivia,” Galen said in exactly the same tone. “
I would like to kiss you.”
“What?”
“I’m asking.” Galen swayed forward, face close and tracing ghosts of heat over every single place his lips did not touch. Olivia couldn’t tell if the gravel in his voice was from spesic or a different thirst. “May I kiss you?”
Perhaps it was the fact that he’d asked when Olivia hadn’t. Perhaps it was the fact that he had every privilege: altus power, status, wealth, every excuse the world could give him, and he’d asked. Asked in such a hungry, fragile way that made her answer matter. It was all that and a hundred things she couldn’t name that shot desire like liquid heat down her spine, made her suddenly certain she wanted nothing more than for this man to start kissing her and not stop. Made her so certain that it was hard to breathe around the want she kept bit between her teeth.
“Well.” She tried again. “If you do it properly.”
His lips closed the distance and brushed hers. She’d anticipated a sloppy, liquor-heated kiss, all saliva and interrupting teeth. But Drunk Galen was witty and saucy and, ridiculously, gentle. His lips slid against hers, leaving enough space to swallow her breath as his tongue slipped out to carefully taste her top lip. The fingertips of one hand traced fragile filigree against the hollow of her neck. Brief, vulnerable, and Olivia’s eyes felt irrationally hot.
He had given her a kiss. It felt a tangible thing, left behind on her lips. He leaned back. “Are you tired?”
“No.” Olivia took note of Galen’s smile. “Why?”
“There’s something I thought you’d like to see.”
He took her hand and left the bottle. She followed him out the hall, down a lift into the staff halls. If the faces they passed were surprised to see the empress’s brother squeezing past carts of dirty dishes and crates of party foodstuffs headed for the pantry, no one showed it. Galen moved easy and loping, as if he’d snuck around a royal palace since childhood. Olivia had to remind herself that he had.
She felt it again, colliding against the Galen she held in her mind, Galen of the Caeweld, practical and steady Imperial soldier, streaked with mud and days of exhaustion but never a whiff of despair. Even when Olivia had learned the truth, it was still that Galen she saw. That was the Galen who’d appeared, impossible and raging, in Yoshi’s bar. That Galen had jumped off bridges at her word. But since they’d arrived in Ameranthe he’d receded, fading into this other Galen. The Red Wolf, Duke of the Empire, loyal brother to an icy empress. That Galen had grown up behind gilded mosaic walls and shimmering shields. Had come of age fighting mock wars with other spoiled altus boys and never spending a day doubting what his future would hold. That Galen was different; he smiled less. Worried her more.
The next door they opened startled her with a rush of open air. She stumbled to a stop, eyes shooting up to take in the night sky. But the stars were obscured by the rainbow curve of the palace shield. When she dropped her eyes, she realized they were in the wide private courtyard she’d glimpsed from the shuttle. With the palace behind them, a walkway led to a small complex of buildings nestled to one side, with a wide expanse of lawn stretching out to the other. Beyond the shield, the shadow of trees indicated the Chrysanthine forest stretched out into the night.
“So pastoral,” Olivia said.
“It’s a preserve, not a farm.”
“I fail to see the difference.”
“Maybe this will clarify.”
They veered into the fenced complex. The lights of the estate were behind them and out buildings were dark, so it took a moment for Olivia to pick out anything in the residual twilight. The buildings were small permacrete squares with sloping backs that indicated they were connected to some kind of larger underground facility. The front wall of each enclosure glowed a shimmery violet. A shielded glass of some kind. Olivia tilted her head and drew closer to the nearest one to peer inside.
The gloom inside was cut by propane-blue eyes and a flare of muted blue spots. Recognition ran to alarm so fast in Olivia’s brain that she’d jumped back before she could think. “Shit!”
Galen’s deep laughter interrupted her panic. She turned and slapped at his ribs as she tried to force her heart back into her chest. “Blue hell. You are a bastard.”
“And you are a hard woman to surprise. I had to take my chance.” His boyish grin wasn’t at all convincing. Or adorable. She refused to find him adorable right now.
Olivia shook her head and slowly approached the confinement again—now that she knew what it was. The wraicath was smaller than the one they’d encountered in the wild, probably a male adolescent if the size of a pregnant female was any indication of the breed. It stalked a surly path around its space once before returning to the large ledge it had dropped down from. “A wraicath? You crazy doglords keep a pet wraicath?”
“Most definitely not a pet.” Galen turned serious. “Aggressive to altus scents by nature—you saw that in the Caeweld. And that thing has claws that can rip through chys armor. It’ll tear even an armed altus in half before you can blink.”
“Which explains why it makes such a great adornment for a royal palace?”
“The crown houses a number of rare wildlife on its preserve.” Again, Galen’s voice took that tone. As if he was talking of someone else, some other family, a tradition that existed beyond his personal experience. “Normally they roam deep in the woods with only mild interference by the wardens. These pens are used for medical exams and treatment normally. However—” He tossed a wilted gesture to the lights behind them. “We thought it best to contain the more dangerous ones while the palace is full of guests. It’d be just luck if some small district diplomat got into his head to take his entourage for an afternoon ride and get slaughtered.”
“If it was any of those I met tonight, I don’t see the loss.” Olivia stopped just outside the glass. The beast blinked its glowing eyes. Olivia smiled and lowered her voice. “If it was Ambrose, kitty, I’d give you a medal.”
A sigh behind her made the wraicath’s ears twitch. She pulled back and caught Galen eyeing her woundedly. “I’m sorry I had to abandon you.”
“I am less pressing than imminent war. Besides—” Olivia sauntered up to him “—I don’t need you to lurch around defending my honor.”
Galen gave one of those surprised, helpless smiles that turned the ball of cynicism in her chest to warm honey. It reminded her of what had been niggling at her brain. “You don’t smile here.”
The smile faltered and fell, which was a shame. “What do you mean?”
“This is your home. You were so eager to get here, to be home.” Olivia stopped, realizing how much it bothered her as she said it. “You smiled a lot—don’t give me that look, it was freaking irritating—you smiled even while we were being hunted. Smiled with bounties on our heads in the Syn. But since we landed, you’ve...not. And no one but me seems to think anything of it. Why is that?”
“I suppose it’s what is expected.” And then, before she could question the emptiness in his voice, Galen tilted his head. “It bothers you?”
Olivia absolutely did not flush at such a simple question. She held her chin a little higher. “If it did?”
“Well. Then I would smile,” Galen said. Then did. And, oh, that’s why it bothered her.
Seeing Galen’s smile was like surviving a wildfire. A twitch at his jaw, lips warming into a flickering heat, flushing his cheeks, igniting his eyes, and finally ending somewhere in the proximity of Olivia’s chest. Every time, she felt a little singed, a little more of her reserve around him turned to ash. It was ridiculous and dangerous and no wonder she had felt its absence. Forget thawing, Galen had gotten her used to burning.
Perhaps that was why instead of getting flustered she asked. “How do you trust it?”
Galen gave a slow blink. “I’m not following your devious mind tonight.”
“This. The bond thing. If this—” She drifted a
hand between them that stumbled. This attraction. “This feeling is just basic pheromones—”
“Compatibility is more than just chemistry,” Galen interrupted but Olivia plowed on.
“If this compatibility is naturally, randomly, occurring, then how do you act so certain about me? About anything?” Her bravado faltered. “You said proof, but I don’t want to prove you’re—that I’m just here because you can’t help yourself.”
The hand Galen had on her arm fluttered as if buffeted by something she said. His head bowed, casting deep shadows around his frown. “It’s true that, right now, all the bond means is I feel anxious and stressed half the time when you’re not around. It’s like an old ache, distracting me from everything I need to do.”
“Then why in the world would you encourage it?”
“Because I know what it could be.” Galen lifted his gaze, searching her face. He faltered. “I won’t try to convince you with pretty words about a romantic notion you don’t believe in. But what we could be, together—I want it with you. That’s worth the fear.”
A man like Galen admitting he was afraid felt, ridiculously, more intimate than any other confession he’d made. She shook her head. “I mean, for all you know, whatever you like about me could be recreated in a lab.”
Galen’s shoulders eased. “They could try another hundred years and not make another you.”
“I could have been anyone.”
“No, you couldn’t.” The furrow in his brow deepened as he stared at her, then stepped forward. He gently took her chin in his hand. “I’m not here for the bond. It’s not your damned biology I can’t stop thinking about, Liv—though it is a pleasing distraction in itself—it’s you. Nothing will convince me otherwise.”
“Not even proof?” Unease hid in the words, like she was jinxing herself.
But Galen’s lips curved easily, challenging the uncertainty until it disappeared. Sureness and sunshine, confidence and kindness. “Go ahead. I would like to see you try.”