Page 38 of The Alien's Unwilling Bride

Roqron chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m not sure that’s how plant therapy works, Mila.”

“Hey, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” she teased, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

As they turned back to their work, Roqron felt a shift within himself. The betrayal had shaken him, yes. But it had also crystallized something he’d been slowly realizing over the past weeks. His feelings for Mila, his trust in her, went beyond their shared mission. She had become his anchor, his partner in every sense of the word.

And as they worked side by side facing this new challenge together, Roqron silently vowed to himself that when this was all over, when Tharvis was safe, he would find the words to tell Mila exactly what she meant to him. For now, though, they had a planet to save and a betrayal to overcome. Together.

“All right,” Roqron said, his voice filled with renewed determination. “Let’s show these traitors what happens when they underestimate us.”

Mila grinned, a fierce light in her eyes. “I thought you’d never ask. Operation ‘Make the Drakanor Regret Ever Messing with Us’ is officially a go.”

As they dove into their planning, the war room once again hummed with energy - but this time, it was the energy of hope, determination, and a partnership that could overcome any obstacle. The betrayal had tried to break them, but instead, it had made them stronger.

TWENTY-FIVE

Mila paced the length of her quarters, her mind whirling with concern for Roq. The weight of the betrayal had left a shadow in his eyes, one she was desperate to lift. She needed a plan, something to remind him that not everything was doom and gloom. But what?

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. “Come in,” she called, grateful for the distraction.

Raelee and Zora bustled in, their faces a mix of worry and determination.

“All right, spill,” Raelee demanded, plopping down on Mila’s bed. “What’s got you wearing a hole in the carpet? I swear, if you pace any more, you’re going to discover a new layer of Tharvis.”

Mila snorted despite her mood. “Very funny. It’s Roq. This betrayal... it’s hit him hard. I want to do something to cheer him up, but I’m coming up blank.”

Zora’s eyes lit up. “Ooh, what about cookies? Nothing says ‘cheer up’ like a warm, gooey cookie.”

Mila blinked. “Cookies? On Tharvis? Zora, in case you haven’t noticed, we’re on an alien planet. I doubt they have chocolate chips and vanilla extract just lying around.”

“Why not?” Raelee grinned. “It’ll be an adventure. Plus, the mental image of you both covered in flour is too good to pass up. Remember when we tried to surprise Mom on her birthday?”

Mila groaned, the memory flooding back. “Oh god, the Great Cupcake Disaster of 2115. I thought Dad was going to have an aneurysm when he saw the kitchen.”

Zora giggled. “But Mom loved it! Remember how she just stood there, covered in batter, laughing her head off?”

“And then she joined in the food fight,” Raelee added, a fond smile on her face. “The look on the Secret Service agents’ faces when they burst in...”

For a moment, the three sisters were lost in the memory, their laughter echoing in the room. Mila felt a warmth in her chest, the worry for Roq momentarily pushed aside by the joy of shared memories.

“You know what?” Mila said, a new determination in her voice. “Let’s do it. Let’s make cookies. How hard can it be?”

Two hours later, Mila was eating her words along with a mouthful of what could generously be called cookie batter. The royal kitchen, usually a model of efficiency, had been transformed into a war zone. Flour coated every surface, eggshells crunched underfoot, and the air was thick with the smell of burnt sugar.

“I think we broke it,” Zora muttered, poking at a smoking lump on a baking sheet. “Is it supposed to be... moving?”

Mila wiped sweat from her brow, leaving a streak of flour across her forehead. “How is this so difficult? We’ve got three genius-level brains here. We should be able to figure out a simple cookie recipe!”

Raelee snorted, flicking a glob of dough at Mila. “Speak for yourself, genius. I’m just here for the chaos. Besides, last I checked, your PhD was in Environmental Science, not Intergalactic Baking.”

“Oh, like you’re doing any better, Miss ‘I’ll just triple the recipe, what could go wrong?’” Mila retorted, ducking another glob of dough.

The kitchen staff hovered nearby, their expressions a mix of horror and fascination. One brave soul, a young Tharvisian named Lirael, approached the disaster zone.

“Excuse me, Your Highnesses,” she said tentatively. “Might I inquire as to what you’re attempting to create? Some sort of... edible weapon, perhaps?”

“Cookies,” the sisters chorused, then burst into laughter at the confused look on Lirael’s face.

“It’s an Earth treat,” Mila explained, trying to salvage some dignity. “Sweet, usually round, crispy on the outside and soft on the inside. Not, you know, weaponized.”

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