Page 63 of The Alien's Cruel Starfrost Domain

She drops the coy act, her pale blue eyes hardening like a lake freezing over. Gone is any trace of the vulnerability she’d shown last night, when for a moment we’d both pretended we could recapture something long lost. “I want to know what game you’re playing.”

I notice she doesn’t mention our interlude in the dining room. Doesn’t reference how close we came to rekindling something better left in ashes. Because we now use even silence as a weapon, understanding that every moment of weakness can become ammunition.

The space between us feels charged with everything we’re not saying. With the ghost of what we once were, and the reality of what we’ve become.

I remain carefully expressionless, though my fingers itch to touch the bruise I left on her lip. Not from desire, but as a reminder of why I can never let my guard down again. Not with her. Not with anyone.

“I wasn’t aware I was playing any games.”

“No?” She moves closer, her perfume filling my nose—ice roses again, the scent that had once intoxicated me now cloying and sharp. “Then why is Baron Svalkat here? And why do you allow that human girl such freedom in your household?” The lastwords emerge with particular venom, and I remember how Uanna had smiled when Lara found us together.

I step back, breaking her attempt to crowd me, to use the familiarity of her body against me as she had last night. “The baron is here at Prince Jonyk’s request, as you well know. And my household staff arrangements are hardly your concern.”

“Everything about you is my concern.” She reaches for me again with the same assured touch she’d used to caress my shoulders, but I sidestep. “We had an understanding, Ivrael.”

“Did we?” I raise an eyebrow, though my gut twists at the memory of the future we’d once planned together. “I don’t recall making any promises.”

Her face flushes that telling pale blue—the same color she’d turned last night when I’d pushed her away from me. “Perhaps not explicitly. But your mother?—”

“My mother is dead.” I keep my voice cold, as frozen as the walls I’ve built around my heart. “And whatever arrangements she might have wished to make died with her.”

“Is that what this is about? Defying your mother’s wishes?” Uanna’s laugh is brittle. “Or is it about that human? Do you actually intend to keep her?”

The possessive rage that surges through me at her words takes me by surprise—as powerful as what I’d felt seeing Lara in the doorway, watching me kiss another woman. I clamp down on it before frost can crystallize in the air. “I intend to manage my household as I see fit.”

“Your household?” Her lips curl into the same triumphant smile she’d worn when Lara caught us together. “Or your harem?”

“Careful, Uanna.” Ice creeps into my tone, matching the chill that had settled in my chest when I’d watched Lara flee. “You forget yourself.”

“Do I?” She steps closer again. For a long moment, we stare at each other, and I see in her eyes the same knowledge—that whatever we once had is as dead as the promises we never quite made. Finally, she inclines her head. “Very well. Keep your little human toy. But whenyou tire of her—and you will tire of her—don’t expect me to be waiting.”

“I won’t.” The words emerge harder than I intend, weighted with the understanding that we can never go back to what we were. That last night’s kiss was truly a goodbye to whatever innocence we’d once shared.

She sweeps past me, pausing at the door. “Oh, and Ivrael? Do try to dress her properly before the prince arrives. It’s embarrassing enough that you keep a human servant. The least you could do is make her presentable.”

The door closes behind her with a decisive click, but her words linger in the air like frost.

She’s right, damn her.

I’ve let Lara continue wearing those Earth clothes for far too long—the worn sweater, those blue jeans that cling to her curves in ways that haunt my dreams. I tell myself it’s to maintain distance, to remember she’s just another servant.

But that’s only part of the truth.

I stand motionless, fighting down the urge to freeze the entire room solid as I admit to myself what I’ve been avoiding: I like seeing her in those clothes. They’re a reminder of who she really is, where she came from. Every time she passes me in that faded sweater, every time I catch myself staring at how those jeans hug her ass, it’s a punch to the gut—a reminder that she doesn’t belong here. Shouldn’t be here.

It was easier when I could pretend the shabby clothing was protection. That keeping her in Earth clothes would somehow keep her separate, make her less tempting. Less real. That it would help me remember she’s temporary, that I can’t allow myself to care.

But Uanna’s right about one thing—Jonyk is coming. And he’ll see her worn clothing not as the shield I intended, but as a slight to his position. As if I think so little of his visit that I can’t be bothered to dress my servants properly.

Or worse, he’ll see it as a sign that she’s special. Different.Worth noticing.

The temperature in the room plummets as I imagine Jonyk’s cold eyes on her, calculating her worth, wondering why I’ve kept her in such distinctive clothing. He’s always had a weakness for unique possessions, and Lara...

I curl my fingers into fists, frost crackling across my knuckles. I can’t risk it. Can’t risk him noticing her, questioning her presence, wanting her for himself. The proper Caix servant’s clothing I’ve been avoiding giving her might be the only protection I can offer.

Even if it means losing those daily reminders of who she really is. Even if it means watching her disappear into the uniform sameness of my household staff. Even if it means giving up the secret pleasure of seeing her in those damn jeans that make me want to...

I shake my head sharply, dispelling that dangerous train of thought.

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