Page 57 of Alien Engineer's Mate

The guards positioned themselves around him, but not before she saw the slight nod he gave his fellow warriors. Theyreturned it as one, a gesture that spoke of years of shared battles and absolute trust.

She straightened her back and forced air into lungs that didn't want to work. He was right. She couldn't fall apart, not when Maax needed her. Not when their children needed her to be strong. But watching him sit there in chains, unable to even touch him, knowing that shadowed booth held the power to tear their family apart...

The judge's booth remained dark and silent above them as Sheena resumed her arguments. Eira strained to see any reaction, any hint of which way the hidden judge might be leaning. But the opacity was absolute. Their fate rested in hands she couldn't see...

The chains clinkedwith each breath Maax took. He kept his gaze fixed on the darkened judge's booth above, refusing to turn around. One glimpse of Eira's face would shatter his control, and he couldn't afford to break. Not here. Not now.

His wrists ached where the restraints bit into his skin. The four guards surrounding him shifted slightly, adjusting their positions as more officials filed into the courtroom. Their weapons remained trained on him with unwavering focus, as if he might somehow break free and... what? Attack the Emperor's own court? The absurdity of it almost made him laugh, but he locked it behind clenched teeth. The idea was as ridiculous as him not being an A'Taav. Not being his father's son.

Daar's face filled his mind. Not the stern warrior who'd trained him in combat, but the father who'd stayed up endless nights helping him master complex engineering calculations. The father who'd celebrated every victory, no matter how small.Had any of that pride been real? Or had Daar always known the truth of Maax's heritage, always seen the shadow of betrayal in his mate's eyes? At least his father was no longer alive to see this... his son laid low like this.

The questions burned in his throat like acid. He forced his breathing to remain steady, measuring each inhale thanks to the ingrained habits of a lifetime's combat training. This was just another battlefield. The fact that he would lose didn't change his duty to face it with a warrior's dignity.

Tisshel's formal robes whispered across the polished floor as she moved to the prosecutor's table. The fact she was the prosecution cut deeply, but he knew she had no choice. She was on retainer to the Imperial court and couldn't excuse herself just because she'd helped him secure Emily's adoption. Something twisted deep in his chest... soon, he wouldn't even have the right to call Emily his daughter.

His attention shifted to the young advocate at the defense table in front of him, watching as she arranged her materials with movements too precise to be anything but calculated. Despite her youth, there was nothing uncertain in the way she handled her files, or hesitant in how she acknowledged the court officials with perfect protocol.

His gaze sharpened. He'd seen enough Tavkronian advocates to recognize the significance of those patterns adorning her robes... they meant that she wasn't a simple student playing at law.

The young advocate rose, drawing all eyes to her slight form. "The defense calls the court's attention to precedent 47-B, established during the C'Vaal secession,” she began, her voice carrying clearly through the chamber.

The words washed over him as she laid out her opening arguments, each point striking with surgical precision. It wouldn't matter. He knew it wouldn't matter. Not now. Hisentire life had been built on a lie, and no amount of legal precedent could change the poison of a purist connection running through his veins.

He kept his back straight, his chin lifted, embodying every lesson in dignity that Daar had taught him. The man who'd raised him might not have been his blood father, but he'd given Maax something far more valuable than genetics... he'd taught him how to face impossible odds without breaking.

An unfamiliar tingling sensation drew his attention away from the young advocate's arguments. His wrists burned beneath the restraints. He glanced down, expecting to see blood seeping from under the metal bands again.

But the sight that met his eyes stole the breath from his lungs.

Dark marks spread across his skin, twisting and turning as delicate patterns emerged from beneath the surface. The designs grew even as he watched, tendrils curling around his wrists in elegant spirals.

Mating marks. They were mating marks. The sign of the god's blessing for his match with Eira...

His heart cracked right there in his chest. The irony of it crushed him. Of all the signs, of all the blessings the gods could grant, they chose this one... here. Now. No court in the empire's history had ever separated a mated pair once the gods had marked them.

Moving slightly, he covered the darkening marks with his restraints.

No one could know he had them.

Claiming that blessing would only ensure that his family shared his fate. His delicate little mate would be shunned. Their children would suffer the same prejudice. Everything that Eira had built, all the opportunities she'd fought so hard to give her children, would crumble because of him.

No. He wouldn't allow that to happen. Not ever.

"The accused will rise."

The court official's voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. Maax stood, the chains at his ankles forcing him to move carefully. The guards tensed, their weapons tracking his movement. As if he posed any threat now, stripped of rank and name and honor... with his gods-blessed mate sat right behind him.

"Does the accused wish to address the court before judgment is passed?"

Every warrior instinct screamed at him to fight, to declare his innocence, to reveal the marks that proved the gods themselves stood with him. The words burned in his throat, desperate to be spoken. But he couldn't.

"I ask only that Lady Eira Coleman be allowed to adopt my daughter Emily in my stead." The words emerged steady despite the knife twisting in his heart. Slicing it to ribbons. He kept his gaze fixed on the shadowed booth above, knowing that if he looked anywhere else--at Eira, at his brothers-in-arms--his composure would shatter.

"She has proven herself a worthy mother, and Emily..." He paused, forcing back the thickness in his throat. "Emily deserves a family unmarred by my heritage."

The silence that followed pressed against his ears like deep space vacuum. He heard a choked sound from behind him but he didn't dare turn to look. The marks on his wrists burned like plasma fire, a cruel reminder of what he was sacrificing.

Time stretched like stressed metal, each second threatening to break him. The shadowed booth stayed dark and silent, offering no hint of what judgment waited.

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