Page 69 of Alien Warrior Chef… With Benefits
She says, eyes bright, “He can send fleets. He can judge. But you…youare my bond. My soul. My collection of moments. He can’t step into that space.”
I pull her into my arms. “Then I’ll show you. That you’re mine. The only one.”
She laughs softly. “I know.”
Outside, the crystal roses catch the starlight and refract them—cold beauty in the room.
And I feel the shift.
We still have to cook the finale.
But now… outside the plates, our bond stands revealed.
And I won’t let empire or prophecy or ego shadow it again.
The prep dome simmers with anticipation. Aromas of simmered fruit, smoked root, and cream waft between us like our own private stage. Ruby moves at my side, wrist flicking, hands slicing, plating her heart in four distinct courses—her Earth roots in golden pastry, then the smoky reductive broth to echo my warrior path, the third dish embodying our meeting invibrant fusion, and the final course—a dessert that tastes like our shared bond, tender and unexpected. She glances at me when I hand her a spoonful to taste, eyes reflecting flitting cameras and simmering confidence. Her lips go still, and I know before she says a word—it’s ours.
Her exhalation is fragile, like petals caught in a breeze. “This… this isus.” She closes her eyes and lets the flavors fold over her, slow and rich. I feel pride bloom in me—warrior, protector, partner. She tastes course by course, savoring each emotional beat. Blessings, doubts, unity, promise—each plated memory carries weight in her expression.
I swipe stray granules of smoke salt from her cheek. “It’s perfect,” I murmur, voice low but fierce, praying she believes me as much as I do. She smiles, trembling.
But the air shifts. I sense it—distance. I glance at the perimeter monitors and then catch movement in the gallery above. Aelphus is there again. Leaning forward, arms crossed across his golden chest, that same hungry fixity cooling me from within. His gaze locks on Ruby—almost possessive, even in the crowd.
My pulse jolts.
Ruby flicks her gaze up too, realises she’s being watched. Her posture straightens, but her hand trembles on the spoon handle. I reach out, clasp her forearm. Not a reprimand—an anchor. A lifeline. She exhales, firming her hold on the spoon.
The cameras flit toward Aelphus like moths to flame. I hear whispered murmurs behind me—“The emperor…”, “Watchful eye…”, “He’s waiting.” Ruby’s breath sharpens, as if he's pulled breath from her lungs.
We push on. The rehearsal continues. The four courses are plated in sequence. She tells our story without words. I watch as her hands move with precise elegance, as mine mirror and support, retrieving spoons, wiping edges, steadying her wrist.The dome lights flare. The beast of exposure nearly breaks us, but we hold each other’s shadows steady.
The final plate is delicate—sugar-dusted petals framing a small orb of caramelized fruit, golden veins of sauce spelling promise across the plate. Ruby dips her spoon and brings it to her lips. She tastes, half-closes her eyes. Tears collect at the corner. My heart crashes.
Even now, I feel the bond settle deeper. I reach for her, sliding my hand along her waist. She looks at me with the same glazed heart-joy, vulnerability exposed. I bend and whisper: “I am proud ofus.”
She smiles, voice crackling like soft fire. “So am I.”
But the electric charge doesn’t fade. I glance up in fight or flight reflex—and Aelphus meets my gaze. That predator’s satisfaction plays across his gilded features.
I swallow. I flick my gaze back to the final plate. Ruby insists on tasting it again, breathing between samples, affirming its soul. I hand her the tasting spoon almost without noticing.
When she sets it down, she grips my fingers. I feel the tremor beneath her skin—fear, but not just fear: defiance, defiant love. Unspoken message: don’t let him win.
I return her grip. “We’re enough.”
She nods, eyes bright, frost of steel.
We break from rehearsal to breathe.
Back in the hallway, standing beneath dim corridor lights, she spins to face me. “He watched us, Rekkgar. Really watched.”
“Let him,” I say, voice clipped. “He sees whatweknow.”
She shakes her head, pale under the corridor lumens. “It felt… wrong. Like he expected me to falter.”
I cup her face. “Don’t let it be about him. Let it be aboutus.”
She exhales, relief shivering through her. I pull her into me—slow, deliberate, vow-laced—until she quiets her irregular heartbeat with mine.
