Page 80 of Alien Warrior Chef… With Benefits
“Together,” I whisper again.
“Always,” he murmurs back.
We stand beneath powdered-sugar stars—two souls, one bond, and a universe laid open before us.
And in that moment, the galaxy tastes like love.
CHAPTER 20
REKKGAR
Isit at the corner table in Earth?Bites, fingers tracing the swirling crema on Ruby’s espresso, but my mind isn’t here. The station’s hum and warmth seep around me like forgiveness—and yet I’m restless. Since Aelphus was detained, the station has fallen back into peaceful rhythm; journalists have moved on, the Holonet feed has resumed cat videos. But the ember of Aelphus’s parting words—“My legions are eternal”—still pulses in my gut like a challenge.
Ruby’s hand finds mine under the table, and she smiles that gentle, determined look. She tilts the little porcelain cup in her grip, and I take in the bittersweet scent of Earth-grown beans—strong, sweet, and hopeful. My chest tightens. Hope, it seems, has a flavor all its own.
Back in Novaria, the bakery bustles. I’m here almost every morning—leaning into rhythm, becoming a fixture behind the counter. I steam milk now; I fold macaron batter; I take orders in Ruby’s voice, echoing pride and tenderness. The pastel walls and piping bags feel surreal compared to the clang of dojo steel, but each customer’s smile—especially when they recognize me—reminds me that I’ve found something else to defend.
My true battlebegins the day I receive the transmission. I stand in the cluttered prep pantry—scales, bowls, confection molds rattling with the bakery’s midday bustle—holding a small encrypted holo-pad.
The message flickers: Vakutan arms posture, a golden banner of defiance. “Legions regrouped,” it says. “Preparing formal challenge. Public trial of honor for Ruby Adams. Compliance or branding as falsemate. Planetary code enforceable.”
My jaw clenches. My knuckles glow white. My jaw opens to speak—something fierce, protective—but the words threaten to shatter the holo-pad screen. I collapse onto a stool. Chairs scrape. Staff glance. Lyrie steps in, a spark on her scale, concern flowing across her pink features.
“Hot news?” she teases, but I don’t answer. I turn the pad's glow toward her. Her expression falters as she reads.
“Oh holy…” she breathes. “They can’t do that. That’s medieval—even for them.”
I press my palm to her shoulder, voice low as volcanic ash: “They can—and they will. If she refuses, she loses her freedom. Her rights. She becomes a falsemate, unbonded, and exiled to some labor station under Vortaxian law.”
Lyrie’s breath gusts in shock. Vonn emerges with a tray of croissants. She wordlessly hands them to me. I bite into a warm pastry—almond sweet, buttery earth. I close my eyes, tasting safety and sorrow.
“We need to tell Ruby,” Lyrie says.
I nod. My hands shake—not with fear, but with readiness. Preparedness is my armor, and I am not letting this go cold.
That evening,I find Ruby in the back cooling a line of chiffon cupcakes. The bakery smells like vanilla and triumph. I step quietly, my scale-armored glove brushing her apron.
She glances up—soft joy lighting her face. But when my voice comes low, clutching like cold steel: “We’ve got a situation,” her smile falters.
I reach for her hand, guiding her to the prep pantry. Staff look, but Ruby offers them a forgiving nod—they can wait.
I show her the holo. She reads it, eyes narrowing like twin storms. The drama of it all—a trial of honor forher. Not me. Me means nothing unless she consents. But I know what it means: they see our bond as a trophy. Like she’s property to win.
Ruby’s voice is soft as Iolite mousse. “This… this is insane.” She squares her shoulders. “It’s a trap. A public spectacle to humiliate me—or worse.”
“I know,” I say. “They believe they can own you.” I tug her close. “But I won’t let them. Not with spectacle. Not with politics. With honor. And with you at my side.”
She lifts her chin. Tears glimmer, but her jaw sets. “We’ll fight—legally, publicly. If they want a trial, they’ll get one. But it’ll be on my terms. Onourterms.”
My chest swells. Relief and pride hit together like victory rush. I cup both her cheekbones. “And I’ll be there. Not at your side—asyouwant. And demanding justice.”
She closes the distance. “Together,” she breathes.
In the early hours,we meet with Novarian legal counsel—silver-haired human in crisp uniform, backing Ruby’s planetary rights. She reviews archaic planetary statutes. “Theycancompell appearance,” she says. “But you can challenge jurisdiction. This is bound to be the most public trial since the Treaty of Triune.”
Ruby holds her hand over mine across the table. “I want you there.”
I nod, swallowing something primal. “Of course.”
