Page 81 of Alien Warrior Chef… With Benefits
Days later,Nova Tribune headline spins holograms across the station: “Vakutan Challenge: Baker in Trial of Honor.” Aelphus’s face looms golden, defiant. Ruby reads it at the counter, the bakery quiet. She pins down a trembling smile.
“Looks like my debut into political theater,” she jokes, voice calm as chantilly mousse, but I see the tension rippling in her lumbar.
I drag her into an embrace. “You’ll be fierce.”
She laughs softly, tilting her head back to look at me: "Fierce and floured."
We spend the afternoon prepping special “Court Cupcakes” embossed with scale and star. Each bite: vanilla-lavender with bourbon caramel—a declaration of freedom. Customers line up, applause undercut with anxious pride.
By the time she locks up, the station knows. Legal observers, media, a murmuring crowd gather outside. Ruby draws her breath—the cool night air tangles with cinnamon sugar in her lungs.
I wrap my arm around her. “They won’t break you.”
She leans against me. “And I won’t let them. Not this time.”
Together, we walk toward the growing masses. Pastel walls no longer boundary—they’re stage.
That night,as we turn toward the dock corridor, I glance at Ruby’s calm, determined face. The pastel lights cast soft shadows under her eyes, but she stands tall.
I tighten my hand around hers. "You're mine," I whisper.
She smiles, eyes bright with defiant promise. "Always."
I don’t know what will happen in that trial. If the Vakutan courts will honor planetary law. If Aelphus will show his face—or send emissaries. But I do know this: I will stand beside her. I will protect her bond with my life.
We walk into the light of the emerging tribunal. There, the galaxy will bear witness—not to what is forced, but what is chosen.
And no amount of spectacle can overshadowthat.
CHAPTER 21
RUBY
Ifeel it the moment we touch down on Novaria—before I’m greeting by the familiar candied aroma of Earth Bites or the squeal of my morning droid—Rekkgar shifts. He steps from the transport vehicle into the pale dawn, posture taut, jaw clenched, eyes staring at distant rooftops like he’s scouting invisible lines of attack. His hand grips the railing beside the door so tightly the metal creaks in protest. Something in me loosens—a thread of unease I can't ignore.
That night, we lie entwined on my rooftop under a scattering of purposefully dim Hololumen stars, the city lights pulsing softly below. I press my palm to his chest, lean into his biceps—though his heartbeat is too fast.
“Rekkgar?” I whisper, breath warm against his scarred neck. “What’s going on?”
He doesn’t speak for a long moment. His fingers brush my hair—gentle, but there's steel behind them. “Trouble comes,” he says as though naming a season. Then he tightens his arms around me until my bones shiver.
I frown, tilt my head. “But we ended the fight. We earned peace.”
He closes his eyes. “The fight… isn’t over.” His tone isn’t harsh—more a warning—yet it curls frost against my spine.
Morning sunlight filtersthrough pastel bakery windows as I open up myself. Rekkgar remains near the door, his arms crossed, eyes scanning every entry. I start arranging fresh cupcakes—lavender vanilla, caramel swirl. He doesn’t move.
Then the door chime announces an unexpected guest: a tall, serious human in sable robes marked with the Intergalactic Marriage Tribunal sigil. He carries a thin brass rod.
My heart angles uneasy.
“Ruby Adams?” he says, voice precise.
I swallow. “Yes.”
He stands straight and taps the rod on the floor. “You are summoned as the respondent in a Vortaxian challenge invoking the Zandari Gauntlet. The writ is legally binding.”
I stare. “Challenge?”
