Page 105 of The Sovereign: Part One
“It is right now.”
The transport pulled beneath our Sablestone and powered down in the dark sub-bay.We were still on the safe side of the wall, still together.The world hadn’t ended.Not yet.
I turned to him, reaching for his hands.“What do you think will be in the report?”
Maxim’s mouth curved in a wry, knowing smile.“Exactly what Lev intends it to: a thoroughly unremarkable, perhaps even commendable account of a stable, entirely predictable bond—free of anomalies, and full of promise.”
I wanted to believe that.I wanted to know beyond all doubt that we were safe, that the worst was over.But my thoughts wouldn’t stay still.They tripped and tangled, restless as my pulse.It felt like I’d just crossed a tightrope between towers, blindfolded, with the wind whipping around me with nothing but certain death below.
“You need to rest,” he said gently.“You’ve been holding your body like armor since you woke up.”
I hadn’t realized it until now.My neck ached.My shoulders were burning.My hands were like ice.
Maxim swept me from the transport without a word, cradling me against his chest as the threshold to the Sablestone slid shut behind us with a low hush.The sub-bay fell away into silence, into shelter, into him.He carried me up the stairs, the air shifting as we entered our quarters, the ambient light already dimming to a tone calibrated for rest.
At the edge of the bed, he lowered me with a tenderness reserved for something precious, as if I might shatter if set down too fast.He removed his jacket and draped it over a corner chair as he instructed Calyx to ready the immersion basin to be activated immediately, infused with everything available for sedation, for serenity, for stripping the static from my nerves.Oils, salts, sonic filters.A retreat engineered for the soul.
He guided me to the acquell, his hands easing away each layer of clothing with nothing but tenderness, his movements slow and certain.When I slipped into the basin, he remained beside me, kneeling with his sleeves rolled and his fingers submerged.He washed my hair without a word, each stroke purposeful, his touch gentle and anchoring, as if he believed he could draw the ache from beneath my skin and rinse it down the drain.
When I nodded forward, heavy with exhaustion, he rose and gathered me into his arms again, a heated towel already waiting.He carried me to the bed and folded back the covers, easing me down until my head met the pillow.Every movement that followed was instinctive, sculpting the blankets around me in the exact arrangement I preferred, as if he’d memorized the shape of my best, most restful night.
“You should eat.”
“No,” I said simply.It was all I could manage.
“Later, then,” he said, kissing my cheek.
I glanced at the frames on the nightstand—holding glimpses of a life we’d barely had time to share—then let my eyes drift closed as his hands began their quiet work, moving across my back with patience and knowing, unspooling every fear from where it had buried itself in my muscles.I floated, undone and remade by his touch, until thought itself released me, and I slipped into sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Three
By the time I was ready for Lourdes’s gala, adorned in the engineered elegance Hyperion was known for, I barely recognized the woman in the mirror.The gown’s striking violet hue clung to my frame as if it had been sealed onto me in a vacuum chamber: liquid in motion, yet meticulously structured.It was a color that read as power, sensuality, and intellect all in one—exactly the balance I was expected to walk as a Sovereign at a Vanguard gala.The asymmetrical neckline curved over one shoulder, anchored by a single translucent strap that shimmered when I moved.Beneath the surface, fine strands of iridescent thread glinted like magenta embers.I’d pinned my hair into a trio of sculpted low buns: sleek and architectural, as though pulled straight from an old-world runway two centuries ahead of its time.
My dermatone was whisper-soft: rose-gold shadow across the lids, just a few coats on my lashes, and a breath of highlighter brushed over the high points of my cheekbones, catching the light just enough to look otherworldly.The lip stain matched my dress, sharp as intention, and the final weapon in an arsenal I hadn’t realized I’d been assembling.
Calyx’s auric interface blinked into view just above the styling console.“Your stress levels have spiked 17% in the last ten minutes.Might I suggest a guided breath sequence, or a playlist titled ‘Elegance in the Face of an Existential Crisis’?”
I sighed.“I’m fine, Calyx, thank you.”
“I respectfully disagree.However, your dress is so striking, I’ve notified the fire suppression system out of an abundance of caution.”
That earned the ghost of a laugh.“Your algorithms need tuning.”
“Already done,”he replied.“Also, Maxim has just arrived.”
Before I could answer, the threshold wisped open.Maxim stepped in, but for a moment, he didn’t speak.His gaze traveled over me—slow, reverent—as if he were furiously trying to save each detail into a secured file.He wore a tuxedo cut close to the body, with no lapels and a subtle charcoal shimmer that caught the light in fragments over a crisp white button-down.Understated but lethal.Just like him.
He crossed the room in a few strides, his hand sliding to my waist as he pressed a kiss to my cheek.Then lower, to the curve of my neck, then my collarbone.
“This dress is going to be a problem,” he murmured, voice deep and low.“You look like sin dressed in salvation.”
“Sin?”I tilted my head.“That’s an archaic and interesting choice.We don’t use that word here.”
“I’m aware.”His eyes didn’t flinch.“But you, in this”—he traced the fabric hugging the apex of my hip—“feels like something forbidden.Something holy… and yet, perilous.An approved word wouldn’t come close.”
I failed to suppress an appreciative grin as he stepped back just enough for his eyes to pour over me again.
One brow lifted, subtle but pointed.“There’s still a trace of it,” he said, voice thick with amusement.
