Chapter 3: The Sealing of Bonds
Her chambers had never felt so confining.
Eloria paced the length of her private quarters, her bare feet pressing against the cool metal floor. The bioluminescent veins in the walls pulsed with soft, rhythmic light—calm, steady, betraying nothing of the storm that raged within her. She had dismissed her attendants. She had silenced her comms. She had even dimmed the environmental controls, hoping that the cooler air might quell the heat that still simmered beneath her skin.
It had not worked.
She paused before the observation pane, her reflection ghostly in the reinforced glass. Beyond it, the distant stars of an unfamiliar quadrant stretched into infinite darkness. Somewhere out there, a human delegation was scrambling to understand what had happened to their security liaison. Somewhere out there, political fallout was brewing. And here, in the heart of her royal transport, she was losing her mind over a man she had known for less than a day.
Her hand drifted between her thighs.
She caught herself, snatched her hand away, and pressed it against the cold glass instead. The chill seeped into her palm, grounding her. She had been raised to control her impulses. To master her emotions. To present an unassailable front to a universe that would devour her the moment she showed weakness.
But the feel of his skin. The curve of his cock. The way he had looked at her when he woke.
Not with fear or confusion. Not with the guarded suspicion she had come to expect from humans. But with something raw and unguarded. Something that had reached across the distance between species and wrapped around her heart like a fist.
She turned from the window, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
The walk back to her sleeping platform felt interminable. She shed her gown as she went, letting the fabric pool on the floor behind her. The air was cool against her bare skin, raising goosebumps along her arms and thighs. She climbed onto the platform, the silken sheets cool and smooth beneath her, and lay back with her eyes fixed on the ceiling.
"Think of something else," she whispered to the empty room. "Think of politics. Think of treaties. Think of—"
She thought of him.
She thought of his hands—strong, capable, scarred in ways she had not yet mapped. She thought of his mouth, the way it had formed her name. She thought of the slight inward curve of his shaft, so subtle and yet so deliberate, designed to press against spots she had never allowed herself to imagine.
Her hand drifted down again.
This time, she did not stop it.
She touched herself with tentative fingers, exploring her own folds with the awkwardness of adolescence. She was slick—embarrassingly so—and her clit throbbed with a need that had been building for hours. She circled it slowly, teasing herself, and a gasp escaped her lips.
His name. She gasped his name.
Albert Voss.
She had examined his file after the attack. Former security contractor. Twenty years of service in dangerous regions across human space. Divorced. One daughter. No outstanding warrants, no political affiliations, no red flags. He was, by all accounts, an ordinary man who had done an extraordinary thing.
But there was nothing ordinary about what she felt.
She closed her eyes, and the empathic link between them flickered to life.
It was faint at first—a distant warmth at the edge of her awareness, like sunlight filtering through water. But as her fingers moved faster, as her pleasure mounted, the warmth grew. It swelled. It pressed against her consciousness like a living thing, demanding recognition.
In the infirmary, she felt Albert stir.
He was awake. She could sense his confusion, his disorientation, the slow dawning of awareness as he registered his surroundings. And then, beneath that, something else. A flicker of heat. A stirring of arousal that mirrored her own.
Her eyes flew open.
"No," she breathed. "No, no, no."
But it was too late. The link was already feeding back. She felt his desire as clearly as her own—felt it rising, blooming, spreading through his body like wildfire. And with it came a flood of images that were not hers.
A garden. Silver hair spread across moss. A woman's body arching beneath him.
She could not stop herself. Her fingers moved faster, driven by something beyond her control, and she felt her climax approaching like a wave cresting in the distance. On the other side of the link, she felt Albert's own pleasure spiking. Felt the unmistakable sensation of his cock hardening, engorging, pressing against the thin fabric of his medical gown.
"Stop," she gasped, though she did not know whether she was speaking to herself or to him. "Please, stop."
But neither of them stopped.
She came with a cry, her back arching off the platform, her inner walls clenching around nothing. And as the waves of pleasure crashed through her, she felt Albert's own orgasm crest and break—felt the hot, thick release that flooded his medical gown, felt his body shudder with relief.
For a long moment, there was only silence.
Eloria lay trembling on her silk sheets, her chest heaving, her skin slick with sweat. The empathic link between them slowly receded, like a tide pulling back from shore. But it did not fade entirely. It remained, a shimmering thread of connection that pulsed with shared secrets and stolen intimacies.
In the infirmary, she felt Albert's shock.
He had felt it too. He had felt her pleasure, had seen through her eyes as clearly as she had seen through his. And now, lying in his sterile bed with a cooling stain on his gown, he was trying to make sense of what had just happened.
Eloria pressed her palms against her eyes.
"Oh, ancestors," she whispered. "What have I done?"
She had expected to feel shame. She had expected guilt, embarrassment, a desperate need to bury this moment so deep that no one would ever find it. But instead, she felt something far more dangerous.
She felt curious.
In the infirmary, Albert swung his legs over the side of the bed.
She felt his determination through the link—a quiet, stubborn resolve that reminded her of his daughter. She felt him rise, steadying himself against the wall, testing his strength. His wounds were healing, the med-drones having worked their miracles, but he was still weak. Still fragile.
Still determined.
"Albert," she whispered. "Stay where you are. I'll come to you."
But she felt his resistance to that idea. Felt his pride, his stubbornness, his need to meet her on equal footing.
"I have to see you," he said aloud, and his voice echoed through the link. "I have to understand."
She did not wait for him to find her.
She summoned him.
It was a violation of protocol, a breach of every rule that governed interactions between a sovereign and a visiting dignitary. To summon a human male to her private chambers, alone, in the middle of the night, was unthinkable. It would invite questions. It would invite rumors. It would invite disaster.
But she did it anyway.
Albert Voss walked through the corridors of the royal transport with a strange mixture of determination and dread thrumming through his veins. The guards had let him pass without comment—a fact that surprised him until he realized they had been ordered to. The Empress wanted to see him. The Empress had summoned him.
The Empress had sent him an invitation he could not refuse.
He paused outside her door, his hand hovering over the access panel. He was still wearing the medical gown, thin and flimsy, and he felt absurdly vulnerable. Like a patient awaiting a diagnosis or a prisoner awaiting sentencing.
"You can do this," he whispered to himself. "You survived bullets. You can survive a conversation."
He pressed the panel.
The door slid open.
Eloria stood at the far end of the room, silhouetted against the observation pane. She had changed into a simple robe of silver silk that caught the bioluminescent light and made her look like something out of a dream. Her hair was loose, cascading over her shoulders in waves that seemed to glow with their own inner light.
"Empress," he said, and his voice cracked on the word.
"Albert." Her voice was soft, almost hesitant. "Please. Come in."
He stepped across the threshold, and the door slid closed behind him with a soft hiss. The room was warmer than the corridors, rich with the scent of ozone and crushed herbs. A sleeping platform dominated one corner, its sheets rumpled and disturbed, and the air was thick with the lingering trace of something he could not name.
"You felt it," he said. It was not a question.
She nodded slowly. "The link between us is... stronger than I anticipated. It transmits more than just emotions. It transmits sensations. Images. Desires." She paused, her silver eyes meeting his. "I am sorry. I did not mean to—"
"You didn't do anything wrong." He stepped closer, his bare feet silent on the metal floor. "I was the one dreaming. I was the one who—" He broke off, flushing. "I'm sorry. I don't usually fantasize about people I've just met. It's not who I am."
"I know." She smiled, a fragile expression that did not quite reach her eyes. "I have seen who you are, Albert Voss. I have seen the depths of your heart. And I know that this is not something you would have chosen."
He stopped a few feet away from her, close enough to see the pulse fluttering at her throat. "What do you want from me?"
The question hung between them like a blade.
Eloria took a breath. "I want to understand," she said. "I have lived my entire life surrounded by people who want something from me. Who see me as a tool, a symbol, a means to an end. But you—" She shook her head slowly. "You saw me as a person. You threw yourself in front of a bullet for someone you had never met. And when I touched you, when I felt your thoughts, all I could feel was a desperate need for me to survive."
Albert's throat tightened. "Is that so strange?"
"It is unprecedented." She stepped closer, her silver eyes luminous in the dim light. "My people believe that humans are incapable of true selflessness. That your species is driven by greed and ambition and a hunger for power. But you have proven them wrong. You have proven that there is more to you than they ever imagined."
"I'm not special," he said. "I just did what anyone would do. I saw someone in danger and I acted."
"No." She shook her head firmly. "You did not act the way anyone would. You acted the way a man acts when he has nothing left to lose. When he has given up on his own happiness and found meaning only in the lives of others." Her voice softened. "I saw that, Albert. I saw your loneliness. Your grief. Your resignation to a life lived half-empty."
He felt the words like physical blows. Each one struck true, piercing through the carefully constructed walls he had built around his heart. She had seen him. She had truly seen him.
"Then you know why I did it," he said quietly. "I have nothing to live for. No one waiting for me at home. No one who would mourn my passing except my daughter, and she deserves better than a father who's given up."
"That is not true."
"It is." He met her eyes, his gaze steady despite the tremor in his voice. "I'm not a hero. I'm just a tired old man who saw an opportunity to make his death matter."
The silence that followed was heavy, thick with unspoken truths.
Eloria stepped closer, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her body. She reached up, her hand hovering near his cheek, waiting for permission.
He nodded.
Her palm pressed against his skin, soft and cool. The contact sent a jolt through him, and he felt the empathic link flare to life between them. Her emotions flooded his senses—confusion, desire, fear, hope. A tangled knot of feelings she had never allowed herself to express.
"You are not allowed to give up," she said softly. "Do you understand me? You risked your life for me. You saved me. And that means your life is no longer yours to throw away."
"I don't understand." His voice was barely above a whisper. "What are you asking of me?"
She pulled back, her hand dropping to her side. She took a deep breath, as if steadying herself for a confession.
"I have a bond with you," she said. "An empathic bond, deeper than anything I have ever experienced. It goes both ways—you felt my pleasure, just as I felt yours. And it will not fade with time. It will only grow stronger." She paused, her eyes searching his. "Our people have not seen such a connection in centuries. It is sacred. It is binding. And it cannot be undone."
Albert's heart hammered against his ribs. "What are you saying?"
"I am saying that you are my mate." The words fell from her lips like stones into still water. "The universe has chosen us for each other, whether we like it or not."
He staggered back, his mind reeling. "That's not possible. I'm human. You're—you're an empress. You're an alien. We can't possibly—"
"We already have." Her voice was gentle but firm. "The link was forged the moment you fell. I felt your thoughts. You felt my desires. The bond exists, Albert. It exists, and it will not be denied."
He pressed a hand to his forehead, trying to slow his racing thoughts. "I don't know what to do with this. I don't know what to do with any of this. I came here thinking I was going to die, and now you're telling me—"
"I am telling you that you have a purpose." She stepped closer, her small hand pressing against his chest, over his heart. "I am telling you that you are not alone. I am telling you that I will not let you give up, because I cannot survive without you."
"Eloria—"
"Please." Her voice cracked, the mask of composure finally slipping. "I have carried the weight of my crown alone for too long. I have smiled through political dinners and wept in silence behind closed doors. I have never had anyone who truly understood me until you." Her eyes glistened. "Do not ask me to let that go."
He looked at her—this small, fierce, impossibly powerful woman who had somehow seen through every wall he had ever built. And for the first time in years, he felt something stir within him. Something he had thought long dead.
Hope.
"I don't know how to be what you need," he said. "I'm not strong. I'm not brave. I'm just a broken man trying to hold himself together."
"You are exactly what I need." She reached up, her fingers brushing against his lips. "And I will spend the rest of my life proving it to you if I have to."
He kissed her.
It was not a gentle kiss. It was desperate, hungry, a collision of loneliness and longing that had been building for hours. He pulled her against him, his hands tangling in her silver hair, and she responded with a passion that stole his breath.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew this was madness. He knew there were consequences, political implications, a thousand reasons why this could never work. But as Eloria's hands slid beneath his medical gown, as her fingers traced the scars that mapped his body, all of that faded away.
There was only her.
There was only her.
The kiss broke, and they stood tangled in the half-darkness of her chambers, breaths mingling like the currents of two rivers meeting for the first time. Eloria's fingers remained twisted in the fabric of his medical gown, her knuckles pale against the thin material. He could feel her trembling—or perhaps that was him. The line between where his body ended and hers began had blurred into something unrecognizable.
"You're shaking," she whispered.
"So are you."
She laughed, a soft, unsteady sound that seemed to surprise her. "I have faced down assassins with more composure than this."
"Assassins don't kiss like you do."
Her cheeks flushed. In the dim glow of the bioluminescent panels, she looked younger than her thirty years, almost girlish despite the weight of her crown. She released his gown and stepped back, her fingers trailing across his chest as she moved. The contact sent sparks skittering along his nerves, illuminating pathways he had not known existed.
"I need to tell you something," she said. "Something I should have said before I summoned you here."
He waited.
She crossed to the observation pane, her silhouette stark against the starfield beyond. When she spoke, her voice was quieter, stripped of its regal cadence. "I have never been with anyone. Not like this. My people—we do not mate casually. It is not something we take lightly."
He absorbed her words slowly. "You mean you've never—"
"No." She turned to face him, her expression unreadable. "I have dedicated my life to my people. To my throne. There has never been time for... this. For the kind of connection that you and I have shared tonight." She paused, her jaw tightening. "And I am afraid that I will disappoint you. That I will not know what to do."
He crossed the room toward her, stopping just short of touching her. "Eloria, look at me."
She raised her eyes to his.
"I'm fifty-four years old," he said. "I was married for twenty-four years. I have known intimacy, yes. But I have also known what it is to feel utterly alone in someone's arms. To lie beside a person who is physically present but emotionally absent." He reached out, cupping her face in his hands. "You could never disappoint me. You couldn't possibly be worse than the emptiness I've been living with."
Her eyes glistened. "You are determined to make me cry tonight."
"That's not my intention."
"Then what is your intention, Albert Voss?"
He considered the question, really considered it. His intention had been unclear even to himself when he had walked through her door. He had been driven by curiosity and confusion and a desperate need to understand the strange connection that had formed between them. But now, standing here with her warmth seeping into his palms, he understood.
"I want to show you what it feels like to be wanted," he said. "Truly wanted. Not for your crown or your power or what you can offer. Just for you."
Something shifted in her gaze. The fear he had glimpsed moments ago did not vanish, but it softened, tempered by something that looked almost like trust.
"Show me," she said.
He kissed her again, slower this time. His hands slid from her face, tracing the curve of her neck, the slope of her shoulders, the delicate architecture of her collarbones. She shivered beneath his touch, a soft intake of breath that fanned across his lips.
"Is this okay?" he murmured.
"Yes. Don't stop."
He didn't.
His hands found the tie of her robe, and he pulled it loose with careful deliberation. The silver silk parted, sliding from her shoulders with a whisper of fabric against skin. She stood before him naked, her small frame bathed in the soft glow of the panel lights.
She was beautiful.
Not in the statuesque way of human women he had known, with their curves and their confidence and their easy familiarity with their own bodies. Eloria was different. Her figure was slight, almost elfin, with small breasts and a narrow waist that flared into hips he could span with his hands. Her skin had a faint luminescence that made her look like she had been carved from moonlight.
"You're staring," she said, a hint of self-consciousness creeping into her voice.
"I'm admiring." He reached out, tracing the line of her jaw with his thumb. "There's a difference."
Her lips curved in a hesitant smile. "And what exactly are you admiring?"
"Everything." He let his gaze travel down her body with deliberate slowness. "The way you catch the light. The way you look at me when you think I'm not paying attention. The way you hold yourself like you're bracing for a blow, even when you're standing in your own chambers with nothing to fear."
Her smile faltered. "You see too much."
"I see you." His voice was gentle. "And what I see is a woman who has spent her entire life being strong for everyone else. Who has never had the chance to be soft. To be vulnerable. To let someone else carry the weight for a while."
Her breath caught. A tear slipped down her cheek, and she brushed it away with an almost angry motion.
"I don't know how to do this," she said. "I don't know how to be soft."
"Then don't be." He pulled her against him, her bare chest pressing against his through the thin fabric of his gown. "Just be here. With me. In this moment. And let whatever happens happen."
She buried her face in his chest, her shoulders shaking with silent tears. He held her, one hand stroking her hair, the other pressed against the small of her back. The empathic link between them pulsed with a kaleidoscope of emotions—relief, fear, longing, and beneath it all, a fragile tendril of hope.
When her tears subsided, she pulled back and looked up at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed but steady.
"I want to feel you," she said. "I want to know what it's like to have you inside me."
His throat went dry. "Eloria, I don't want to push you into something you're not ready for—"
"Am I not ready?" She reached up, tugging at the shoulder of his medical gown. "Have I not made myself clear? I have told you things I have never told another soul. I have wept in your arms. I have let you see me at my most vulnerable." Her fingers found the tie at his waist. "The question is not whether I am ready. The question is whether you want this. Whether you want me."
He answered by pulling the gown over his head.
The fabric fell away, pooling at his feet, and for a moment she simply looked at him. Her gaze swept across his chest, following the lines of old scars and the soft paunch of his belly. If she was disappointed by his aging body, she gave no sign of it. Instead, she reached out, her fingers tracing the rough tissue of a scar that ran along his ribs.
"What happened here?" she asked.
"Shrapnel. A mission gone wrong about fifteen years ago."
She touched another scar, this one on his shoulder. "And here?"
"Bullet graze. I got lucky."
Her fingers drifted lower, across his stomach. "And here?"
"Divorce." He smiled ruefully. "The deepest wound of all."
She laughed, the sound bright and unexpected. "You are absurd."
"I've been told that before."
Her hand continued its journey, slipping lower until her fingers brushed against the hair at the base of his cock. He inhaled sharply, his hips twitching involuntarily.
"May I?" she asked.
He nodded, not trusting his voice.
Her fingers wrapped around him, light and tentative at first. He was half-hard, still recovering from the intensity of their earlier connection, but her touch sent blood rushing to his shaft with embarrassing speed. She explored him with careful curiosity, learning the shape and weight of him, her fingers tracing along the shaft until she reached the flared crown.
"It curves," she said, wonder creeping into her voice.
"I've been told that's a good thing."
Her eyes met his, a spark of mischief dancing in their depths. "Have you now?"
"By reliable sources."
She knelt before him, her silver hair cascading over her shoulders. He reached down, tangling his fingers in the strands, and she looked up at him with those impossibly bright eyes.
"I want to taste you," she said. "Is that—is that something you would like?"
His voice came out strangled. "Yes. Ancestors, yes."
She leaned forward, her breath warm against his skin, and pressed her lips to the head of his cock. The contact was electric, jolting through him like a current. He gasped, his fingers tightening in her hair, and she pulled back slightly, looking up at him with a question in her eyes.
"Did I hurt you?"
"No." He laughed shakily. "You surprised me. That's all."
She seemed to consider this. Then she leaned forward again, this time taking him into her mouth with deliberate care. Her tongue was warm and curious, exploring the contours of his shaft, tracing the ridge of flesh that flared beneath the head.
He groaned, his head falling back. "Eloria, that's—that's not fair. You're going to undo me before we even get to the main event."
She pulled off him with a wet sound, looking up at him with a satisfied smile. "Is that a complaint?"
"Absolutely not. Just a warning."
"Do you think I'm inexperienced?" She wrapped her hand around him again, stroking him with more confidence than before. "I may be a virgin, Albert, but I have read extensively."
"Read—" He broke off as her thumb traced a particularly sensitive spot. "Read what?"
Her smile turned wicked. "The Kestrel Scrolls contain quite detailed accounts of interspecies coupling."
"The Kestrel—" He shook his head, trying to clear it. "Why are we talking about scrolls?"
"Because you seem to think I need instruction." She rose, pressing her body against his. "I do not need instruction. I need you."
He lifted her easily, her small frame weightless in his arms. She let out a surprised yelp, her legs wrapping around his waist, and he carried her to the sleeping platform. They tumbled onto the silken sheets in a tangle of limbs and laughter.
"This is not how I imagined this going," she said, breathless.
"How did you imagine it?"
"I don't know." She looked up at him, her silver hair spread across the pillows. "More dignity, perhaps. Less falling over."
He propped himself up on his elbows, looming over her. "I've never been much for dignity."
"Neither have I, apparently." She reached up, tracing the line of his jaw. "Is this really happening? I keep expecting to wake up in my own bed, alone, realizing this was all a dream."
"If it's a dream, I don't want to wake up." He dipped his head, pressing a kiss to her collarbone. "Do you trust me?"
"Yes."
The word came without hesitation. He felt it through the link, genuine and unforced. It humbled him.
He kissed his way down her body, savoring each inch of her luminous skin. She gasped when his lips found her breasts, her back arching off the mattress as he drew her nipple into his mouth. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer.
"Albert—" His name on her lips was the sweetest sound he had ever heard.
He continued his downward journey, kissing the soft curve of her belly, the jut of her hip. And then he settled between her thighs, looking up at her through his lashes.
She was watching him with wide eyes, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. "What are you—"
He pressed his mouth to her core, and she cried out.
She was slick with arousal, and he lapped at her with careful strokes, learning the geography of her pleasure. She tasted unlike anything he had ever experienced—not sweet or musky, but something like electricity and champagne and honey all at once. Her hips bucked against him, and he wrapped his arms around her thighs, holding her steady.
She came apart beneath him.
Her climax crashed over her with a cry of surprise, her body shuddering against his mouth. He continued his attentions, letting her ride out the waves of pleasure until her trembling subsided and she lay limp against the sheets.
"Come here," she breathed. "Please. I need you inside me."
He rose over her, guiding himself to her entrance. The head of his cock pressed against her slick folds, and she inhaled sharply, her eyes locked on his.
"I don't want to hurt you," he said.
"You won't." She reached up, pulling him closer. "I'm ready. I was born ready for this."
He pushed forward.
The head of his cock sank into her tight heat, and she gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulders. He paused, giving her time to adjust, but she shook her head, urging him on.
"More. I want all of you."
He pushed deeper, his thin shaft sliding through her slick interior, pressing against walls that seemed to grip him from every angle. The inward curve of his cock angled naturally toward her front wall, and he heard her breath catch low in her throat.
"Oh," she whispered. "Oh, that's—that's different."
"Is it good different or bad different?"
"Good." Her voice was husky, raw. "Very good different."
He thrust deeper, burying himself to the hilt. They both stilled, joined completely, breathing in tandem. She felt impossibly tight around him, so much so that his own clit throbbed at the sensation of being enveloped by her alien heat.
"Don't move," she whispered. "Just—give me a moment."
He waited, his body trembling with restraint. The empathic link between them pulsed with her sensations—her fullness, her pleasure, the exquisite stretch of being filled for the first time. He felt her inner walls flutter around him, testing the shape of his length.
"Okay," she breathed. "Now. Move."
He pulled back almost all the way and thrust forward again, a slow, deliberate stroke. She moaned, her head tilting back, her neck arched like a bow. Her inner muscles clenched around him, drawing him deeper as if her very womb sought his seed. The intensity of the sensation was overwhelming—a perfect fusion of his shape and her internal architecture, the inward curve of his cock stroking her most sensitive spot with every pass.
"Again," she commanded.
He obliged.
The rhythm built slowly, each thrust more sure than the last. He found her angle, the position that made her cry out with every stroke, and he settled into a pace that was neither hurried nor hesitant. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, her hands sliding up his back to tangle in his hair.
The link between them amplified everything.
He felt her pleasure as his own, her sensations layering over his like harmonies building toward a crescendo. She felt his desire, his wonder, his growing awe at the miracle of their union. They moved together in perfect sync, their bodies speaking a language older than words.
"I'm close," she gasped. "Albert, I'm going to—"
"Let go. I've got you."
She came apart beneath him.
Her climax rippled through her, triggering his own, and he spilled into her with a groan of stunned pleasure. Every sensation seemed to sharpen as he flooded her depths—her body clenching around him like a fist, coaxing every last drop of essence from his shaft as his inward curve pressed unyieldingly against the spot that shattered her.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
They lay tangled together, breathing ragged, skin slick with effort. The bioluminescent panels pulsed around them, slower now, as if matching the deceleration of their heartbeats.
Finally, Eloria stirred. She propped herself up on one elbow, looking down at him with wonder in her silver eyes.
"You were right," she murmured.
"About what?"
"The reliable sources were correct. That inward curve is very good."
He laughed, the sound raw and honest. "I'm glad I could live up to expectations."
She ducked her head, hiding a smile. "You exceeded them."
They lay in comfortable silence for a while, hands tracing lazy patterns on each other's skin. Her fingers wandered along his chest until she paused over the crescent of a scar near his heart.
"Albert Voss," she said thoughtfully. "What am I going to do with you?"
"I have a few suggestions."
She swatted his chest lightly. "Be serious. I am the Empress of Andorra. I cannot simply take a human lover and expect my people to understand."
"Your people don't need to understand everything." He caught her hand, pressing it to his heart. "They just need to see that you're happy."
Her eyes glistened. "I do not know how to be happy. I have never learned how."
"Then I'll teach you."