Chapter Thirty Eight: A Chamber of Choices
Freya closed the door behind her and pressed her back against it, the hiss of it sealing shut echoing in her ears.
For a long moment she just stood there, staring at the unfamiliar room. The bed was neatly made, the lights a soft glow, the hum of the ship steady beneath her feet. Everything was calm. Safe.
And yet inside her, a storm raged.
She slid down onto the bed, pulling her knees up to her chest. Her fingers toyed with the edge of the tunic Nerissa had given her, light and alien against her skin. She’d thought the chamber might bring peace, but all it did was make her feel the walls of her own thoughts closing in.
She whispered the word aloud, testing it. “Pros.”
It felt silly, almost childish, but she needed to put order to the chaos in her head.
“Pros,” she repeated, more firmly this time.
She could finally feel like she belonged somewhere. Not just floating through a quiet life of tea, books, and muted loneliness, but belonging. The bond Axir had spoken of—Kai’thera—it terrified her, yes, but it also filled her with a strange kind of peace. A tether. For once in her life, she wasn’t wandering alone.
She could see and experience new things with him. Entire worlds, galaxies she couldn’t even imagine yet. Places full of color, danger, beauty. More than her quiet little town could ever offer.
She could help him. Support him as he rebuilt Zytherion. She wasn’t a soldier, but she wasn’t fragile either. She had a mind, a heart, and maybe those mattered just as much.
And family. The word caught in her throat. She’d dreamed, once, of building one of her own. Could she build it with him? A home with laughter, love, children? The thought made her cheeks burn, but her chest ached with longing.
And maybe—just maybe—all those confusing dreams she’d had, all those flickers of something bigger than herself, might finally make sense. Maybe destiny wasn’t just some cruel trick. Maybe it was a path, waiting.
Her voice cracked when she said it this time. “Cons.”
She wasn’t Zythorian. Not in blood, not in history. Would they ever truly accept her? A shy librarian with no great lineage, no noble name? What if the people who needed their prince looked at her and saw only weakness?
And the danger. She couldn’t ignore it. Already she’d been kidnapped, threatened, pulled into chaos she could barely comprehend. What if she couldn’t handle it? What if she broke under the weight of a galaxy at war?
And worst of all—what if she failed him? What if she wasn’t enough, and he paid the price for trusting her?
Her throat tightened. Tears threatened, but she blinked them back.
She pressed her face into her knees, muffling a laugh that came out more like a sob. “It would be easier if I didn’t love him.”
The word slipped out without her meaning it to. Love.
But it was true. She loved his grumpy silences, the way his golden eyes softened when he thought she wasn’t looking. She loved how he treated her like she mattered—even when he was infuriatingly overprotective. She loved the man who had fallen into her world and somehow become her world.
And yet… Earth called to her. Her little house, her books, her tea. The comfort of familiarity. A life where danger was as simple as a broken heater, not a galactic warlord.
Could she really give it up?
Her chest ached with the weight of it.
Her fingers drifted to her lips, remembering the feel of his kiss. Not hurried, not lustful, but steady, grounding. A promise.
The bond was real. She could feel it, like a tug deep in her chest. She hadn’t asked for it, hadn’t chosen it—but maybe choice was more complicated than that.
Maybe fate had chosen for her.
She lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The hum of the ship vibrated softly beneath her spine. She closed her eyes, and in the dark, she could almost imagine his voice again.
No matter what you decide… you are not glass to me.
Her breath hitched.
She turned onto her side, curling beneath the thin blanket. Her heart wanted him. Wanted this.
But her head… her head screamed of danger, rejection, fear.
She was leaning toward Earth, she admitted it. Toward safety, toward familiarity. Toward running from something that felt too big.
But every time she tried to imagine saying goodbye to Axir, her chest burned. The thought of never seeing him again felt like tearing off a part of herself.
“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered into the dark.
Her voice broke, quiet and fragile. “I don’t know how to leave you.”
Sleep didn’t come. She tossed, turned, sat up, paced the chamber. Every corner felt too small, too suffocating.
She tried to distract herself by cataloging the alien details: the hum of the walls, the faint shimmer of the floor under the dim lights, the way the temperature stayed perfectly even no matter how long she wandered.
But nothing worked. The tether tugged at her chest, pulling her back to the medic bay, to him.
When she finally collapsed into the bed again, exhaustion creeping in, one thought stayed with her, steady as the hum of the ship.
She could try to run. Try to choose safety.
But she wasn’t sure she’d ever truly be free of him.
Not when her heart already belonged.