Chapter Sixty four: Breakfast with trouble
Chapter Sixty four: Breakfast with trouble
The next three days blurred by in a haze of planning, councils, and endless guarded meetings. For Freya, it meant little more than catching glimpses of Axir from a distance. Once or twice she passed him in the corridors, his tall frame striding ahead, his expression carved into stone. Each time, she wanted to run up and tug him away from duty, demand even a few stolen moments—but she knew better. There were things bigger than her yearning heart. Things that demanded his full strength.
She is missing him so fiercely that her chest ached. Nights stretched long without his voice, and though the estate was vast and beautiful, it felt oddly hollow.
What surprised her most was the second ache—missing Kehan. His awful jokes, the sly smiles, the way he could spin tension into laughter. She hated herself for it, but when she didn’t hear his teasing remarks echo through the halls, she noticed. She filled her days wandering the estate’s gardens, walking the edge of manicured orchards, and even sneaking visits to the Zytherion ship just to feel closer to the world she belonged to now. But emptiness lingered all the same.
On the fourth morning, she woke to an unexpected knock.
When she cracked open the door, her breath hitched. There he was—Axir, weary yet smiling, his eyes warm despite the shadows beneath them.
“Good morning, my Kai’thera,” he said, voice softer than she’d heard in days. “I’m sorry I’ve been away. So much to prepare, so many strategies to weave.” He paused, and his smile deepened. “But I’ve missed you terribly. Will you join me for breakfast?”
Freya blinked, startled by his sudden appearance. Then joy flooded her, so quick she nearly cried. She stepped forward, throwing her arms around him, holding tight.
Axir chuckled, arms circling her waist, pulling her close. “You missed me that much?” His grin tilted into mischief. “I feel like Damon craving Elena’s blood.”
Freya snorted and pulled back just enough to smack his chest. “Don’t you dare compare yourself to that! But yes—I’ve missed you.”
“Good,” he murmured, brushing his thumb across her cheek.
“I’ll join you,” she said quickly, trying not to blush at how easily he unraveled her. “Just give me a few minutes to get ready.”
He nodded, waiting patiently outside while she darted inside to clean up, tugging on one of the softer tunics Nerissa had given her. She tied her hair into a loose braid and glanced in the mirror. Not perfect, but she looked… alive again.
When she stepped out, Axir took her hand without hesitation, guiding her down the hallway. The warmth of his grip was grounding, reassuring. She was about to ask him for updates on the Core—on the prototype, on the endless mystery surrounding Vorkesh—when another hand suddenly tugged her left arm.
She almost tripped, but Axir steadied her quickly, his jaw tight.
“Mischievous mornings, aren’t they?” came the unmistakable voice.
Freya turned and there he was—Kehan, grinning like the cat who’d caught both the bird and the cream.
“What do you think you’re doing, Kehan?” Axir snapped, tone sharp.
Kehan ignored him entirely, his gaze landing on Freya. “Good morning, my Zytherion friends!” he said brightly, then added with a wink, “And my human friend. Or shall I call you mine, Freya?” He laughed at his own joke.
Freya went scarlet, words deserting her. She just stood there, trapped between these two gorgeous, infuriating men—her alien prince on one side, her teasing Nimoan host on the other.
Axir grunted low in his throat, his voice like the growl of a storm. “Kehan. Enough.”
But Kehan only shrugged, cheerful as ever. “Come on then. Let’s eat. Food tastes better in good company. And by good, I mean me.”
“You’re not invited,” Axir said flatly.
“Pfft,” Kehan waved him off. “I don’t need an invitation. Besides, who else will make Freya laugh at breakfast?” He tossed her another wink that only made her face burn hotter.
Axir growled something under his breath but kept walking, hand never leaving hers. Kehan strolled alongside, smug as a fox.
When they reached the table, it was already laid with platters of Nimoan delicacies—gleaming fruits, steaming breads, spiced meats. Freya hadn’t even picked up a fork before the two men started piling food onto her plate. Axir added a selection of soft breads and spiced eggs, while Kehan heaped on bright purple fruit slices and something fried that looked suspiciously alive.
“Stop!” Freya laughed, lifting her hands in surrender. “Enough! You’ll make me fat at this rate!”
Both froze. Then, slowly, they turned their heads to glare at each other. The air between them thickened with silent challenge, sharp and unyielding.
Freya rolled her eyes and cleared her throat. “Seriously? Can you two not?”
Neither looked away, but their hands dropped from her plate. She sighed and seized the moment. “Axir—any progress with the prototype?”
He tore his eyes from Kehan, his expression softening as he answered. “The energy signal we tracked is fluctuating. It may mean Vorkesh has been jumping between systems—different galaxies, even—to lose our trail. But the last reading suggested Cyranus… or possibly Zytherion itself.” His brow furrowed. “It doesn’t make sense.”
Kehan leaned in. “That’s boring talk,” he said dismissively, though his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Freya, what do you say about meeting the Thinkers of Nimoa?”
“The Thinkers?” she repeated.
“Yes,” he said, eyes twinkling. “They’re the keepers of memory, the ones who should know where the last part of the Core might be hidden. They’re tucked away in the Selenic Heights, three days’ travel. Bit of flying, bit of hiking. But worth it. Imagine the stories you’d hear.”
Freya blinked, curiosity sparking. “So… we’d have to travel across Nimoa?”
“Yes.” He grinned. “An adventure. Just the two of us—”
“Absolutely not!” Axir slammed his hand on the table, voice like thunder. “She is not leaving this estate. It’s dangerous. What are you thinking, Kehan?”
Kehan bristled, jaw tight. “And you are not her keeper! She’s capable of making her own choices. If she wants to see the world, I’ll keep her safe.”
Axir leaned forward, eyes blazing. “You? You couldn’t even keep a clutch of Tarauder eggs safe without half of them hatching on your dining table.”
Kehan went red, his voice rising. “I did! They hatched early, that’s all! How dare you question my abilities—”
The two loomed over the table, voices climbing, sparks practically flying across the dishes.
Freya pressed her fingers to her temples. A headache bloomed between her eyes, worsened by every loud, childish jab they hurled at each other.
“Enough!” she burst out, shoving back her chair. “I can’t—just… you two are impossible.”
Both men froze, caught mid-snarl.
Freya stood, pushing past them. “I need air,” she muttered, heading for the door.
But she had barely reached it when she heard chairs scrape violently. Footsteps pounded behind her.
“Freya—wait!” Axir called.
“Freya, come back—we’re not done!” Kehan added, his voice half-playful, half-desperate.
Her heart pounded. Because part of her wanted to run to Axir’s arms. And another, smaller, confusing part wondered what would happen if she looked back at Kehan instead.