The stars had never felt so close.
From the observatory dome of Nerion IX, the starscape of the Andarion Belt wrapped the orbital station like a jeweled cloak. Dust clouds spiraled in shades of violet and gold, distant suns blinked like ancient gods, and meteor tails carved streaks of silver across the dark. Lyra Velatrix stood at the very edge of the viewing deck, hands clasped behind her back, as if tethering herself to the moment.
This was her favorite place on the station—not because of the view, though it was breathtaking, but because it was the only space not watched by House advisors, surveillance drones, or the suffocating presence of Prince Thalos. Here, she was not the heir of Velatrix. She was just Lyra.
And tonight, she would break every law she had sworn to uphold.
The door behind her slid open with a whisper of pressure equalization. She didn't need to look to know who had come. She could feel his presence before he spoke—like warmth blooming against cold air.
"You always find the highest towers, don't you?" came Kade Mercer's voice, soft and laced with that Earthborn sarcasm she found irresistible.
"I prefer the stars to people," Lyra replied, still facing the glass. "They don't ask questions they already know the answers to."
Kade walked to her side, letting the silence settle between them. He looked different than he had earlier in the diplomatic hall—less rigid, more human. The formal suit of the Terran Union was gone, replaced with a soft jacket and dark tunic. His brown eyes scanned her face with an intensity that made her breath catch.
"I wasn't sure you'd come," he said finally.
She turned to him, eyes unreadable. "And yet, here I am."
There was something magnetic between them—an energy humming beneath the skin, like the charge before a lightning storm. It had started the moment they met six months ago during the preliminary summit on Andor Prime. She, the emissary of an empire that viewed humans as impulsive brutes. He, the diplomat with too much charm and not enough fear.
They weren't supposed to talk.
They weren't supposed to meet in secret gardens or exchange messages encoded in musical notation.
And they definitely weren't supposed to fall in love.
But they had.
"What if someone follows you here?" Kade asked, brushing his fingers against hers.
"They won't," Lyra said. "Not tonight."
Kade gave a small smile. "Still reckless."
She tilted her chin. "Still worth it."
He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a tiny, luminous crystal, shaped like a teardrop and glowing faintly blue. "This is called a bonding crystal," he said. "On Earth, we give it when we choose someone for life. It's symbolic. Personal."
Lyra stared at the stone in silence. "You brought that for me?"
"I brought it in case I was brave enough to give it to you."
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she reached behind her neck and unclasped a delicate pendant shaped like a crescent moon, the symbol of her lineage. The Velatrix vow charm. "This has belonged to my family for six generations," she said. "We wear it when we pledge our word—when we vow something we cannot undo."
The crystal pulsed gently in Kade's hand. The pendant shimmered in hers.
Without a word, they exchanged tokens.
Lyra looked up into his eyes, her voice barely a whisper. "If they discover this…"
"I know," Kade said. "But I'd rather risk war than live a lie."
They stood in silence, heartbeats echoing in the quiet. The galaxy beyond them spun on, uncaring.
"Kade," she said suddenly. "You don't know what they'll do to you if they find out."
His fingers laced with hers. "Then they'll know that I was the first Terran diplomat executed for love. Makes for a memorable legacy, doesn't it?"
She tried to laugh, but her voice cracked instead.
He lifted her chin. "Don't be afraid, Lyra."
"I'm not afraid for me."
The words hung between them like mist.
She closed her eyes, pressing her forehead to his. "Promise me one thing. If everything falls apart… don't let them make you hate me."
"Never," he said. "Even if the stars collapse."
They stayed like that—two fugitives in a glass tower, holding hands in the dark while the universe conspired against them.
Then the station's subtle lighting dimmed to mark the third cycle of night. It was a warning. Time was slipping.
Kade stepped back, reluctantly. "We have to go."
"Wait," Lyra said. "One last thing."
She turned, pressing her hand to the panel at the edge of the glass. The observatory dome dimmed, and above them the ceiling vanished into a high-definition projection of the galaxy, as if the stars themselves had descended to greet them.
The room became infinite.
Under the weight of a thousand suns, Lyra whispered, "I vow to you—across time, war, and empire—I am yours."
Kade's voice trembled. "And I, to you."
They kissed—slow and aching—beneath a sky that was not theirs to own.
Somewhere far below, in the political chambers of the station, a notification blinked red on the security console.
A royal had gone off-grid.
And everything was about to change.