I looked forward to seeing how that worked out for him.
The bride was always last to enter the luncheon, a tradition that had developed over the years since the Bride Games had begun.
Standing, Adredoni gave the traditional warriors’ greeting, holding his closed fist, thumb inward toward my chest, a little longer than was customary, eyeing first the yellow Tiziani Mencono and then me. “Greetings,” he said, “and may the gods favor our endeavors on this day.”
I blinked at his choice to utter what was generally a prayer before battle as a greeting but murmured the traditional response. “May the gods favor you, as well.”
As I took a seat to Adredoni’s right, I smiled at the younger captain’s bold moves. Tiziani, on the other hand, scowled as he realized that he’d just offered a prayer for Adredoni’s success. Tiziani sat across from me, leaving the seat immediately in front of the door available for Natalie.
“It is a pleasure to meet you.” I nodded at them both, then turned to Adredoni, interested to see what kind of competition he might offer. “I have learned many good things about you today.”
“And I you.”
Somewhere in a television studio on the station, Vos and his team of commentators were certainly discussing the social undercurrents in the room as we waited for the bride to arrive.
Adredoni showed off his social skills by including Tiziani in the conversation. “I understand you are a member of the civilian guard?”
“I am a retainer to the southern continent’s Royal Residence and am responsible for the prince’s safety when he is there.”
As I had expected, he was a nobody. The current prince rarely traveled outside the capitol, and when he did, a retinue of military guards traveled with him. Tiziani was a pretender to rank. The judges would score harshly for his attempts to show off.
I nodded politely at the guardsman.
The door opened and the two people who had been appointed Natalie’s guides—a Poltien and a Blordl—opened the door. The Blordl announced in her trilling voice, “Here comes the bride,” a phrase lifted from Earth mating rituals and used to introduce contestants whenever a new game began.
We three grooms stood, waiting for Natalie.
Beside me, Captain Adredoni inhaled, and his entire being seemed to light up from within.
That is how a male finding his mate should look. Could more than one Khanavai warrior have the same true mate?
I took a deep breath, hoping to discover the answer. And then I frowned.
The synthesizers had gotten Natalie’s scent…well, not wrong, exactly. But the synthesized version lacked the fullness of the scent that was uniquely hers.
And that scent did not belong to my mate.
Better to end this farce now than allow it to drag on. Reaching out, I took Natalie’s hand in my own. She flinched, then froze.
Definitely not mine.
“My dear,” I said, bowing over her hands. “I am very sorry, but I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
Natalie gasped as if I had mortally wounded her. Surely she hadn’t already decided on me?
Then she caught her breath. “What is it you need to tell me?”
I allowed my sadness to infuse my voice. “I’m afraid the synthesized chemical composition of your scent-markers did not do you justice.”
Natalie glanced at the other two men in the room, her expression confused. Bloated blundevins, I cursed to myself. A Khanavai female would have known what I was trying to say.
“You are very lovely,” I continued. “But I’m afraid I must tell you that we are not a match, after all.”
“We’re not a match?”
I met her gaze sadly and shook my head. “I fear not.”
Her breath left her body in a wild rush, and she scrabbled at the chair next to her, grabbing the back and sinking into the seat.
Why is she fainting? My mind scrambled for an answer. Was my rejection really that much of a shock to her system? We had never met before—but perhaps she was one of those females who built entire worlds of fantasy around her. Maybe she had decided we were meant to be together and was unable to remain standing at the mere thought of my rejection.
I followed her down to help support her as she landed on the chair and remained kneeling on one knee before her.
“I do hope I have not distressed you too much, Miss Natalie,” I continued in my most polite tone.
“No,” she said, waving one hand weakly. “Not at all. Thank you for letting me know so quickly. I appreciate not having this ordeal drawn out more.”
Her two assistants leaned in, the Blordl drawing me to my feet. “No problem,” she trilled. “We’re so sorry your match didn’t work out.”
She opened the door to usher me out. The Poltien followed us, muttering something about false matches ruining the show.
The Blordl shut the door behind us, and I was once again free to follow my hunches about the Alveron Horde’s plans to disrupt the Bride Games somehow.
Even if part of me—that deep, primal part that had growled out its possession of the scent backstage—whimpered in sadness that Natalie Ferguson had not been my mate, after all.
At least I have work to do, I consoled myself—and from here, it would be easy to cut through the shuttle bay area to the main offices and get back to that work. “I’m going to the military side of the station,” I told the assistants, who murmured their goodbyes, apparently glad they wouldn’t have to escort me anywhere.
But as I turned down the main hallway that opened onto the shuttle bays, I found myself in a long hallway full of women.
And once again, that smell—the scent of my mate—hit me like a fist to the gut.
She’s here, I realized. Somewhere among all these women.
And I would do whatever it took to find her.
Chapter Seven
Mia
“Why can’t we use the transporter to go home?” I asked Thorvid as it led me toward the shuttle bay.
“It has something to do with the number of destinations required. Too much of
