Baila had gotten herself kidnapped.

In the “tradition of Morea,” no less.

What did that even mean? And why the hell did he want to kidnap her? Okay, they’d had fun times—see her pregnant belly as evidence—but she didn’t think that warranted hauling her off to parts unknown.

Held snugly in Zyriq’s arms, she put her trust in his strength and allowed some of her tension to flow from her body. Exhaustion pulled at her, events of the last twenty-four hours pummeling her again and again. Twenty-four hours that’d culminated in suffering beneath the healer’s hate and her mother’s screeching.

All because of her bastard bun in the oven.

If Zyriq was kidnapping her, did that mean he wanted their baby? Even if it was half-human? She refused to let hope spark to life in her heart. Hope was the quickest road to heartbreak.

Instead of peppering Zyriq with those questions—and many more—she chose to bask in his touch and breathe in his calming scent. She embraced the luxurious thrill of the warmth of protection she found in his arms. She reveled in being blanketed in coziness and feeling utterly safe as long as Zyriq remained close.

Baila tipped her head back and stared at Zyriq’s masculine, handsome purple face and gasped in surprise at what she found. He stared at her as well, his expression soft and filled with affection. A fondness that she wouldn’t expect since he’d mentioned “kidnapping” her.

She wasn’t ready to discuss any emotions she might feel for the warrior. She definitely wasn’t going to mention that her love for her unborn child rivaled the feelings she had for… him.

Instead, she focused on the scene they’d just left.

“Who was the other guy?”

He glanced at her and then refocused on their path. “What other guy?”

She grinned. “The one who broke my door? Who is he? Where is he?”

“Ah,” he jerked his head in a sharp nod. “Chall will return shortly.”

Baila nibbled her lower lip. “But he’s definitely going to fix my door, right?”

She did not even want to think about the repair bill. And sure, Zyriq said he’d handle it, but…

“It will be repaired,” he assured her. “I also swear your belongings will be safe.”

She hadn’t even thought about her stuff. She’d been too distracted by Zyriq.

“Okay.” Baila released a soft sigh and rested her head on Zyriq’s shoulder. She allowed his confidence to reassure her and decided she would relish in the fact that he carried her through the station. She didn’t have to put her swollen, aching legs and feet to use.

A few turns later and they approached Zyriq’s ship, the alien not slowing as they slipped through the airlock and into his world. They passed one Morean after another, each being some shade of purple from the lightest of hues to others not quite as dark as Zyriq. The variance in color didn’t surprise her, but the actions of the crew, did. Every warrior they passed stopped to place their fists on their chests and lower their gazes. Not moving until she and Zyriq were well past the males.

After the fourth crew member, she finally got up the courage to ask. “What are they doing?”

“I am the war captain.” His tone didn’t indicate it was a big deal, but the title said otherwise. Her baby daddy was the head honcho of a massive ship!

“Oh,” she watched the ripple go through the warriors, giving their respect to her baby daddy and then breaking free of the salute to continue their tasks. “Where are we going now?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” he stated it as if it was a bad thing, but she spied the faint smile, a subtle curl of his lips.

“I’m curious and you did kidnap me.”

They stopped in front of a set of double doors, the large imposing entry just as non-descript as the rest of the plain ship. She guessed that since Moreans were a warrior people, they didn’t care for beautiful surroundings as much as others.

The doors parted with a nearly silent whoosh, and Zyriq stepped into the space. “I brought you to my quarters. Your new home.”

Baila glanced around the space, taking in the subtle shades of gray and the curved lines of the architecture. It was both plain and yet beautiful at once. Gorgeous in its simplicity. “This is it?”

“Yes.” He carried her to what she’d call a couch and gradually lowered her to the soft surface. “Are you hungry?”

“Not really…” Even if it had been a while since she’d last eaten.

Zyriq frowned at her. “I will order food. You must eat.”

“I am a big girl. I can order food when I’m ready to eat.”

He frowned even harder, fists pressed to his hips. “You are carrying my young. A Morean young.”

Baila raised her eyebrows in question. “And?”

“You must nurture our young, so he will be strong—a powerful first son.”

Baila took a deep breath and released it slowly, hand going to her temple, so she could rub away the first hints of tension. Anger sparked to life, the feeling of being ordered to do something rubbing her the wrong way.

“We don’t know if it’s a boy. It could be a girl. And I would never do anything to harm my child.” The spark of anger burned hotter, catching flame inside her.

“You are clouded by your exhaustion. You must be starving.” Apparently, he was only going to discuss topics of his choice.

“I’m also annoyed that you’d think I’d purposefully do something to harm our child.” Baila pushed the words through gritted teeth.

“Those are not the words I used.” Maybe not directly, but she read between the lines. “I am familiar with the exhaustion that accompanies a Morean pregnancy. It is a male’s duty to see to his bonde…” He cleared his throat. “It is my duty to see that your every need is met.”

And as quickly as the anger appeared, it vanished with a gentle sigh, gone in a blink. She shook her head and closed her eyes, embracing the calm that overcame her.

Baila rubbed her stomach, their child shifting and wiggling inside her. “I guess I could eat something.”

“Good. It brings me joy.” A wide smile graced his lips, so much happiness in that one expression. He ran his finger along her jaw, the rough pad of his finger scratching her skin. A shiver raced down her spine, memories of his hands on her body while they made love suddenly rekindling. “I will summon a meal and return.”

He didn’t give her a moment to reply, simply strode away with those purposeful steps of his. A soft murmur wound its way through his quarters, a handful of mumbles and then he was back. The tenseness in his shoulders no longer plagued him and a new hint of relaxation took its place. As if that minor act physically soothed him.

“I have requested several your favorites as well as some of the meals Morean bearing females enjoy.” He stared down at her, his attention flitting between her face and the smooth roundness of her belly.

As if sensing his father’s presence, the baby shifted its position, a knee or elbow prodding her and forming a tiny bulge. Zyriq dropped to his knees before her, his arms outstretched, hand hovering over that odd spot.

“Does he harm you? May I…” A hint of insecurity tinted Zyriq’s expression. An insecurity that didn’t belong on the proud warrior’s face.

“It doesn’t hurt. You can feel,” she murmured. She’d never hold him back from the baby. Baila gathered the bottom of her shirt and gradually inched it higher. Then she nudged her pants lower, exposing her now purple stomach.

“Do you want me to show you where he’s moving most?” Baila reached for his hand, not touching him.

It was odd—their relationship. They had enjoyed each other’s bodies, made each other laugh, and exchanged stories, but they weren’t really… anything. What were they? Friends? Lovers? Parents, surely.

“Please.” The word burst past his lips as if it hurt to even ask.

She grasped his hand in hers and moved it until his palm rested on one of her baby’s favorite poking spots. The little one twisted and turned, nudging and prodding her from the inside.

As for Zyriq… She didn’t know the male well, but she’d never seen this expression on his face before. She doubted many had.

It was pure awe. Pure surprise and pleasure in one as he stared at her undulating stomach, feeling his child touch him through her skin. Baila took comfort in his caress, basking in his familiar heat and relaxing beneath his tender touch. His rough calluses scraped her exposed skin, but rather than scratching or hurting her, it brought forth her memories. Memories of them tangled in sheets, the room filled with the sounds of their shared passion. Memories of Zyriq taking her again and again…

She fought not to whimper when he withdrew his hand, fingers leaving her belly with the last ghost of a stroke. Only to have a new sensation overtake her—a tendril of arousal when Zyriq pressed his lips to her lilac flesh. He brushed his lips across her mound in a chaste kiss and closed his eyes before turning his face toward her while he pressed an ear to her stomach.

She remained still, a sense of something important filling the air, and she bit her lip to keep from blurting out her questions.

Zyriq stayed there for a minute and then two, his expression changing, slipping from grins to wide smiles and the occasional frown. But regardless, he stayed put, giving her a chance to stare at the sexy male. To study his features—sharp cheekbones, strong jaw, full lips, straight nose. A lock of dark purple hair fell across his brow and she moved before she had a chance to stop herself. She tucked it behind his ear, fingers drifting through his silken strands. Her touch broke whatever spell twined between Zyriq and their unborn child, and she hoped she hadn’t ruined some sort of alien communion.

Zyriq lifted his head, violet eyes on hers as his mouth split into a wide smile. “So much love, yabi. Our young holds much love for you and tells me of how loved he feels.”

“Tells?” Baila’s eyes widened and she fought to find her voice. “He… the baby… tells?”

“Of course.” He nodded.

“You can sense his emotions?”

Zyriq tilted his head to the sound, brow furrowed. “You cannot? Do humans not commune with their young?”

Baila stroked her stomach, staring down at the small miracle she held. “No.” She shook her head. “We can’t do that.”

His frown remained in place and he grasped her hands, placing them both on her belly. “Let us see if you can connect with our young. I do not know if you are able, but we will not know until we try.”

She was afraid to hope, but she did as Zyriq asked, eyes closed as she stroked her middle.

His voice was soft and soothing. “Think of the love of our young, of the joy of his creation and how much you look forward to delivery.”

Baila nearly snorted. Yeah, she was definitely looking forward to delivery.

“Search for the spark of life, an energy that is not your own.”

She did as he asked, looking inside herself for some inkling of an “other” inside her. Another soul that belonged to her baby.

And she found it. She found the glowing orb that was her child.

“Zyriq,” she gasped and smiled, hands freezing in place while her lungs ceased working. She was afraid to breathe. Too afraid she’d lose sight of the baby. “He’s…”

So, filled with joy. She didn’t get words from the baby, but pure emotion was enough. It soothed her in a way no medical scan or test ever had. She wasn’t forced to put her faith in someone else to know her child was well. Her baby could tell her. And he was so, so beautiful. Utter perfection.

Baila’s eyes burned, the first hint of tears making themselves known, but she didn’t care about crying all over herself. She could wipe up later. Right now, she wanted to keep the connection between her and her child. A single droplet snaked down her cheek and then another, the wet sensation hardly a distraction from this experience.

Hardly a distraction for her, anyway. Zyriq was another story.

“Why are you crying?” Zyriq’s panicked voice broke the connection, and she opened her eyes. His strong hands ran over her body, not leaving a single spot untouched. “Are you ill?”

His fingers went to her eyes, prying them open wide so he could stare into them. “I do not see a cause for your tears.”

“I’m fine.” She sniffled, her lips curling ever so slightly. “I just—”

“I know this word ‘fine.’ I know it is a female lie.” He glared at her and she fought back with an even wider grin. “Blade! Summon someone from medical!”

“Medical?” She chuckled. “I’m not hurt, Zyriq. I’m—”

The doors suddenly parted and she wondered if medical personnel had been stationed just outside their door.

Zyriq spun and stood. “Pach? What are you doing here?”

Pach stood tall. “I served on the queen’s ship as a healer’s apprentice. I am qualifed—”

“No,” Zyriq snarled, and she got the feeling he wasn’t a fan of Pach’s. “Go down the hall to Adhoe’s quarters and bring him to me. Immediately.”

“No one needs to retrieve anyone,” Baila spoke softly, trying to calm the situation.

Zyriq stared at Baila as if she were crazy. Well, she wasn’t the one panicking over a few tears.

“I’m not sick or injured, Zyriq.” She grinned at him. Even his little freak out wasn’t enough to stomp on the happiness she’d experienced. “They’re happy tears.” The men continued to stare at her, frowns unmoving, and she sighed. “I don’t need a healer.”

Especially if it was someone like the male she’d met in medical. Thanks, but no thanks.

Of course, because that’s what she didn’t want, that was exactly what she got. Pach had disappeared at some point and now returned with a struggling, snarling healer. He dragged the healer into the room, not caring that his charge struggled and scrambled for freedom.

“Release me this instant,” the healer snarled at Pach, his dark stare promising retribution for Pach’s, er, enthusiasm.

Zyriq ignored the duo and spoke to Baila as if she was the only other person in existence. “You are certain?”

She snared his hand with one of her own, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Happy tears, I swear. My kind can’t connect with their babies and it was overwhelming. But they were definitely happy tears.”

Zyriq grunted and waved a hand toward the struggling healer and Pach, who was equally determined to keep the healer in place. “Take him back, then.”

“But… Zyriq… You said…” Pach sputtered and she winced in sympathy. Zyriq wasn’t in the best of moods and she knew big wigs in general hated being questioned. Zyriq seemed like a very big wig on the ship.

“Pach, return Adhoe to his quarters. Blade, continue your monitoring of Adhoe.” Pach had not yet moved, and Zyriq glared at the younger male. “Pach, no amount of love from the queen will save you if you do not follow my orders. Now go.” The deep snarl vibrated through Baila, and while she wasn’t a fan of Zyriq’s anger, she did enjoy the way his voice made her tremble.

“Why is Adhoe being monitored?” She pointed at the healer.

Zyriq glanced at the male, lip curled and undeniable disgust on his features. “We had a disagreement.”

Adhoe sniggered.

“What kind? What about?”

Zyriq didn’t look away from the healer. “I do not tolerate disrespect.”

“No disrespect was intended. I would never disrespect the first son,” Adhoe immediately countered.

Zyriq turned his attention to her. “He informed me he refused to heal a human and that the first son should sire young with a worthier dame.”

The whole human thing she recalled. The healer was an asshole. But first son? What…

“Do not worry, yabi. It is politics and you will only interact with approved warriors on Morea.” His words were probably meant to be comforting and yet they weren’t. He turned his attention to Adhoe. “Until we return to Morea, we are forced to work with who we have, which is him.” Zyriq growled.

“O-kayyy. Are you the first son? I guess I’m the ‘unworthy’ dame. What’s a first son, exactly?”

“I am the first son of Stouryx Rukzahl.”

“Uh-huh.” For some reason she thought there was more to what he said. “But first son sounds like a title. Like it should be capitalized. Like it’s important.”

Zyriq grimaced. “It is a title.”

Adhoe snorted, earning another glare from Zyriq.

“I am the first son of…” he sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, brushing the dark strands back. “Warking Stouryx Rukzahl.”

No. She didn’t hear him right. Right? She couldn’t have. Because it sounded like… “Your father is the king? Of Morea?” He nodded. “And you’re his first son?” Another nod. “So that means you’re… Oh god,” she was gonna be sick. “You’re a prince. You’re the crown prince.”

The crown prince. And her baby was gonna be a prince—or princess—and she was gonna be the mother to a prince-princess and… And Baila just wasn’t. That whole world just wasn’t something she belonged in. She was a waitress, for stars’ sakes.

Baila’s chest rose and fell with rapid breaths, the air wheezing in and out of her lungs with an increasing pace. The world around her took on a faint, dreamy quality and she felt as if she floated rather than sat on the couch.

Floating was good. Floating was great. Floating… was what she felt immediately before she passed out and the world went black. Again.