Chapter 9: My Emperor turns possessive

The journey to Orbiscarne promised to be neither cheerful nor short. There was little time to prepare—only while the imperial spacecraft was being refueled with tons of Ruby Oil. In a hurry, with my maid's help, I managed to pack a few things but didn't even have time to change for the trip. Well, I would rest on the way.

We departed at night on a military shuttle that delivered us to the ship. Our entire company fit into a single shuttle—me, Theo, Colonel Gustav Ravenmar, the royal guards—four men and two women, and one of the supply advisors, Ignat Vitovsky—a dark horse to me. Anyway, not that I had managed to learn a lot about that Ravenmar, but on him, I had at least something... Separately, a squadron of the imperial army boarded the ship in full gear. Add to that about thirty crew members, and you have a company whose journey to Orbiscarne would cost the empire many lit rooms and heated greenhouses.

Inside, the ship was not large—functional, not like the grandiose vessels built in past eras to showcase the empire's might. We all, except for the guards, settled in the main cabin, where there were soft sofas and coffee service, because even the first-class cabins were not luxurious—just enough space for a hanger and a bed, albeit with fine sheets. The ship bore a symbolic name—Paradox.

This metal-frosted Paradox flew through the inky blackness of space, occasionally pierced by the flickering of distant stars. The journey to Orbiscarne took eighteen hours, but I had a feeling it would feel longer—the heavy silence between passengers, the dull hum of life-support systems, the periodic shifts in gravity as the vessel adjusted its course.

Theo sat reclined in his chair, glancing at a tablet filled with numbers. He was deep in thought, but it seemed the hours of flight and relative calm ahead had soothed his nerves somewhat. I wondered if that was why he had agreed to this trip to Orbiscarne—to steal a moment of respite, a break from all the madness. A bitter thought, but for now, I was still a part of his madness.

Opposite us, Gustav Ravenmar, colonel of the imperial army, lounged comfortably in his seat, hands tucked into his pockets. He exuded that carefree confidence that comes with years of service. Besides, it seemed we were flying to his homeland, and his role was to act as a liaison with his people, a guide to the terrain.

I tried to relax, but every jolt of the ship made me glance anxiously at the stabilization system. My past iterations may have flown quite a bit before, but not in these times of constant scarcity and economizing.

Our past iterations had faced uprisings of various scales. The Empress, for instance, had obliterated half of Orbiscarne—its mines and settlements—when the barons seized power and threatened to trade with the Temporans. That was the Red Ash Rebellion—it erupted after it was discovered that prolonged exposure to Ruby Oil affected the miners' psyche. Their dreams became more vivid, and some even claimed to relive moments from the future or see the dead.

Oh, my Empress... She had been magnificent in her wrath. I couldn't help but remember those days—how by day she was ruthless and merciless to the rebels, issuing orders that would haunt future iterations of the emperor, if emperors only remembered. Her armies burned everything in their path, rendering entire Orbiscarne colonies uninhabitable. And at night, she returned to my tender embrace, knelt before me, her hot tongue between my thighs feeling like an extension of her policies on the scorching Orbiscarne. Her fingers deep inside me—like the pistons of mining rigs in the shafts—and in my climaxes, I saw red stains on white sand, spilled Ruby Oil by the mines.

Those were simpler times. Now the empire had sunk into austerity and bureaucracy.

Miners who work with Ruby Oil know the true value of their resource. It is not just fuel—it is the foundation of the empire, and they are well aware of their power.

Orbiscarne's miners fall into two main groups: contract workers and native-born members of the Families. One of our past iterations—Theo's and mine—came from Orbiscarne, but from contract families, not natives. The natives live in closed communities and often marry among themselves. Even they, however, have grown poorer, or rather plain poor, over time.

Contract miners are workers who arrive on Orbiscarne under agreements, usually for five to ten years. They are drawn by the high payouts promised at the end of their contracts and the chance to advance in the army afterward—especially relevant for engineering positions in the mines. But the work is grueling: they descend into the shafts multiple times a day, their bodies wear out faster from prolonged exposure to Ruby Oil, and due to chronomanipulations on the planet, they often lose track of time in ways other worlds do not experience. They dream of leaving, but Orbiscarne pulls them in. Some never leave, staying there forever.

The native-born have never known another life. They grow up in stilted corridors, their lungs adapted to the dust and the hot, thin air since childhood. To them, Orbiscarne is not just a place of work but their home. They have nowhere else to go, and they are the true driving force behind the uprisings. They know the mines, the underground tunnels, the effects of the Oil better than anyone, and they can disappear into the planet's depths so completely they may never be found.

Their demands vary—from better food rations to increased representation in the council or to autonomy over mining quotas. But their weakness is their fragmentation and adherence to family law, which divides them.

By the fourth hour of the flight, the shuttle had locked onto its trajectory toward the refueling station—a bleak metal ring suspended in the void. We were still five hours away, so I said I would go rest in our cabin.

The moment I sank into the soft pillows, I felt the exhaustion in my body, but I knew I wouldn't sleep—not with this restless energy coiling inside me. I knew its cause, though I didn't want to admit it to myself. Octavian. Seeing him now—especially when my relationship with Theo had been so dulled by my forced secrecy—was not part of my plans.

Beyond the shuttle's windows, clusters of debris from ancient stations flickered by, remnants of ruined orbital platforms, and dark shadows of distant fleets drifting between the Empire's worlds. Occasionally, the cold glint of beacons flashed, or distant bursts of combat—perhaps pirates, perhaps military drills.

I stared into this chaos through the fogged glass, feeling my thoughts wash away like stardust. Had we always been caught in this wheel of time? Had there ever been a past that did not return to us again and again? And why hadn't the Box worked on Theo?

Theo entered the cabin silently, like a predator's shadow slipping through the door. His military jacket was unfastened at the collar, his dark eyes veiling something unspeakable. I sat up on the bed, about to apologize, but he stopped my attempt with a single motion—not harsh, just firm—and shook his head as if severing the conversation before it even began.

"Not now, Mira."

I opened my mouth to argue, but his fingers brushed against my wrist, and I felt the words dissolve, like salt in water. He didn't want to talk about the Box. He doesn't want to talk about my confession. in fact, it is not talk that he wants at all. Instead, his breath is hot and close, and his gaze unbearably heavy.

"I don't know what's wrong with you, but you're still mine, you hear me? You're not going anywhere, I love you, you're my whole life."

His hand moves higher, slowly, and then he pulls me to him, making me feel the strength of his body. I attempt to protest—or maybe I just imagine I do, because I'm already suffocating in his closeness.

He immediately deepens the kiss, pushing his tongue into my mouth, rough and commanding. Under my hands, his broad, muscular torso feels hot, firm, strong. But he doesn't let me unbuckle his belt. Instead, he pulls both my hands above my head, his other hand slipping into my panties. It's already wet there, like a swamp—the complete opposite of Orbiscarne—and squelches under his immediately determined touches. His hand is fast, he doesn't waste time, and just when I think I'm about to come, he finally pulls out his fully erect, throbbing dick.

Theo takes me. Roughly. He doesn't slide inside, he pushes and nails it in me, reaching my womb with his cock. Without unnecessary words, without pauses. He just takes what's his, as if proving something to himself. As if trying to bind me (or rather to nail me) to this moment, to himself, to his own right over me. His hands are hot and firm, and the sheets beneath us are already wet—partially my doing. Everything dissolves into the rhythm he sets—it consumes me, erases everything else, leaving only him and this moment. It hurts a little, but the pleasure overrides everything, even the tiny worm of doubt that this is… something new.

By the time he comes, I've already had two orgasms, and my eyes struggle to focus on him as he immediately jerks away from me like a ball and starts getting dressed.

Only now does awareness return to me in waves, and I realize that docking with the refueling station is about to happen.

I lay there a little longer, but still, when I stepped out to the others, my legs barely held me. After our room, scented with sex and dominance, the sterile, cold air of the ship felt fresh. For a moment, I leaned my shoulder against the wall, gathering myself before stepping forward. And at that very moment, I saw through the porthole as Octavian boarded.

His steps were already audible—confident—and his voice, level, almost casually ironic:

"Well, where does one go to greet the most beloved people of my life?"