Saoirse knew the look that had blossomed in Petra’s eyes well. It was something fathomless and dark. Something that yearned and whispered.

Of course she knew it. She’d worn it herself a decade ago, young and eager for a fight. That was before she was battle-worn and bruised by the many failures of her tenure.

Her planet followed a matriarchal, meritocratic philosophy. It was unforgiving to those assigned privilege by virtue of their lineage. In her early years, she’d resented that — stewing in righteous anger that her galactic allies had handed to them the things she fought valiantly for. These days, she was thankful that leadership was earned, not assigned.

Being born an heir on Gaol simply guaranteed you a spot in the Naming Contest. Her own Mother had usurped the previous ruling family in her time through sheer force of will, after her early life as a lower noble. Saoirse was guaranteed nothing but the chance to earn her way in.

With wit and violence, she’d claimed her throne. 

Then she’d failed in her negotiations with the ice planet, Falil, in her first year. It nearly careened her people into a bloody intergalactic war, and she’d been sent groveling on her armor plated knees to her competitors in the capital, Jeeol. She’d avoided a last-minute catastrophe, but stepped directly into another.

Her people's crisis of confidence.

Her ill-fated plea to this pocket-sized Earthling was her penance for throwing away everything she’d bled and clawed and killed for.

She led that same Earthling to the teleporter now, Saoirse’s footfall heavy in comparison. It was only years at war that allowed her to keep track of someone so small and light-footed. Even in heels.

“You are remarkably composed, considering I have just revealed we have the capability to teleport.” Saoirse removed one of her thick, military-grade gloves, pressing her cool palm to a screen with a faint green glow. “Does nothing unsettle you?”

Petra’s head tilted, pale eyes unblinking. “I can pretend to be afraid if it would put you at ease.”

“I don’t think anything about you would put me at ease.”

Two slick white panels parted wide and they passed through, a handful of soldiers dropping to their knees in neat rows as they tread down the hallway.

Despite their differences in height, Petra seemed to keep pace just fine. She was always a handful of steps behind, never bothered, never hurried. They were nearly to the chamber before she spoke again.

“You may stand out on Earth with your scales.”

Right, Saoirse hadn’t intended to conduct her first visit until their presence was more widely accepted. But this pint-sized pop star had forced her hand. It was fortunate she was human enough to stand a chance of passing at all. Some of her soldiers were more than seven feet tall, with more prominent sclera or scale plating.

Saoirse paused, then gestured over a soldier in the adjoining hallway. He stood at attention, not daring to look her in the eyes. “Yes, Commander! What can I do!”

“I will need human clothing that can compensate for my Gaolrian characteristics. There should be sets prepared for this mission in the barracks. Can you retrieve them for me?”

“Yes, Commander!”

Petra laugh softly behind her. That same high-pitched, almost manic giggle that conveyed no humor at all.

This was going to be a long trip.