The King’s Right Hand Pt15 (Yautja x Human)
Warning: Violence (mdni)
Read Previous Chapters Here: Masterlist
You were left staring at the door long after he was gone, the echo of his steps still caught in your chest. For a moment, his armor hadn’t seemed so dense. You hadn’t seen his face, but you had seen something different. The hesitation in him, the way he moved under K’rethya’s command. Obedience where you expected defiance. Cracks you weren’t supposed to glimpse at.
Your ribs still burned with the ghost of his hands, warmth pressed deep into your skin. An irritating reminder.
No. You shook your head at yourself.
He hadn’t helped you. Not really. He was just making sure the king’s toy didn’t shatter too soon. So he could be the one to break it later.
Or maybe…
The thought stung, tangled and impossible to hold. Your body was too worn out, your mind too tired to explain what it meant.
K’rethya’s voice cut through your thoughts. “Can you walk?”
You nodded. The fire in your back licked every movement, but there was no choice. You’d be dragged to your cell one way or another. Better to walk on your own.
The walk back was silent, but your head wasn’t. Questions clawed on you. What had just happened? Why did Tarr’kon move when she told him to, like he had no choice? It wasn’t natural, it hadn’t felt natural.
You bit down on the inside of your cheek, tasting blood, searching for words. Tarr’kon had helped you, again. You hated that it was him, but hate didn’t change the truth. He had the most potential to save you. If you could reach him, if you could slip through the cracks, you might live long enough to claim the one thing still worth bleeding for.
Freedom.
But you needed certainty. You needed to know if he was as bound to the king as he wanted everyone to believe. Because if not… then maybe he could be more than your executioner.
You opened your mouth, a question forming, but you were already back in front of the cell.
K’rethya ushered you in. The bars closed and time was gone. Desperation pushed the words out of you.
“He listens to you. Why?”
It came raw, like you hadn’t put too much thought on it. A plea disguised as a question.
K’rethya didn’t flinch. “You ask too many questions for someone who should be grateful she’s alive.” Her tone cut sharp, dismissive, as she pressed the sequence on the padlock to lock you in.
You stepped forward, pressing your face between the bars. “K’rethya.” Your voice cracked, pulling from somewhere you didn’t even know you had left. “I know you don’t owe me anything. But me and him—” you swallowed, bitter on your tongue “we bear the same scars now. Not from battle. Not from honor. Just because the king had an itch in his hand and wanted blood.”
That made her pause. Just barely.
“You trust me too much,” she said finally. Her voice was still guttural, steady, but there was something uneven in the tail end of it. “As if you forget what I am. A Yautja devoted to the King. I am not your ally.”
The words hit like a wall, but you nodded anyway. You weren’t meant to ask. You weren’t meant to push. But nothing about you had followed the rules since the day they locked you in here. What else could they take from you? You had nothing left.
“I’ll be dead soon.” The words escaped your mouth along with a bitter scoff. “I can feel it in my bones. A dead woman walking. So grant her a last wish.”
It was a gamble, a pathetic, reckless gamble. But all you had left were words, thrown like stones at a wall that wasn’t supposed to crack.
And yet.
Something shifted.
Her golden eyes blinked fast, too fast. A twitch, subtle but undeniable. For two seconds, those eyes didn’t look alien at all.
You froze, drinking it in, because it was there. Something you weren’t supposed to see again.
K’rethya stood before you, silent, the weight of her stare pressing heavy on you. You thought she might speak and finally talk to you. But she didn’t.
Instead, she lowered her head slowly. And walked away.
You hadn’t won.
You hadn’t even struck a nerve.
But you could feel it, something was changing. The air itself seemed to move differently, carrying words unsaid. You knew you would leave this place one way or another—dead or alive—but you would not sit and wait for death to come quietly.
Humans are stubborn like that. Clinging to scraps of life, clinging on survival even when their bones are bare.
And after everything, after the blood and pain and humiliation, you were still fighting.
The days that followed blurred together. You slept curled on your side, your back stiff and tender, waking only to find food left just outside your cell. Always there. Always waiting.
You didn’t question it. You didn’t have the energy. Fever came and went in waves, your body burning and cooling, every rise in temperature pulling you deeper into exhaustion. You ate what was left for you, then collapsed again, praying no one would disturb you.
It went on like that, day after day, haze after haze, until something different appeared.
The tray looked the same at first, stacked with the foods you usually finished over the rest. But this time, a small cup sat among them. Purple liquid, thick as syrup. You eyed it warily. It had no scent, no taste in the air, but it looked almost unnatural, wrong somehow.
You hesitated. But… whoever had been feeding you clearly knew your habits, knew what you favored. Maybe they knew to leave you this syrup here.
You pinched your nose, tipped it back, and forced the liquid down. It was heavy and cloying, catching in your throat, and you gagged as it slid thickly to your stomach.
But after that night, the fever didn’t come back. The fire in your skin dulled. The ache lingered, but your body stopped burning itself alive. And for the first time in days, you woke without trembling, even able to lie back without sharp pain cutting into you.
Relief washed over you, though it carried with it an unwelcomed thought. Gratitude. To whoever had left the medicine.
And when your mind wandered, traitorously much, to Tarr’kon. You bit down on it hard.
No. Not him.
You didn’t let yourself linger on your last encounter. You couldn’t. Because there was no sense in it. No sense in remembering the way he had held you, steady and close, while you broke apart under K’rethya’s hands. No sense in recalling how your head had pressed against his chest, and how he hadn’t pushed you away. How he had allowed it.
Allowed you to lean into him. Allowed you a fragment of safety.
It bit you, that memory, festering like a wound of its own. You could almost feel the roughness of his grip, the width of his arms enclosing you, the brush of his dreadlocks against your skin as you’d pressed your face against him…
No.
You shut it down, shaking your head hard, hating how your mind clung to him, to that moment. There was nothing to think about. Nothing to remember.
He was not going to help you. Not unless you made him. Not unless you needed him to.
He was your last choice.
The next day, a guard came to your chamber. You hadn’t had visitors in days, so his presence felt uncomfortable.
He stood outside the bars, waiting. You studied him head to toe, suspicious. No one dared touch you anymore, not after what happened. And though you hated to admit it, your chest swelled with a cruel little pride. Fear had wrapped itself around the guards and for once it worked in your favor. The only victory you had tasted in weeks.
You rose slowly from your bedding, tilting your head at him. Your tongue itched with the urge to taunt him, to see if he would flinch, but you bit it back.
“If it’s the king that wishes to see me, I’ll resist,” you said instead, your voice flat, walking toward the bars.
It was then you caught the detail, his smaller frame, the shorter fall of his locks. You recognised him. He was the one who had tossed you the ceremonial attire, the concubine dress that ended with your back whipped open for not wearing it.
The guard’s grip tightened on his spear. Nervous. He shook his head, just once, a quick denial.
Your brows shot up. Had he just… answered you?
“No?” you pressed, tilting your head.
He shook his head firmly this time. No.
You scoffed softly. Unbelievable. One of them had responded. No cruelty, no mocking shove. Just a simple answer. You almost felt… normal.
You stepped out beside him, back straight, shoulders squared. Still watching. Still measuring.
He walked a pace ahead, head slightly bowed, and you noticed the cropped locks swaying at his shoulders.
“Do you cut those?” you asked, breaking the silence.
A quick shake of the head.
“Huh.” You let out a faint laugh, still unsettled by his wordless civility. “Your superior’s are the longest I’ve seen. Creepy as hell.” You lied easily, because the truth was that Tarr’kon’s long tresses haunted your thoughts more than you cared to admit.
The guard gave no reaction, and you turned the corner. Familiar halls stretched ahead, the air shifting in your chest.
“The infirmary?” you asked.
This time he didn’t even shake his head. Just kept walking, silent.
When you stopped outside the door, you tried again. “Why am I here?”
He didn’t respond, just lifted a hand and knocked.
“Come in,” K’rethya’s voice answered, muffled but clear.
The guard keyed a sequence into the padlock, the door sliding open with a hiss.
Inside, K’rethya was waiting. But she was different. Less armored, only a few plates covering her frame. It was the first time she looked… casual. Not the soldier you knew.
“Thank you, R’kai,” she said, naming the small guard.
Your head snapped toward him. He bowed once, then slipped out as quickly as he had come, leaving you alone with her.
“Why is he so small?” you asked, staring after the door.
Her golden eyes flicked toward you, sharp as daggers. “Are all humans that rude? Do you not have short ones of your own?”
“We do,” you said quickly, defensive. “I didn’t mean offense. I just—” you faltered, lowering your voice, “I haven’t seen anyone like him. He didn’t treat me like the others. So I wondered.”
K’rethya’s gaze lingered a moment longer, then she dismissed it with a tilt of her head. “He is different. But not less.”
You nodded, almost sheepish, mumbling another apology.
Without a warning, she tossed something at you. You caught it midair, the weight cool in your hands.
“I need someone to run errands,” she said flatly. “Clean all the metal surfaces.”
You blinked, confused. What? Why?
And yet, the thought slipped in before you could stop it. This meant no cell. No bars. No threat of someone coming in to break you apart in the middle of the day.
Luck. For once, was in your favor.
You wanted to ask her, was she helping you? Why the sudden change? But the words stayed buried.
Better not to test it. Not now. Not when fortune was finally on your side.
a/n: New character unlocked 🤭 I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter!!! Can’t wait for your comments as always. Our little MC is having an internal battle with her feelings and I’m so here for the angst 🙂↕️ (also let me know if you enjoy the longer chapters are you prefer the shorter ones ❤️)
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