Realizing she had lost that argument, she ducked out of the cockpit and took a quick shower, gently scrubbing the dust and grime from the tomb off her skin; but washing the dirt away wouldn’t rid her of the memories of Mellifare raging about her lost heart. She had been terrifying. The sound of the tomb caving in still rang in her ears, and no matter how much she scrubbed or how loud she hummed a song, she couldn’t seem to escape it.

Even though her captain had joked, how could Ana think of ruling a kingdom when she’d failed so often, and so terribly?

In the crew’s quarters, she slipped into her undergarments, pulled on the only nice pair of trousers she had, and rummaged through her trunk for something at least somewhat formal to wear. She picked through her clothes, old shirts and worn cotton smocks, until she found a gold blouse and pulled it out and held it at arm’s length.

Was it too wrinkled?

She heard something clatter to the ground and gave a shriek, spinning around with her blouse clutched tight to her chest.

In the doorway stood a wide-eyed Di, having dropped his holo-pad. “Sorry—I am sorry. I did not realize—you were in the middle of—your shirt is off,” he finished awkwardly.

They stood stalemate for a moment.

His gaze dropped to the scar on her belly where his lightsword had pierced her through. Then he promptly grabbed his holo-pad from the ground, turned on his heel, and—

“Wait,” she called.

He froze in the doorway, his back still turned to her. “You are undressed. I will not wait—”

“You’ve seen me practically naked,” she deadpanned, “and I’m wearing underclothes.”

His shoulders stiffened. He didn’t have an answer for that.

“Di . . .”

“Your wound healed nicely,” he said, and closed the door as he left.

Her fingers came to rest on the rippled scar tissue just beside her navel. Then she fisted her hand and darted across the quarters and slammed open the door. “Because of you!”

He was almost to the stairs when he turned around and quickly winced, closing his eyes. “Clothes, please.”

She marched up to him. He was a little taller than she remembered, a little more angular. For six months she had seen him on the newsfeeds, a golden god of the kingdom. He had seemed so much larger than life—and it struck her suddenly how very small he really was, someone she knew she would tear apart a galaxy to save. When she didn’t move, he slowly peeked open one eye, then the other. The black lenses of his pupils, ringed in moonlight white, slowly dilated, refocusing on her, and then her nose, and then her lips—and something in her chest kicked.

Something massive, and monumental, and terrifying, in the way gas giants and twin suns were terrifying. Awe-striking.

Then he turned abruptly on his heel and marched down the stairs.

With a growl she shoved her head into her golden blouse and followed. “Why do you keep running away?”