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It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a bounty hunter in possession of a large spaceship must be in pursuit of a quarry. You’re not looking for a man like this, who teases and flirts in the face of imminent death. He’s an obstacle in your plans, overriding your systems as you ricochet around him in frustration. But he’s also a match for you, as no one has been for so long. You’d forgotten what this feels like, the energy that crackles between you from that first moment of recognition and disbelief – is it really you?
He's almost enough to turn your head, this infuriating man, so shameless in provoking your desire yet so easily flustered by his own. You say it to fluster him more, of course, but it’s true: it’s a good look on him. He shows you his power, his true self and all the selves he has been. He lets you in, and the words you speak, in giddiness and delight, make something happen to the air: I’m in love!
With this machine, you add, a beat too late, acting embarrassed at giving yourself away, but what you’ve said hangs between you, can’t be stoppered away again. You talk about loss, and nothing you say is a lie, though there might be some truths not told.
He offers you an invitation in words, and one not spoken. The two of you move closer, to seal one or other bargain; close enough for a kiss that doesn’t quite happen. But the promise is there, and it takes your breath away.
Scandalous on the dance floor, you hold each other’s gaze, moving together as if you’ve always known how to do this, as if there’s no one else in the room. In truth, it’s both strange and sweet to be the one who follows, a new sensation that makes your throat tight, so intense you could almost weep. You wish this moment could stretch out longer, bend time out of shape; it’s perilously easy to imagine dancing and arguing across the stars with this man. But you have a task to carry out, and the clock is ticking.
It is a truth insufficiently acknowledged that a scene well played may become something real. You don’t have the words, but your actions are eloquent: all that’s required are the kneeling and the ring. A proposal performed for the benefit of an audience turns unexpectedly sincere, creates an unbreakable bond between you that your ring will carry. He falters and turns away and you follow him out into the dark.
You run hand in hand with him through the grounds, breathless and high on the kick of risk that makes your blood sing. The strength of the enemy and the weight of the trap together dictate the odds: this is a game that can only be played once.
Watching from the shadows of the balcony, he sees his friend’s fate, and you see the power of his vengeance, his implacable cold rage. Together, you shatter the Chuldurs’ wedding scene and play out a different ritual of binding and unbinding, sealed with a kiss that shows you what might have been. Standing inside the trap the two of you have made together, your head held high, you speak his fate and yours into being: Find me.