Dinner with the Devil. Pt2

Posted on Tue Aug 4th, 2026 @ 12:06am by Captain Rhenora Kaylen & Remal Kajun

3,709 words; about a 19 minute read

Mission: Pirates!
Location: Marshalls warship

"Some lines are drawn to keep enemies apart. The dangerous ones invite two people to cross them together."

As she left the bathroom the extraction system swiftly removed the steam from the room, leaving their vision unencumbered by the moist air. The smell of cooking food overtook the scents of the bath. Breads, proteins and condiments mixed deliciously with the opulent atmosphere.

The wine had indeed been poured, yet she handed Remal her glass to sample before she drank herself. One could never be too sure in these times.

Remal accepted the crystal glass without question. He raised it toward the light, studying the deep crimson liquid for only a heartbeat before bringing it to his lips. The wine lingered across his tongue, rich with dark berries, oak, and just enough spice to remind him that refinement often hid sharp edges.

"Marshall, entree is ready to be served." The cook announced from the kitchen. It was an announcement and an offering.

"Is the wine to your satisfaction?" She purred as Remal took a sip.

He swallowed. "Excellent," he said quietly, returning the glass with both hands. "If it were poisoned, it would have been worth the risk." His expression remained perfectly composed.

"Trust," he observed, "is a curious thing. Most ask for it. You require it to be swallowed." He met her eyes. "I would, of course, prefer it not become a habit."

"When there's an attempt on your life every other day, you would be hesitant with trust also." There was a rare moment of vulnerability, a tone that hinted of loneliness not asked for - but necessary by design. She drank the wine, allowing the flavours to dance over her palate.

" Your choice, or his?" She nodded towards the cook who wasn't game enough to even make eye contact.

"His." He said honestly, forgoing any brownie points he could have earned. Remal's gaze lingered on the cook for only a moment. "I think he fears me." He looked back to the Marshal. "While fear is often useful, it rarely makes for honest company." He stepped up to the table and pulled a chair out for her to sit, a test of trust.

"Shame, I would have preferred it to be your choice - it's quite good" The words were rare praise offered scantly. "Come, let us eat"

She moved towards the elaborately set table, it's polished timber surface inlaid with gold and black obsidian that perfectly complemented the opulence around it. Set upon the surface was a basket of steaming freshly baked bread, circular as was the Bajoran custom, laced with the spices of her homeland. A bowl of cream coloured soup sat before each of them.

Without waiting she broke a piece of bread and began to eat, not caring about social decorum.

"Edible" Was the comment a few moments' later. Harsh criticism for the cook who had been toiling for hours.

Remal tore off a generous piece of the still-warm bread and dipped it into the pale soup. He let the spices linger before swallowing, considering them with the same care he gave most things. It really wasn't bad, not great, but not bad. "It reminds me of my mother's cooking," he said quietly. "She would have appreciated it being called edible. I don't believe she ever aspired to higher praise."

He took another bite, then set the bread down carefully. "Home is a curious thing. Some spend their lives longing to return. Others spend them trying to leave." His eyes met hers across the table. "Few ever truly succeed at either." His eyes lifted to meet hers.

The silence lingered comfortably for a moment before he continued. "I imagine your responsibilities don't leave much time for nostalgia." He folded another piece of bread between his fingers. "How goes the campaign against the Terran resistance?"

He knew the history well enough. The Terran Empire had conquered through fear until complacency and Vulcan reform hollowed it from within. When it collapsed, the Bajoran Alliance inherited both its territory and its enemies. Now scattered Terran cells fought a war they could no longer win, though that rarely stopped people from trying.

"They resist - we persist." She snorted at her own joke before downing a healthy swig of wine. "They grow more cunning with each passing day, yet we continue to thwart them. This universe, however, is delightfully ready for the taking. Such slim defenses." She paused to consume some more soup. "Tell me, you have engaged in battle with my counterpart?"

"In a manner of speaking." He tore another piece of bread before continuing. "Commander Durnell informed me your counterpart commanded the U.S.S. Sunfire during our recovery of Batel's remains. I trusted her intel." He shook his head once. "There was no visual confirmation. Why do you ask?"

"So she is still in command - surprising considering the opposition in higher ranks. She hasn't learned from so much death. Cunning, strategic advantage, no holds barred. The Federation rules and regulations they hold so tightly will be their undoing." There was a sinister laugh followed by a wicked smile. "Tell me, what did you learn from Batel's remains?"

Remal sampled the soup before answering, allowing the silence to linger a moment. "Regrettably... very little." He set the spoon down. "Aside from Mister House's newfound ability to illuminate dark corridors with his digits, the experiment has yet to demonstrate any practical value." A faint crease formed between his brows.

"The Doc believes he may eventually manipulate the Vezda." He lifted his glass. "I prefer evidence to optimism. Until then..." He took a measured sip of wine. "...he remains an investment awaiting a return."

As he lowered his glass, the silk robe slipped from one of the Marshal's shoulders. His eyes noticed before his discipline did. For the briefest instant. Then they returned, deliberately, to the bowl before him, not out of shame but respect. "Emperor be merciful," he murmured, so quietly it was almost uncertain whether the words had been intended for the Marshal, or for himself.

"What was that?" She had heard his words but wanted him to repeat them. Few were chivalrous in this day and age, few treated her like a person rather than a figure head to be taken out at the earliest opportunity. These moments behind closed doors were something she cherished.

The Cook cleared the plates, his eyes firmly fixed on the floor as he did so. Fear was a powerful motivator, as was the promise of continued access to this very private room which things were discussed openly. "Mains will be served presently" He said discretely before hightailing it back to the kitchen."

Remal cleared his throat, buying himself a brief moment. "I said..." His expression remained composed, though there was the faintest warmth lingering beneath it. "...he remains an investment awaiting a return." He lifted his eyes to hers. "Emperor be merciful." He allowed the words to stand exactly where they were, neither denying nor explaining them. If she chose to hear more than one meaning, that was her prerogative.

Instead, he inclined his head slightly toward the kitchen as another aroma drifted into the room. "So tell me..." A small, genuine curiosity entered his voice. "What have you planned for the main course?"

The Marshall cast her eyes to the kitchen, as though allowing the cook to answer.

"Makapa, with Larish pie. And Spring Wine of course, Marshall" The cook said proudly, as though finally given the opportunity to speak.

"Acceptable" She replied before turning her attention back to Remal. "You asked for mercy from the Emperor, are you expecting to be conquered this evening?"

He allowed himself the faintest hint of a smile. The mention of Makapa, though it meant more bread, drew a quiet nod of approval. "An excellent choice." Whether he meant the meal or the company remained deliberately unclear.

He folded his hands loosely before him. "You should know me well enough by now to understand that I keep my expectations low... and my hopes high." His eyes met hers without wavering.

He regarded her for a quiet moment before adding, "If I were ever to choose an opponent worthy of conquering..." His expression remained unreadable. "...I could do considerably worse than you."

"High praise indeed," The Marshall replied with the glimmer of a smile. She raised a glass to her partner across the table "To the Conquest..."

She took a sip and regarded this man she considered the closest thing to an equal she would ever have. Cunning in battle, chivalrous in private. The perfect combination. He was one of the very few she trusted.

He lifted his glass without hesitation and returned the toast. "To conquest." Crystal met crystal with a single, quiet note that lingered between them longer than either spoke. He drank, holding her gaze over the rim of the glass before lowering it once more.

Moments later, the cook returned carrying the main course himself. Steam rose gently from the Makapa, the Larish pie resting beside it beneath a perfectly browned crust. Every movement appeared practiced. Every plate identical. Almost.

Remal watched the man instead of the food. The cook's eyes never rose above the edge of the table. His breathing had changed. Barely. One hand remained unnaturally rigid beneath the serving cloth while the other lingered over the Marshal's place setting a heartbeat longer than necessary.

Familiar scents drifted upward with the escaping steam. Makapa. Butter. Larish spice... And something else. Remal's expression never changed.

The knife emerged from underneath the cloth at the closest proximity to the Marshall, at its highest chance of success. It darted towards her exposed neck, it's target clear and vulnerable. She saw the glint of the lighting on the blade and reacted, moving towards it instead of away ss would be expected. She twisted, earning a deep slice to her upper arm instead of her artery and brought a small energy weapon to bare, dropping the cook instantly.

Remal was already on his feet. His disruptor had cleared its holster before the knife ever left the serving cloth, the muzzle fixed squarely on the cook's chest. He never fired. The Marshal had seen the attack first. Her movement was faster than his trigger. The knife found her arm instead of her throat. A heartbeat later the sharp crack of her sidearm ended the matter permanently.

"Shame, I quite liked his cooking." She remarked over the smoking corpse before them.

Silence reclaimed her private quarters. The smell of scorched flesh joined the aromas of fresh bread and Larish spice. Remal lowered his weapon, though he did not holster it immediately. His eyes moved from the corpse... to the pie... then finally to the Marshal's arm, where crimson had already begun to seep through the sleeve of her robe.

"I wouldn't recommend the pie," he said quietly. Only then did he return the disruptor to its holster. He stepped toward her, his expression unchanged despite the concern now evident in his eyes. "May I?" He asked.

"You suspect the pie is poisoned as well?" She queried, sullen that this evening she had anticipated for so long had been soiled by yet another attempt on her life. She dropped the robe over her shoulders to reveal the wound. Thankfully, the blade had been sharp - whether it was laced with anything remained to be seen.

" I hadn't realised a man of your stature could be so gentle." The words were admitted before she could stop them.

A faint smile touched Remal's face. "A man willing to die to kill his master rarely entrusts his success to a single act." His eyes drifted briefly toward the untouched pie before returning to the wound. "He would have prepared more than one certainty."

His hands worked with practiced precision, cleaning the cut before applying a dermal regenerator. The movements were deliberate, almost unexpectedly gentle. He neither rushed nor lingered but continued to study the wound for another moment, then gave a small nod. "The blade appears to have been clean." He met her eyes briefly. "You show no signs of poison."

Satisfied, he lowered the instrument. "You are stronger than you appear, Marshal." Another faint smile. "I believe you'll survive."

"I thrive only due to your concern, and care" she admitted, looking at the corpse on the floor. " It appears dinner may be delayed" she stood and grabbed the pie dishes, returning them to the replicator and watching dispassionately as they vanished. The kitchen remained empty despite her glares. She couldn't cook and they both knew it.

Remal regarded her for a moment before giving a small inclination of his head. He made no attempt to answer her remark. Some things required no confirmation. Instead, he pointed toward the replicator. "May I?"

At her permission, he crossed to the unit and entered a series of commands by hand rather than relying upon the standard menu. The replicator hummed softly before producing two small Bajoran desserts, still warm, their sweet aroma immediately replacing the memory of the abandoned meal.

He collected both plates, setting one gently before the Marshal before returning to his own seat. "My Mother's recipe," he said simply. He glanced down at the dessert for a moment before allowing himself the faintest smile. "One of the few things from home worth keeping."

The fragrance was delicate, yet wholesome, and promised to delight the taste buds with a combination of sweet and salty that only the Bajoran culture seemed to fully appreciate.

"It appears your mother had exceptional taste," She approved as she sampled the offering. " Simple, yet deliciously complex. Much like how I like my men"

He leaned forward just enough to shorten the distance between them. "Would you care to find out just how simply complex I can be?"

" I believe the arrangement was dinner for the victory, and the bonus of simply complex sounds like a delectable after dinner treat" Her voice was soft and velvety, almost dangerous.

"I find your terms... agreeable." Remal finished the last bite of dessert without hurry, setting the plate quietly upon the table. The silence between them had changed. It no longer belonged to strangers measuring one another. It belonged to two predators who had finally stopped pretending they were merely sharing a meal. The soft mechanical glow from the replicator caught the angles of his face, sharpening the quiet hunger that had been carefully restrained throughout the evening.

His broad hands settled at her waist, encircling her with surprising delicacy. He didn't wait for approval before lifting her effortlessly from the deck. A surprised squeak escaped her lips as her feet left the floor. Instinctively, she steadied herself against him, her legs finding either side of his hips as he held her with unhurried confidence.

Supported effortlessly by his frame, and finally eye to eye, his grin hardened into something unmistakably mischievous.

There were no words, only a meeting of bodies and minds denied for too long. She embraced the thrill on the conquest and was determined to enjoy the fruits of it in all its unrestrained glory. For the next few hours there was nothing outside this room. No assassination attempts, no undermining, hidden meanings or power hungry servants with hidden agendas. This was a close to safety as she had ever been.

She exposed her neck, her vulnerability and trust evident. Her jugular thrummed beneath the thin veil of skin, easily identifiable, a prime target for anyone wanting to take her down.

Her offered vulnerability was met with neither blade nor teeth. Instead, Remal lowered his head and pressed a lingering kiss against the place where another man might have driven a dagger. It was an answer as deliberate as any vow. For one quiet moment, the fortress he carried behind his eyes lowered its gates, and the walls he had spent a lifetime raising relaxed enough to welcome another within them.

They came together like two celestial bodies drawn into the same gravity. Their separate orbits, each carved by duty, ambition, and survival, finally yielded to something neither could command nor conquer. Outside of those quarters, fleets gathered, empires maneuvered, and destinies edged ever closer to collision. Inside, the universe narrowed to the quiet rhythm of two hearts discovering that even predators sometimes sought refuge.

Time surrendered without protest. When at last the room fell still, the dinner table stood forgotten, food began to spoil, and the bed bore every honest sign of an evening no longer governed by ceremony. He drew her gently against his chest, one arm settling around her with quiet certainty. Neither spoke because words belonged to Captains, Marshals, and Politicians. Silence belonged to them.

Tomorrow promised only uncertainty. The coming battle would demand blood from one side or the other, perhaps from both. They understood that better than anyone. Yet for this one stolen night, beneath the distant rumble of warships waiting beyond the hull, there existed no Empire, no Federation, no throne to defend.

There was only the certainty of shared warmth... and the fragile peace of two stars that, for a single night, had found the same sky.

She rose early, as she always did. The cook was still dead on the floor, meaning breakfast wasn't being prepared. She showered, amd dressed in her customary black formfitting outfit, revealing everything and yet nothing at the same time. Weapon at her hip she headed to the replicator, taking a moment to beam.the cook into space and making a note of the traitors demise in her log entry.

A short time later the replicator had fashioned a basic breakfast with Bajoran coffee. Nowhere near as good as freshly made, but until she found a less murderous cook, it would have to do.

The aroma of freshly replicated coffee reached him before consciousness fully returned.

Remal opened his eyes slowly. For several quiet moments he remained exactly where he was, staring toward the unfamiliar ceiling. The room still carried traces of the previous evening. Lavender lingered faintly beneath the richer scents of coffee and sex, while somewhere beyond the bedroom walls the soft hum of a replicator completed another cycle.

He allowed himself one slow equalizing breath. The evening replayed itself without invitation, the dinner, the conversation, the familiar laughter, unexpected and genuine. The assassination attempt. Her wound beneath his hands. The silence that had followed long after words had ceased to matter. He had not expected any of it. For a man who had built his life upon anticipating outcomes, that lingered longer than he cared to admit. Eventually he rose.

The bathroom offered a blessed solitude. Warm water washed away the remnants of sleep while the mirror returned the familiar face of an Imperial captain. He regarded his own reflection for several moments before fastening the final clasp of his uniform. Piece by piece, the armor returned. The jacket. The insignia. The belt. The dagger. Each article settled into place with practiced precision, until the man who had shared a quiet night disappeared once more behind the disciplined composure expected of Captain Remal Kajun.

Some walls existed for good reason. Satisfied, he straightened the cuffs of his uniform and stepped from the bedroom. "Good morning, Marshal." His eyes found the simple breakfast before drifting toward the steaming mug in her hand. The faintest suggestion of a smile touched his expression. "I see the coffee is the breakfast of choice."

"There are token accompaniments - I wasn't sure of your tastes," She admitted in a rare deference to his preferences. A small smattering of breads and spreads sat forlornly on a simple plate upon the table. " I don't normally have time to eat..." It was an admission, in opposition to the opulence around them.

Remal's eyes drifted over the modest spread. Fresh bread. Preserves. Butter. Coffee. Simple fare, assembled without ceremony. It stood in quiet contrast to every extravagant meal the previous evening had offered. He understood immediately what it represented. She had made an effort.

"It's more than enough," he said softly. He poured himself a cup of coffee before continuing. "I don't normally partake of breakfast either." The faint warmth in his voice faded beneath something more familiar. "Trust has a way of suppressing the appetite. It is difficult to enjoy a meal when the person serving has ambitions of their own."

He took a measured sip before looking back to her. "You are, however, in need of a new chef." The corner of his mouth hinted at a smile. "If I may be so bold, mine has served the Sunfire for nearly six years. He's never once attempted to assassinate me." He paused briefly. "An endorsement I don't offer lightly." He lifted his mug slightly. "If he serves me faithfully, I am certain he would serve you with utmost conviction."

"You would risk a new chef in your kitchen to replace my insidious one? There is great risk with that kind of access," she replied honestly, taking a bite of the bread and washing it down with a swig of coffee accompanied by a grimace. "Replicator coffee is unquestionably horrendous"

Remal accepted the offered mug and took a cautious sip. He immediately coughed into a closed fist. His facial expression looked pained. "You weren't exaggerating." The corners of his mouth twitched upward before settling once more into their usual composure. He lowered the cup, regarding the coffee as though it had personally offended him.

"The risk would be worth it." His gaze returned to hers. "More so if we... shared the chef." The words hung comfortably between them. Then, almost as if realizing how they might have sounded, he cleared his throat. "...Just a thought." He set the mug upon the table and rose from his chair with an unhurried dignity, smoothing the front of his uniform. "I should return to the Sunfire." His eyes lingered on her for a quiet moment. "The repairs won't complete themselves."

There was a moment of stunned silence before she recovered, allowing hik to gracefully leave her quarters with his reputation and dignity intact. He had been bold, which she respected, but also conscious of her feelings. Pethaps there was hope after all.

TBC

 

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