The Garden Walk

Posted on 2025, Fri Sep 19th, @ 8:28pm by Major Alexander Stroud & Civilian Queen Kaitaama XII

574 words; about a 3 minute read

Mission: Episode 1: Shadows Over Krios - USS Vigilance
Location: Krios Prime – Royal Palace Gardens
Timeline: Following Morning
Tags: Krios Prime, Princess Kaitaama, Major Stroud, Gardens, Imprinting, Romance, Banter, Discipline vs Desire, Slow Burn, Boundary Testing, Archer/Tucker Reference

The gardens of the Kriosian Royal Palace were alive with color and fragrance, blossoms stretching wide beneath the morning sun. A gentle breeze carried the scent of jasmine and spice-flowers through the stone pathways. For centuries, these gardens had been the private retreat of Kriosian royalty — a place where politics could be left beyond the gates.

Princess Kaitaama XII moved with unhurried grace among the blossoms, her silken robes trailing along the path, jewels glinting faintly in the sunlight. At her side, a step behind as protocol demanded, walked Major Alexander Stroud, his black Starfleet Marine uniform cutting a stark figure against the warmth of the garden.

The distance between them was regulation. The silence was regulation. Yet both felt the pull to break it.

Finally, Kaitaama glanced back at him, her eyes bright with mischief. “Do you know what I find tiresome, Major?”

Stroud’s gaze swept the perimeter, scanning the guards ahead, before replying evenly, “I can think of several possibilities, Princess. Which one today?”

She stopped abruptly, turning to face him. The title hung in the air, heavy. Her voice dropped, softer, insistent. “Say it again. My name.”

Stroud’s jaw tightened. He knew this game, knew where it led, yet resistance was like holding back the tide. His eyes locked with hers, and his voice came quieter than intended. “Kaitaama.”

The way her smile blossomed made his chest ache. She closed the space between them by a step, then another. “Better. Do you feel how different it is? How… close it makes us?”

Stroud inhaled through his nose, forcing discipline into every line of his stance. “Close is dangerous. My duty is to protect you, not—”

“Not care for me?” she interrupted, her brow lifting. She moved past him, brushing close enough that her sleeve whispered against his arm. “Or not admit that you already do?”

For a moment, he froze, his composure cracking beneath her words. He turned, following her stride as she led him deeper into the garden, away from the other guards.

“You test me,” Stroud said, his tone low, controlled but fraying at the edges.

She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes dancing. “I do. And you don’t fail. Not yet.”

They came to a stone bench beneath an ancient flowering tree. She sat with elegance, motioning for him to remain standing beside her. But when he obeyed, she tilted her head, feigning exasperation. “Always looming, always disciplined. Does the Marine ever rest? Ever… simply sit?”

He hesitated — every instinct screamed to keep the distance, maintain protocol. But the memory of her voice last night, whispering his name, broke him piece by piece. With a slow breath, he lowered himself onto the bench, though he left a hand’s breadth of space between them.

Kaitaama noticed. She leaned just slightly closer, her perfume threading through the air, her voice soft as silk. “You know, my ancestor Kaitaama told tales of Commander Tucker. He too was disciplined, serious. But even he could not resist her in the end.”

Stroud allowed himself the smallest smile, shaking his head. “I read those reports. If I recall, he didn’t stand a chance.”

Her laughter rang like bells through the garden. She rested her hand briefly, daringly, on his arm. “Neither do you, Major. Neither do you.”

The warmth of her touch lingered long after she pulled away. He said nothing — but deep inside, he knew she was right.

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