Mated by Mandate – Chapter 2
Xan
The Zephyrian Embassy on Gimmeti Prime wasn’t merely an office; it was a statement. Walls of polished moonstone whispered wealth, floating holo-displays shimmered with urgent communiques like captured starlight, and the air hummed with the quiet efficiency of a hundred unseen attendants. Xan stood at the heart of it, a portrait of diplomatic grace framed by a panoramic view of the glittering ecumenopolis below. He adjusted the cuffs of his iridescent tunic, the fabric cool against his silvery skin, and turned back to the cascade of data swirling before him.
Trade tariffs with the Cygnus Collective. Border disputes in the Pilash Belt. Resource allocation requests from seventeen different member worlds of the Cosmic Confederation. Each required careful consideration, precise language, and the unwavering projection of Zephyrian strength and reason. His life’s work. His carefully constructed reality.
A chime, soft but insistent, broke his concentration. Not one of the priority alerts he monitored, but a personal frequency. He frowned.
“Ambassador Xan,” a familiar, gelatinous voice echoed from the comm panel embedded in his desk. “Got a second? Or perhaps a third? Time is fluid, after all.”
Xan sighed, the sound barely audible. “Blorp. Is this essential?”
A seven-foot neon-green blob wobbled into the office doorway, its surface undulating with mild amusement. Blorp, attached to the diplomatic corps as a cultural liaison (and, Xan suspected, purely for the element of surprise in tense negotiations), settled into a viscous puddle near Xan’s desk. “Depends on your definition of essential. Discussing the potential collapse of the Aldebaran treaty? Or analyzing the existential threat posed by your new, algorithmically-ordained life partner?”
Xan pinched the bridge of his nose. “The Galactic Dating Service notification, I presume.”
“The very same! A 99.9% match! Astounding! With a human astrogeologist, no less. Fascinating species, humans. So… solid. And prone to inexplicable emotional outbursts regarding small, furry mammals.” Blorp vibrated, a sound like distant Jell-O jiggling. “Word travels fast on the diplomatic channels. Or perhaps I just have excellent eavesdropping capabilities. Hard to tell with my auditory sensors.”
“It’s a system error, Blorp. A laughable one.” Xan waved a dismissive hand, trying to return his focus to the glowing trade figures.
“Is it? GDS prides itself on its accuracy. Perhaps this Dr. Zora possesses hidden depths. Maybe she sculpts meteorites into stunning objets d’art in her spare time? Or perhaps,” Blorp leaned closer, lowering its voice conspiratorially, “she has a secret passion for… negotiating mineral rights?”
Xan couldn’t suppress a faint smile. “Highly unlikely. Her preferred company is rocks. She made that quite clear.” He recalled the image from the holo-call: the messy lab, the defiant tilt of her chin, the surprising directness in her eyes. Not polished. Not diplomatic. Not… Zephyrian. And yet…
The memory lingered longer than it should have. Something about the way she’d looked at him—cutting through his diplomatic veneer with those penetrating eyes. Her hair had been pulled back, but rebellious strands escaped, framing her face in a way that suggested she had far better things to do than worry about appearances. Unlike the meticulously groomed dignitaries he dealt with daily, there was something raw about her, unfiltered. Authentic.
He caught himself wondering what those direct eyes would look like up close, whether they’d soften or remain challenging. Whether her hands, capable of coaxing secrets from ancient stones, would feel rough or smooth against his skin.
Xan straightened, disturbed by the unexpected direction of his thoughts.
Ping. Another notification blinked on his private console. This one bore the official GDS seal. Mandatory Date Reminder: Cycle End +3. Location: Celestial Lounge, Neutral Space Station Gamma-9.
He grimaced.
“Ah, the dreaded first date!” Blorp exclaimed. “Will there be awkward silences? Misinterpretations of cultural mating rituals? An unfortunate incident involving exotic space-food?”
“I assure you, there will be no ‘mating rituals’ of any kind,” Xan replied, though the words conjured unbidden images—her hands in his hair, her mouth against his neck, the heat of skin against skin. He cleared his throat. “This is merely bureaucratic compliance.”
“Of course, of course,” Blorp’s surface rippled with what could only be described as the gelatinous equivalent of a smirk. “Though I must say, your body temperature just elevated by 1.3 degrees. Fascinating physiological response to ‘bureaucratic compliance.’”
“Your sensory capabilities are malfunctioning,” Xan muttered, adjusting his collar despite himself.
Before Xan could retort further, two imposing holographic figures materialized beside Blorp. High Councilor Glabnar, sharp-featured and severe, and High Councilor Tralax, whose expression perpetually hovered between disappointment and impatience. Blorp wisely subsided into a smaller, less conspicuous puddle.
“Ambassador Xan,” Glabnar began, his voice crisp. “The preliminary reports on the Lomena situation are concerning. Multiple factions are already maneuvering for access.”
“Indeed,” Tralax added, her gaze sharp. “Rumors of this… seaweed… and its potential properties are destabilizing delicate resource negotiations across the sector. Zephyria must maintain a strong, unified front. Your presence at the upcoming summit on Lomena will be critical.”
Xan inclined his head. “Of course, High Councilors. I am preparing the necessary briefs. Zephyria’s interests will be paramount.”
“See that they are,” Glabnar stressed.
Tralax’s eyes flickered towards Xan’s private console, where the GDS reminder still glowed faintly. A slight frown creased her brow. “And Xan, regarding this… personal matter. The GDS match.”
Xan stiffened. “A minor administrative anomaly, Councilor. I assure you—“
“An anomaly that has generated considerable chatter,” Tralax cut him off. “While frivolous, appearances matter. GDS boasts near-perfect results. To publicly refute or ignore such a high match, it could be perceived as instability. Eccentricity. Attend the required meetings. Maintain decorum. A stable personal life reflects well on Zephyrian diplomacy.” Her tone left no room for argument. Irony dripped from her words like acid. They needed him focused on politics, yet insisted he engage in this algorithmic farce for the sake of those same politics.
“Understood, Councilor,” Xan managed, keeping his voice smooth.
“Good. Don’t let it distract you from Lomena. The stakes there are far higher than some dating service’s error.” The holograms dissolved, leaving Xan alone with Blorp and the lingering weight of expectation.
“Well, that was encouraging,” Blorp warbled, slowly regaining its full height. “Attend the date to prove you’re stable enough for diplomacy, but don’t get distracted by the date because diplomacy is more important. Humanoids have a word for this, I believe? Catch-22?”
Xan didn’t answer. He stared at the spot where the High Councilors had been, the demands of his career pressing in. Lomena. The seaweed. The political tightrope walk ahead. And now, this mandated absurdity with Dr. Zora, the blunt geologist who found rocks more agreeable than people.
He brought up her GDS profile again. The reluctant selfie under harsh lighting. Zora. Not polished, not perfect, but… vivid. There was an intelligence in her gaze, a spark of something untamed that both irritated and intrigued him. He remembered her dry retort about verbose rocks. A flicker of amusement, unwelcome and unexpected, danced within him.
“You know,” Blorp said, interrupting Xan’s thoughts, “I’ve been studying human courtship behaviors. Quite fascinating. Did you know they often engage in elaborate preening rituals before romantic encounters? Hair styling, application of scented chemicals, selection of specific fabric configurations designed to accentuate reproductive characteristics.”
“I’m not ‘courting’ her, Blorp.”
“Of course not. Though perhaps a new formal tunic for the occasion? That midnight blue one with the silver threading really brings out the amber in your eyes.” Blorp extended a pseudopod, patting Xan’s shoulder with surprising gentleness. “Just a thought from your cultural liaison.”
Xan brushed the gelatinous appendage away, but found himself considering the suggestion despite his better judgment. “Don’t you have diplomatic incidents to cause elsewhere?”
“Always! But none quite as entertaining as watching the great Ambassador Xan navigate the treacherous waters of interspecies attraction.”
“There is no attraction.”
“Then why are you still looking at her profile?” Blorp’s entire form shimmered with mirth. “The data doesn’t lie, Ambassador.”
Xan quickly closed the profile, but the image of Zora remained imprinted in his mind—those eyes challenging him, that mouth curved in skepticism, the casual disregard for protocol that somehow made her more compelling than a thousand polished diplomats.
His superiors wanted decorum, appearances. Fine. He could do appearances. He was a diplomat, after all. It was just one awkward meeting. A necessary, politically expedient inconvenience.
He sent a curt confirmation to the GDS notification. Gamma-9. Cycle End +3.
Maybe, he thought with a touch of wry resignation, the universe did enjoy a bit of chaos.
You have been reading Mated by Mandate...
I thought the Galactic Dating Service’s threats were a joke.
Public meme campaigns? Social humiliation algorithms? Please. I’m Dr. Zora—I talk to rocks for a living.
But when their “99.9% Perfect Match” pairs me with Ambassador Xan, they’re not bluffing.
He’s everything I despise: politically connected, devastatingly charming, the kind of smooth operator who manipulates hearts like trade negotiations. Our first date ends with me coughing alien berries into his drink.
I should hate him.
Instead, when he laughs—really laughs—I glimpse someone real underneath. Someone who protects me from sleazy delegates. Someone who looks at me like I’m fascinating instead of socially defective.
Then I discover seaweed that could change everything—life-changing science that makes me a target for every government in the galaxy.
Including his.
I now face an impossible choice: trust the man who awakened something I’d buried, or protect my discovery alone.
The galaxy’s future depends on my decision. So does my heart.
Mated by Mandate is a slow burn steamy alien dating-service romance and the first novella in the Galactic Dating Service series. If you enjoy fated-mates chemistry, grumpy–sunshine banter, and a silver-tongued alien willing to bend interstellar rules for one brilliant human scientist, you’ll love Mated By Mandate.
