Special Deceptions (The Coursodon Dimension Book 5)

by M. L. Ryan

  When Alex emerged, sporting a pair of dress slacks and a white, button-down shirt, he gave me a quick once-over. “Why haven’t you changed?”

  I glanced down at my attire, checking for some sign of defacement or wrinkles that might preclude me from wearing the dress. As far as I could tell, everything seemed acceptable.

  “You look fine,” he confirmed. “However, wearing the same clothing to dinner is…”

  “Coarse, unsophisticated, tacky?”

  The corners of Alex’s mouth lifted slightly. “That’s a tad harsh. I was going more for, ‘not done’.”

  “I can’t get all the rules of etiquette straight,” I griped, standing up and reaching behind for the zipper.

  Alex gallantly helped relieve me of the dress. “I wish we had more time,” he said, giving my now scantily clad body an appreciative perusal. “It seems like forever since we made love.”

  It’s only been three days, but who’s counting? “We don’t have to be downstairs for ten minutes,” I noted, stepping into his arms.

  He groaned when I stretched onto my tiptoes and nipped his earlobe, but despite the insistent bulge pressing through his trousers into my abdomen that said otherwise, he declined my offer.

  “I need a minimum of thirty to do all the things I had in mind, carisa.” Alex gently spun me around and nudged me toward the bedroom. “I want to take my time, and the family is waiting.”

  I hated when he was practical, but the merits of getting laid in a more laid-back encounter later were undeniable. Besides, the hyper-observant queen would undoubtedly detect any lingering evidence of post-coital flushing and treat me to one of her patented excoriating glares to convey something akin to, “Quickies, young lady, are simply not done here in the palace.”

  After browsing through my wardrobe choices, I settled on not completely atrocious and aptly named princess-style number. The selection was another that appeared in the closet to augment my not-up-to-royal-standards attire. I had no problem having clothes provided, it meant I never had to step foot inside a store. Too bad most were dresses, and a bit too antiquated for my taste. I just wished jeans and a T-shirt was considered acceptable for an evening meal. Remembering to shave my legs was getting old, fast.

  I emerged from the closet, and Alex nodded his approval. We made our way down to the Grande Dining Gallery, not to be confused with the Morning Dining Lounge where breakfast was served, or the Great Feasting Hall, where banquets were staged, or the Mid-Day Salon, the main venue for late afternoon snacks. Seriously, one needed a cheat sheet just to remember where to find food.

  2

  A butler delivered drinks—a scotch for Alex, an unsalted margarita for me—before we’d barely stepped foot in the sitting area adjacent to the Gallery. Tannis waved from her seat on one of the luxurious, upholstered sofas, while Alex’s father stood to greet us. I scanned the room; Queen Rexanatyxa was conspicuously absent, as was Tjryxina. Sebastian departed immediately after the ceremony to return home to Rachel, my best friend and his new inamorata, so I didn’t expect to see him. However, the attractive blond man standing next to Tannis was surprising. I recalled he was the leader of one of the other Courso realms, which one I couldn’t remember. Seen one sovereign, seen them all, I supposed.

  King Flaxen smiled broadly, clapped a chummy hand on Alex’s shoulder, and beamed at me. I’d hoped someone might clue me in to the mystery monarch’s identity, but everyone must have assumed I already knew. Shit. I’ll just have to act as if I know who he is and wait for conversational clues to figure it out.

  Sebastian always chided me on my inability to remember people, instructing me to repeat their names immediately after meeting them. That might work when introduced to “Andy” or “Emily,” but not when confronted with long, foreign monikers, rife with odd strings of consonants. It took me days to learn Alex’s dad’s name, which I mastered only when Tannis wrote it out phonetically. Wyxinorolyxazam became Wicks-In-Oral-Icks-A-Zam, and I’d never looked back. Well, that, and he let me call him by his nickname, Wyx. Still, I’d need a scribe dedicated to assigning catchy mnemonics to keep everyone straight.

  “Your mother will be along shortly,” Wyx announced to Alex. “And Xina, poor child, is understandably exhausted. She will not be joining us this evening.”

  Frankly, I’d wondered when Tjryxina’s gritty façade might crack. Kyzal had been a bit of a jerk, but his wife seemed to possess none of his unattractive personality traits. Much like the rest of the royal family, Xina remained unflinchingly self-controlled since Kyzal’s death. If Alex had died, I’d be a blubbering, miserable wreck, unable to stand, much less holding it together in true, regal style. No matter how schooled in keeping one’s emotions in check, the gut-wrenching despair had to eventually come out. I assumed she was doing that now.

  Alex continued to discuss something with his father and Tannis, leaving me with His Royal Whoever-ness. I ruled out him being the ruler of Masitai or Drryxi, not that I recalled what either actually looked like, but because the guy standing next to me sipping red wine was too fair skinned and haired to hail from the Courso equivalent of Africa or the Middle East. Great, three accounted for, only five more to go.

  “I am pleased to have a chance to speak to you finally,” he said after an awkward silence between us. “I have heard much about you.”

  “I’ve heard a lot about you, too,” I fibbed. “Too bad we are meeting under such sad circumstances.”

  He nodded. “Kyzal was always so prudent in his official duties. I suppose it is understandable that he might, how do you say, let loose occasionally in his private time. Still, crashing into a tree during a nighttime ski run seems quite unlike him.”

  “I thought the same thing, but Alex and Tannis said he loved down-hilling in the dark. Helped to clear his mind.” Of course, his final outing completely cleared it, right out of his skull. Even if his security detail had been with him—which they hardly ever were on his nocturnal schusses—his injuries were too severe for even magical healing. Slamming into an evergreen at sixty miles per hour had a way of causing irreparable damage in any dimension.

  “As a boy, he used to love anything with speed: skiing, surfing, horse racing. If his mother only knew the things we let him do when he visited,” he added, dropping his voice.

  Good. A clue. He had obviously known Kyzal for a long time, and had close enough ties for Rexa to trust him with her first-born male child.

  “Did he come often?”

  “Oh yes, almost every December. Our mountains are incomparable for winter sports.”

  That eliminated Zylexai and Clovistaxi as his kingdom of origin. Both were in the southern hemisphere, where December was summer. That left Jjestri, Surjjestri, and Nyqui. Determining the identity of the unknown guest was starting to be fun: drinks, dinner, and solving a mystery, all rolled into one evening. Much better than simply admitting I had no idea who he was.

  “I’ve never been a big fan of snow,” I confessed. “I like warm weather and as much sunshine as possible.”

  Grinning, he said, “Then I shall only invite you and Alexander to the palace in the summer. You would love it; daylight continues for all but a few hours.”

  Bingo. He was the king of Jjestri, the Courso version of Northern Europe. That was the only unaccounted for region boasting the midnight sun. Mentally high-fiving myself for my deductive powers, I turned my focus to why he had been included in tonight’s gathering. I knew I’d heard something about Jjestri before, but try as I might, nothing specific came to mind. I was just about to give up and admit my crime of ignorance when Alex bailed me out.

  “So, carisa, is Uncle Fry regaling you with tales of his misspent youth?”

  Ah, an uncle. It all became clear: Alex’s father was originally from Jjestri and this must be his older brother. Fry—short for Frylyxinazam—was built more like Alex, athletic but sinewy, while Wyx had the bulkier build of a linebacker. I studied them, realizing that, aside from their golden tresses, the only s
imilarity between the brothers was their eyes, which were the color of faded denim. Striking, but not quite as spectacular as Alex’s cornflower blues. Not that close kin had to look alike; my father looked nothing like his redheaded siblings, and the relative from whom I inherited my crazed, curly locks was a familial riddle, long unsolved.

  “Hardly misspent,” Fry argued. “All those years of youthful debauchery made me the man I am today.” He glanced over at me and winked. “And got it all out of my system before anyone paid much attention. There is much to recommend in sowing one’s oats before becoming truly royal. You’ll see,” he continued, turning his attention back to Alex. “When you become king, you will be glad you had the chance to do what you liked before becoming mired in the duties of the crown.”

  Alex’s forehead wrinkled. “Yes, I suppose so.”

  If Uncle Fry noticed Alex’s unease, he didn’t show it. “Of course, your mother is healthy as a Qajinyb. You will have plenty of time to act foolishly before your coronation.” He lifted his glass in mock salute and grinned. “Or, you can be like me and never entirely grow up.” With that, he chugged the rest of his wine and motioned to one of the servants for a refill.

  I had no idea the Qajinyb was a particularly hearty creature, but I suddenly couldn’t get the idea of the queen as a well-coiffed version of the winged, seal-like creature displayed on the royal coat of arms out of my head. The image was preferable to mulling over Fry’s comments concerning Alex’s new role. By way of changing the subject, I asked what Wyx had been like before he married the queen.

  “Oh, a bit of a hell raiser, but never as wild as yours truly. You know, he wasn’t exactly thrilled with an arranged marriage, but the minute he saw Rexa, he changed his mind. I have to admit,” he added, leaning in closer. “Once I got a glimpse of her, I was a little jealous.”

  Alex chuckled. “Uncle Fry’s first marriage to a princess of Drryxi didn’t last very long. I’ve heard she was not the most attractive of women.”

  “It wasn’t her looks, my boy, although she would have benefitted from a good makeover to be sure. She was plain on the outside, but downright ugly inside. The only time I ever saw her smile was the day she left Jjestri for good. If there was ever a more contemptuous or dour woman, I have not yet met her.”

  He shuddered and drained half of his newly filled goblet. “Now, my second wife,” he revealed, “She looked like a goddess, and was very loving and accommodating. Unfortunately, she loved and accommodated the prime minister as well.”

  “Ouch. And I thought my ex screwed me over,” I added sympathetically.

  “It all turned out for the best. The public scandal ruined a promising political career and she dumped him almost immediately after he was forced out of office. Soon after, I met the love of my life.”

  “I see we both ended up happily ever after,” I noted, glancing over at Alex.

  “Not exactly,” Frylyxinazam disclosed. “I’m on my fifth wife.”

  I felt horrible. If the third was the love of his life, something awful must have happened to her for him to have two more marriages. It brought my thoughts back to why we were all here in the first place. I lowered my head and murmured, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “My brother-in-law finds it amusing to present this topic in a misleading way.”

  So focused on Fry’s tale, I hadn’t noticed Alex’s mother enter the room, much less that she had joined in the conversation.

  The queen stepped forward to stand on the opposite side of Alex and continued. “The woman to whom he referred is his mistress, Ziqua, who, as far as I know, is alive and well, and ensconced in lavish apartments adjacent to the palace. All his marriages have ended in legal dissolution. As will the current one at some point, I suspect.”

  Fry inclined his head. “Rexa, how lovely you have finally arrived. I worried we might not have the pleasure of your company tonight.” His words were courteous, but the lopsided grin left the impression of a somewhat less gracious intent.

  She scowled—regally, of course—and said, “Aside from our family tragedy, I have other duties to attend to. I just came from a meeting to discuss the replacement of a member of the Glyzimutitch Zolmere.”

  “Why would you be involved?” Alex asked, furrowing his brow. “The GZ are all elected.”

  “Yes, but this particular one has gone missing. Plovix hasn’t been heard from for months. The heads of government wanted my input into a suitable person to take his spot until the next elections.”

  “Missing as in, ‘can’t be located’, or missing as in, ‘something bad has happened to him’?” I asked.

  “No one knows for sure, although I suspect he disappeared of his own volition. There have been rumors of shady business dealings, and he emptied his entire bank account right before his last sighting. It is all rather unsavory.”

  Rexa turned to Fry. “You see, unlike some of us, I take my responsibilities seriously.” With that, she stalked off towards Tannis, who stood on the other side of the room.

  “Well, that was awkward,” Alex mumbled once his mother was engaged in conversation elsewhere.

  Fry chuckled and sipped his drink. “She always enjoys pointing out how much more devoted she believes she is to her job than I am to mine. I allow her the illusion for the sake of family harmony. Now, what were we discussing before we were so rudely interrupted? Ah, yes, Ziqua. You are probably wondering why I never made her an honest woman.”

  “The question did occur to me,” I admitted.

  “My marriages have all been for political benefit. Ziqua can provide no improved trade agreements or strategic alliances. Yet, she is my soul mate.”

  “Doesn’t your wife object?”

  He shrugged. “The current queen knew about Ziqua before she agreed to wed. Sylzinia is free to have discreet dalliances if she desires. It is more like a business agreement between friends. I am quite fond of my wife, and she feels the same about me. No great passion, but respect and admiration.”

  “I wonder what Sylzinia gets out of the arrangement?” I mumbled to Alex, pretending to sip my drink.

  “She gets to be queen,” Fry responded.

  Damn it. I often forgot about the freakishly acute hearing of the Courso, and while I hadn’t meant the king to hear my snarky comment, I didn’t completely regret he had.

  “I have been married to a grump, a floozy, two bores, and now a girl young enough to be my daughter,” Fry explained. “Ziqua is closer to my age, and we have similar interests, but she hates the tedium that regal life necessitates. That which Ziqua cannot provide, Sylzinia revels in. It is really a win-win solution.”

  “Maybe for you,” I said, peering at him over the rim of my margarita glass.

  Alex stood, frozen beside me, as an awkward silence enveloped us. Across the room, everyone else—including the usually oblivious servants—had stopped whatever they were doing to stare at our standoff. My impertinent gaze never wavered, however. In for a penny, in for a pound, I figured.

  No one was more surprised than I was when the King of Jjestri threw back his head and roared with laughter. “Wyx was right; you are quite the corker. I like you very much.” He grinned, slapping Alex on the back. “She will keep you on your toes!”

  “That she does,” Alex agreed, letting out the cautionary breath he had been holding.

  The rest of the group also seemed to have resumed their previous activities, except for Alex’s mother. There wasn’t enough Botox in any dimension to smooth her furrowed brows.

  “Oh, oh,” Fry observed, taking in the queen’s sour expression. “Someone is not amused.”

  Alex stifled a grin. “She and Uncle Fry bicker like this all the time.”

  “Yes, I believe it is my duty to annoy her as much as possible,” Fry acknowledged, turning his back on the queen. “We all need someone equivalent to our own lofty standing to keep us honest.”

  Good to know, but I could swear she directed her icy glower at me, not her husband’s brot
her.

  “Don’t worry, Hailey,” he continued, “Her bark is worse than her bite.”

  “She did have someone throw a rock through my kitchen window once to notify Alex she wanted to see him. That was fairly toothy.”

  Uncle Fry raised an eyebrow. “She sent a ythkoj? How very high-handed of her. That is just the reason she needs challenging. Wyx may do so on occasion, but he is much too polite to really get in there and stir things up.”

  “I don’t think it has to do with politeness,” I countered. “I’ll bet she’s one scary… uh… woman when she is crossed.” I almost said something else, but substituted something less antagonistic to avoid the full intensity of the scary bitch’s wrath if she overheard.

  “She is a formidable presence when crossed,” Alex agreed. “One has to do so with the utmost diplomacy. Butting heads tends to not result in the desired outcome.”

  “True, very true, my boy, but I have a very hard skull.” Fry gave me a once-over. “Hailey, I believe you have a similarly thick one. Use it to your advantage; don’t let her push you around.”

  “Hey, I want her to like me.”

  “She will like you better if you are yourself,” the king advised.

  “Easy for you to say. You aren’t engaged to her son.”

  Fry winked. “No, but I have had more than my fair share of pushy mothers-in-law.”

  3

  Somehow, we managed to get through dinner without pissing off Alex’s mom. Maybe I had been unduly paranoid earlier, or perhaps Fry’s and my placement away from her at the opposite end of the table prevented another glare fest. In any case, by the time we finished dessert, I felt like Alex’s uncle and I were embarking on the beginnings of a beautiful friendship. He wasn’t nearly as much of a sexist pig as I’d first thought, and we shared similarly warped senses of humor and a mutual distrust of authority figures. Of course, in his case, it was much easier to defy “the man” when you are the man.