by Desiree Hunt
“Arms up!” Nodi barks, and my cheeks go crimson as I automatically obey and lift my naked arms above my naked body. Then, I gasp as the cold, hard material is pressed against my front by Nodi. When I feel a collection of more hands against my back, pushing forward, I grunt my distress and discomfort, but nobody seems to notice.
Looking down at where the sheet is smooshing my breasts, I’m on the brink of pushing everyone off, but then I see the solid sheet of moon-pearl start to bend as it takes shape around me. Curiosity and wonder hold my tongue silent as I watch the sheet mold to my every curve like pounded armor—only much, much prettier.
More sheets come after that one, and soon I feel like a plaster puppet or an enormous pot joint gone very, very wrong. When they’re done, I can barely move and I’ve got a woman on each side helping me to keep my balance. The only thing keeping me from backing out of the whole ball now is that I don’t think I could get out of these hard, stiff sheets on my own.
“Now then,” Nodi says as he squints his eyes appraisingly while tapping his chin with something that looks similar to a fountain pen. “Soften the skirt,” he says and the only woman not kept busy keeping me upright steps into view with a gadget similar in shape to a book. Bending over, she runs the edge of the book up and down my legs, and I see misty white vapor coming out of it.
I suck in a sharp breath of surprise as the stiff sheets soften just enough to gain a fabric quality. The work is slow, and I refocus my attention in front of me as the small woman moves around to my back. Nodi is still standing with that pen thing watching me like he thinks I’m about to sprout wings.
“Yessss,” he says and steps forward, pen and hand outstretched. I gasp again as a black smokey beam shoots out of the pen’s tip and cuts away a section of the sheeting. When the beam slides over a section of my skin, I jump in anticipation of being sliced, but nothing happens. No heat or anything.
I look down where the pen has trimmed some material away, and I am amazed to see a square neckline take shape.
Closing my eyes, I give in and trust the Queen’s crew to work their magic. And, it is magic. I am tugged, pulled and barely able to breathe one moment and in the next, silky soft fabric brushes against me. I whimper in ignored complaint when Nodi guts out the center section of my bodice in a plunging cut that exposes a wide valley of breasts and skin that extends down past my sternum.
Trust. Trust, I repeat to myself, closing my eyes again. And, I have to double down on that trust when they start messing with my hair. It takes every ounce of my willpower not to start slapping hands away. When they glue the horns on my forehead, I actually bite my lip, but they are small and light, and I soon forget they’re there.
“There! She is done. A masterpiece,” Nodi announces and his personal fan club breaks into applause again. “Do you want to see yourself?” he asks as he motions forward with his hand.
I don’t see a mirror, but I move forward anyway, my mouth dropping open speechless when I see first a shimmer in the light in front of me and then see myself materialize. But, it’s only the first few inches of me. Walking forward some more, I come into full view in a 3D reflection a few feet in front of me.
Tears sting my eyes.
“I’m so beautiful,” I say, letting my hands trace the lines of my dress. The moon-pearl has a shimmering glow that highlights my skin. I have two floor-to-hip length slits in the skirt that showcase my long legs when I move, and the plunging V in the neckline makes my breasts look good enough to be a Victoria Secret’s model. Better even.
As for my hair, they have teased my brown locks to be full and wild as it slopes back from my forehead. Woven into my hair are metallic looking ribbons the same beautiful blue as Volex’s skin.
My horns are small and dainty, and I look as if I’ve had them all my life. They compliment my beauty rather than take anything away, and something about their shape and placement makes my eyes look exotic and alluring.
Looking down, I wiggle my toes. Turning to Nodi, I say, “I don’t have any shoes.”
I’m scared now. Looking this beautiful, I want to go to the ball—but how can I go without any shoes. On top of that, the women are all so tiny, I can’t imagine anyone having lady’s shoes in my size.
“How would you like your shoes to look?” Nodi asks, stepping close and leaning forward eagerly.
“Well, at home I wear tall shoes.” I demonstrate by lifting the heel of my fuzzy slipper off the floor. Then, maintaining the shape, I lift the ball of my foot off the floor to mimic the height that would be given me by platform heels.
“Ohhh,” Nodi says, his hand holding his chin again. “We can do this!” Bending down and gently holding my ankle, he slips first one slipper and then the other off my feet and hands them off to one of the ladies in his crew.
While I watch, they spray something inside my slipper and then peel the resulting thin film away. From the impression of my foot that the film provides, they manage to grow a shoe. With some nudges and pokes here and there as it grows, the shoes take shape. Then, with some cutting from Nodi’s pen, they’re done.
Returning to me, he holds one up. I lean forward trying to see the bottom inch of the shoe, but I can’t. It’s as if it’s a blurry darkness that I can’t focus on. Without that inch, the shoe looks much shorter.
Nodi bends down and I step into the shoes, instantly gaining at least five inches of height. The women behind me gasp and take a step back, looking up at me with awe.
When Nodi stands back up, I find that I am now taller than him.
Turning, I look at my 3D reflection.
“They’re perfect,” I whisper. They are as close to a glass slipper as I could ever imagine a girl would want to wear. And, the blurry inch at the bottom makes it impossible to focus on their true height. The shoes look much shorter, yet they make me a giant.
A tapping knock sounds at the door and I turn around to find a formally dressed Volex. I am speechless. Even my brain is silent. He’s wearing a light brown tunic with buttons made of the same material as my dress. The tunic is sleeveless and shows off every supple curve of his spectacular arms. His slacks look simple but their cut is perfection. They mold to his fine half-moon ass while subtly highlighting the strength of his powerful thighs.
It takes me a full minute to notice the ribbon laced between his horns. Just like the metallic ribbon in my hair that matches Volex’s skin, the ribbon laced between his horns is a perfect match to my skin.
“We’re a pair,” I say, holding my hands out for his as he walks up to stand before me. With my hair and shoes, I am as tall as he is.
“And you are the better half,” Volex says, bending to kiss my hands before leaning in to kiss my rose-silver lips.
“You say that to all the girls,” I tease, feeling bashful as a smile gives away the secret of my growing happiness.
“I say that to my only girl,” Volex says in answer, and his eyes are like deep pools that I will never find my way out of. “Will you do me the honor?” he asks, offering me his elbow. I slide my hand in and hold on.
“Yes,” I say, and I feel like I’m saying yes to more than just being his escort at the ball. I feel like I’m saying yes to everything he is and the life we could have together.
I feel like I’m saying “yes” to being his.
Chapter 12
Volex
Mother has stolen Aisha from me. I stand sourly with my back against an enormous pillar watching as Mother makes Aisha a gem of the ball, taking great pride in introducing her to every high ranking noble person. That she is also introducing Aisha to every available bachelor is not lost on me.
“This is all your fault, Ivar,” I say glumly.
“Of course it is! I will gladly accept the blame—but tell me what I am at fault for this time.” He follows my line of gaze to Aisha. “Ahhh, first you don’t want her, and now that she’s out of your reach, you must have her.”
“I don’t get it. What’s Mother up to? She’d said she
wanted Aisha here on my arm.”
“It’s always hard to say with that old battle ax.”
Ivar’s choice of words earn him a silent glare from me.
“What? Her favorite weapon in battle is an ax,” Ivar shrugs, unrepentant.
Giving him a final glare, I settle back in for some world class sulking as I watch Aisha giggle as a Mangor born bows deep before her. Known for their seductive abilities throughout the galaxies, I am actively counting down the minutes to this one’s death. It will be much sooner than he had planned.
“If it bothers you so much, why don’t you go after her?” Ivar asks.
I shrug. “I don’t want Mother to know how much Aisha means to me. She’ll find some way to use it against me.”
“Maybe she’s decided that she doesn’t want a halfbreed heir to the throne. Have you mated her yet?”
I don’t know why it rankles me to have my intimate relations with Aisha to be discussed in such a way, but it does.
“No.” I push my need for privacy aside. I need to talk. “Aisha wants… what’s the word. Oh yes, monogamy.”
“Well there’s an archaic word that I haven’t heard in a while. Are you sure she wants that.”
“Oh, she made herself very clear.”
“You going to do it?”
I stand up straighter and watch as Aisha is whisked out onto the dance floor by a warlord named Brokk. I have heard a rumor that Mother owes him a favor.
If she dares to trade Aisha away… My vision hazes over as a violent rage threatens to overtake me at seeing my soulmate in the arms of another.
“Yes,” I say, my answer suddenly crystal clear. “I am going to be monogamous, and I’ll pull the arms off of any man who tries to interfere with her monogamy to me.”
“Are you sure it works both ways?”
“Huh?” Ivar manages to snag my full attention.
“Are you sure that it is part of her culture for the women to be monogamous to their mates? She might want your fidelity without giving her own.”
My hearts stop for so long that I think they might never start again. I can no longer hear anything around me. There’s too much blood rushing in my ears from my ever growing urgency to rip Brokk apart. But, while the man is not quite as tall as I am, he is as wide as a small building and it’s all muscle. To actually rip his arms out might require help.
I narrow my eyes at Ivar.
“What?” he asks.
“How much do you love me, brother?”
It’s Ivar’s turn to narrow his eyes.
“What are you planning, Volex? Mother will skin you alive if you ruin her ball.”
A too-near giggle to my left pulls my attention away from Brokk and Aisha just as he spins her and then dips her backward. I cannot suppress that growl the vibrates from my throat even as I turn to look at the owner of the school-girl giggle.
The giggle stops.
Standing near is a girl with large round eyes. She’s tiny compared to Aisha, and she’s pretty enough, though she’s not stunning like Aisha. She doesn’t glow with beauty and poise the way Aisha does, and her eyes are not lit with the fire of challenge that are always in Aisha’s.
It’s a struggle not to ignore the doe-eyed girl and refocus on my dancing soulmate, but I manage it. Barely.
Wanting to get this done with, I give an encouraging smile to the girl so that we can move forward with the necessary niceties that will lead to the inevitable and glorious goodbye.
She blushes at my smile and turns demure with a shy smile of her own as her gaze drops away from mine.
It’s a shame. She really is cute. I’m suddenly filled with the desire to whisk her off to the bedroom and make her blush deepen for different reasons, but then a feeling I am not used to steps in.
Restraint.
I’m not used to it, and I don’t like it. Anger boils within me as my gaze returns to the dance floor.
She’s leaning into him! Aisha’s breasts are pressed to Brokk’s massive wall of muscle, and I fill with a fury so intense that I forget my own name.
Breathe…
I hear a noise and glance down before me to find the girl still standing there. Having my attention, she gives a deep curtsey that provides me an angle to see far down the neck of her gown to the soft globes beneath. It is a tactical maneuver I would have appreciated once, but tonight I find it an unwanted distraction.
I smile broadly but not brightly. It’s the imitation of a smile without any of the joy. Bowing low in return, I take her hand in both of mine.
“You are a sweet morsel of a maiden that I would have once loved to dine on for hours.” Her cheeks heat anew. “But, as I have told the others before you, I’m now spoken for”—my eyes lift to the dance floor—“by the harlot in Brokk’s arms.”
Ivar’s hiss of disapproval reminds me of myself, and I return my attention to the girl and smile with more genuine care.
“My father said that you are looking for a wife, and he said that we would make a fine match.” She looks bewildered that something her father said is not a guiding rule for all.
“I am sure that your father is a wise man, but events proceeding my and your meeting have changed my desire to find a wife. I have found my future wife already. Please tell the other visiting ladies that I am spoken for.”
Her eyes shimmer with unshed tears as she stares up at me, and I have a moment of real fear that she might break down in loud sobs. But, anger sets in fast as the glint in her eyes sharpens.
Turning on her heel, she strides off with purpose to a gaggle of ladies with their heads close together in a circle, though their eyes repeatedly swivel to look at me.
“You’ve done it now,” Ivar says, stepping up to stand beside me with his hands clasped behind his back.
“They need to know I’m not interested. She’s the tenth girl I’ve sent away without a dance tonight. My patience with civility is wearing out, and I’m likely to do more damage than what was just done if they continue to pester me for my undying devotion and love.”
Looking to my side, I see that the girl has made it back to her friends and now all of them look angry enough to spit venom. Then, I notice that some of them are looking at Aisha with an intensity that makes my horns itch with the need to disembowel someone in order to protect her.
“Would it have been so bad to dance with the girl?” Ivar prods.
“No, of course not,” I say, rubbing my forehead. It would have gotten me out on the dance floor and closer to Aisha.
The rustle of loud whispers draws my attention back over to the side. The crowd of minglers has parted for the only woman who makes me more nervous than Mother. With her skirt held in her fists and pulled half way up her shins, Rekaia closes in on me like a genetically targeted missile. Her normally black eyes have gained a murderous orange cast that has me struggling to keep my arms at my sides rather than lifting them in ready defense, and her normally warm beauty has turned a glacier blue. She is death walking.
“See you later, brother,” Ivar says with a hardy slap on my back. He’s gone a second later.
“Coward,” I mumble, but the truth is that I wish I could run away too. It would do no use, though. Rekaia would track me through the acid lakes of Trizo-Pi.
After all, I am—technically—her betrothed.
Chapter 13
Aisha
Brokk’s hand on my lower back covers me from one side to the other as he dips me in a deep bend. Before coming to Vertar, I had never imagined ever meeting anyone who could move my body so effortlessly. At almost six feet tall, I’m a big girl even if I am fit! Finding myself handled so easily yet so carefully by Brokk’s undeniable strength has my tummy fluttering with butterflies.
Okay, so he looks a little like a toad, but a very handsome toad… as toads go. Built as solid as a Sherman tank, he’s got a collection of spike-like horns on his head, and there are smatterings of coral in with the greens and blues of his skin. When I focus only on his coloring,
his beauty is amazing. But, when I look at his face, his less traditional looks give me pause. I’m pretty sure that for his kind he’s extremely handsome and that my eye simply isn’t trained yet in how his people look in order to be able to appreciate him. As it is, I must admit that his features grow more handsome the longer I spend with him.
When he twirls me again with my hand in his over my head, spinning me like a top, I catch glimpses of Volex simmering away as he watches me from a distance.
If he really wanted to be with me—if he were man enough to admit it—he’d step up and ask me to dance. So, to hell with him.
They are the words in my head, but they are not the words in my heart. Every part of me calls for Volex. If I let myself, I’d sit in a corner and cry like a girl at a high school dance because the boy I like won’t have anything to do with me.
Are you sure you only like him?
Yes!
I bark at my inner self. I’m not in love with Volex—no way, no how. My heart fluttering every time I catch his eyes on me has nothing to do with love. Love is spending years supporting each other and being kind to one another. Volex can’t even handle being in my company for more than fifteen minutes at a time. Since the moment that the stupid cupid blipped me into his world, Volex has jumped at every excuse possible to distance himself from me. Even when he was being kind and considerate, the action of it was to distance himself from me.
Brokk’s not distancing himself from me, I note as the impossibly large man holds me close against him and dances me around the floor. His steps and moves are so graceful that he could have stolen his feet from Fred Astaire.
“I have a beautiful castle on the shores of a mountain lake that glows when all of the six moons are in the sky.” The deep rumble of Brokk’s voice makes his entire chest vibrate into me, and despite myself I want to melt in his arms. I want to not want Volex. Brokk feels like a man while Volex feels like a boy. He feels like the kind of partner who would always put me first in his thoughts and his decisions.