by Desiree Hunt
“So,” I say, “does Rekaia think that you two are getting married?” I need point blank confirmation that Volex is not spoken for.
Volex’s mouth pulls at one corner, and his eyes narrow. “She wants us to get married,” Volex says. “She feels that she has rights to me and that I would be failing to uphold our families’ promise to each other by not taking her as my bride. She feels that she has… dibs on me.”
I can feel my language translator reach a bit with the word “dibs.”
“Have you done anything to make her think that you have intentions of marrying her? As in, you personally, have you done anything?”
When Volex doesn’t answer right away, my heart sinks. Then when he does answer, it sinks some more.
“We were intimate once about fifteen cycles ago.”
My ears start to buzz. There is so many things wrong with what Volex just said.
“You were intimate… fifteen cycles ago?” I clear my throat and adjust my stance. “So, like when you were five years old… you guys…” I wag my finger in the air, not wanting to finish the sentence.
Volex’s brow creases. “No, not when I was five. I was about sixty-five cycles old.”
Sixty-five. I’m going to hyperventilate.
“Volex,” I say, my voice going up an octave, “how old are you? Are you eighty years old?”
Confusion registers on Volex’s face at my line of questioning. “Yes… How old are you?”
“Twenty-three!”
Shock, dismay, and a flash of disgust cross Volex’s face. Stepping close, he hisses, “You are a child?”
I take a step back, insulted though I know I shouldn’t be. “No, I’m not a child! I’m a grown woman!” I’ve had to fight tooth and nail to be taken seriously in my life, and I haven’t cared for being called a child since I was twelve. “Volex, how long do your people live?”
“Most reach thirteen millennia. Royals tend to reach eighteen.”
“Millenia.” My head is spinning. Millenia. A thousand years. Eighteen THOUSAND years! My heart races. “Volex, my people are lucky if they reach seventy years!”
Volex’s face is blank as if he doesn’t comprehend what I’m saying. Then, his body sways, he goes off balance, and his coloring fades to a washed out version of his usual blue. Reaching out a hand, he steadies himself against a nearby pillar. His eyes are wide and glistening with crystalline tears.
“You’re going to die. I can’t lose you, Aisha.” Closing his eyes and turning his head away, he says, “I can’t have only a minute with you to leave me anguished with your loss for the thousands of years to come. This isn’t fair! I can’t do this! I can’t lose you like this!”
I am awed by the intensity of Volex’s reaction. I know that I’m the one who’s going to be dying before him, but I guess that hearing I’ll die in a mere fifty years or so is, for him, like learning that I’ve only got twenty-four hours to live.
Turning back to me, Volex sinks to his knees and takes my hand in his. “Aisha, I will honor and cherish you every day that we have together. I will devote all that I am to you, and I will build memories to sustain me through the years to come without you.”
My gaze sweep the ballroom and takes in all of the eyes staring at us.
“Volex… Get up!” I whisper loudly, desperate for our spectacle to end. But the truth is out there. I’m going to grow old into a shriveled, bent and decrepit woman and he’ll be still in his early, early twenties. Is he even twenty yet? Oh my God, what’s if he’s the equivalent of a teenager? Suddenly all of the man-whoring and callous womanizing makes sense. I don’t want to marry a child.
Volex stands up, gathers me in his arms and kisses me on the forehead, but I push away. I need answers.
“Volex, how old are you for your kind? I mean, are you a grownup… or a kid?”
Volex’s eyes go wide, and he squares his shoulders. It’s his turn to feel indignant. “I’m a man!” He emphasizes the word by slamming his fist into his rock-hard chest. “If Mother and Ivar were to die, I would be King.”
My face twists. “Where I come from, even children can be kings. It’s about the lineage. The bloodlines. Age doesn’t count for anything.”
“Aisha,” Volex says, stepping forward and taking my chin in his fingers, “I am a man. In mind, body and years. I am a man.” Adding emphasis to his words, he leans down and takes my lips with him in a kiss that soon has my toes curling and my fingers digging into his tunic. When his hand slides behind my neck to cradle my head, I moan into his mouth.
Okay, he’s a man, I think when he pulls away. But, that doesn’t change the fact that I’m going to die in the equivalent of his tomorrow. I gotta go. I think of Brokk and wonder if he’ll come through for me. He seemed so certain that he could.
“Volex,” a familiar voice calls, and I turn to see Ivar approaching. When Volex turns, he slides his hand to rest over my lower back. His heat radiates into me, making me feel good, making me want to stay.
“Take this beautiful creature out onto the dance floor or I will,” Ivar says as he steps near, making a show of letting his eyes travel my length from head to toe and back up again. I can’t completely contain my smile as Volex pulls me the tiniest bit closer in response to his brother’s obvious ribbing.
Volex looks down at me, and I can’t keep my smile from growing wider. Then, turning to face me, he bows deep with one arm behind his back as his other holds lightly to my fingers.
“My lady,” he says, standing up and stepping close. Without a word but with open pleasure I wear on my face, I let him guide me out onto the dance floor. My entire body tingles when he pulls me near so that the entire length of my front is pressed against him with no light between us.
My smile fades to be replaced by something more, something less tangible, as we stand so close together. Everything feels so right in his arms, and even though I know that every person in the ballroom is watching us, their existence slips away. There’s just me and Volex.
The music swells and we’re moving, gliding across the dance floor. If I thought that Brokk was a good dancer—wow, I hadn’t seen anything!
The way Volex’s body moves with mine, it’s like we are one person. I can’t help but wonder if the way we fit would extend to the bedroom. I’ve had some fun here and there, nothing serious. One lover was fun, one was clumsy, and another was just plain awkward. But good? I can’t say that I’ve ever had good, and I’m wondering if Volex would be at the dayumn end of the spectrum of good.
I could handle me some dayumn good, I think as I let myself melt against Volex. My whole body is tingling, but one spot is beginning to throb. You know… that spot. The spot that aches when it needs to be filled. My nipples are as hard as diamonds, and I wonder if Volex can feel them pressing into his chest. If he can, he gives nothing away—a consummate gentleman. But, even if he doesn’t know what he’s doing to me, I know, and me knowing has my face burning hot and my mouth dry.
I need him. I want him. I’m not saying I’m horny. I’m saying that I’ll spontaneously combust if he doesn’t rip my dress off and cover my body with his this very instance.
What the hell?
I’ve never had this kind of reaction to anybody. Boys have always been a nice thought, but they’ve been more like a decadent desert. They’ve never been as good as they looked. They’ve never made me want them so much that I was willing to put them before all that I had worked to create. But, that’s how I feel now.
I don’t want to go back to Earth. I want to stay here with Volex! … Shake it off, Aisha! It can’t work. You two can’t work!
A little breathless, I push away from Volex when the music slows on its way to transitioning into a new melody.
“Are you okay?” Volex asks, concern on his face.
“I will be,” I reassure him with a soft smile. “But, a glass of wine would help.”
Bending low, Volex kisses my hand and then guides me from the dance floor with his hand once more on
my lower back. He gives a small wave to a waiter carrying a tray of drinks, and I can’t help but note the man’s slight nervousness at directly serving the royalty.
Volex really is a big deal. Why didn’t I see it before?
With an awkward smile, the waiter hands me a goblet as he extends the drink-laden tray to Volex at the same time. I let my eyes drink in the goblet’s contents shimmering beauty before breathing in its warming scent again.
“Oh please,” Ivar says as he drifts past me on his way to Volex’s side. Lifting the drink from my hand as if I had been there waiting just for him, Ivar says, “Don’t give her this swill. If you’re so crazy about her, the least you can do is give her the good stuff.” He swirls the goblet beneath his nose and then cringes as if its the worst thing he’s ever smelled. But, then to my surprise, he breaks out in a smile as large and brilliant as any I’ve ever seen, and he transforms into a man almost as beautiful as Volex.
“To the beautiful Aisha!” he says, lifting his goblet.
“To the woman who has answered my soul’s call,” Volex says. Then as one, the two men tip their goblets up and drain every drop. I can’t help but be jealous that they are getting to imbibe the delicious brew and I’m not.
“Hey,” I laugh, “what’s a girl gotta do to—”
A gut wrenching scream rips through the ball, halting the music, and Volex pulls me near, positioning himself in front of me as Ivar positions himself behind me. I’m sandwiched in, but I’m also shielded from whatever threat made that poor girl scream.
Volex has one arm reaching back with a hand on my hip, and Ivar’s hands are on my shoulders. But then something goes wrong. Ivar’s weight grows heavier and heavier, and I find myself pressed into Volex’s back. Then, Ivar’s hands slip down my body as his heat disappears. But, he’s not gone. No, he’s collapsed against the backs of my legs.
“Ivar?”
Volex twists around to see what’s wrong. “Ivar!” He kneels down next to Ivar just in time to keep the man from collapsing unaided onto the floor. I can see him breathing, but he’s not fully conscious.
A loud murmur grows its way over the ballroom as awareness of Ivar’s condition spreads, yet my ear is pulled by the sound of the crying girl. Turning, I search for her and find her cloistered in with a group of other women—Rekaia included. They all look scared, everyone but Rekaia. Rekaia looks angry, and she’s staring at me.
“He’s been poisoned,” Volex fumes.
Poisoned… My mouth is dry. It’s dry because I didn’t get anything to drink.
“Volex…” I can’t keep the shakiness from my voice. “He took my goblet and drank it. The poison was meant for me.” I search the crowd for the waiter. He offered the whole tray to Volex, but he specifically handed me a drink.
He might know what the poison is.
I spot the waiter as he disappears behind the gathering crowd, and I take off at a run, determined to bring him down.
Chapter 15
Aisha
“Aisha!” I hear Volex yell, but I don’t so much as break my stride as I zigzag between the gathered elite of Vertar in hot pursuit of the waiter who personally handed me a poisoned drink. He’s a smaller man than Volex, and with my platform shoes on, I’m every bit as tall as him. But, he’s fast.
I break through the back of the crowd just in time to see the waiter disappearing through a door that melds seamlessly with the surrounding wall. It shuts before I reach it, and I’m left pushing on the wall trying to find the exact spot where the waiter went through.
“Got it!”
Once I hit the right spot, the door opens easily, creating a magical looking part in the wall. Without hesitation, I dive through even though I can hear Volex yelling for me with ever increasing urgency.
This guy poisoned Ivar, and he meant to poison me. He’s going down.
I stop instantly, aware of the door clicking closed behind me. Before me is a small army of faces, turned to look in my direction. But, while their eyes are locked on me—unmoving, unflinching—their hands are busy at work: kneading pastry dough, stirring an enormous vat of what might be the spiced wine, cleaning dishes, and a host of other activities.
In the sea of faces, someone turns their eyes from me to look in a different direction having nothing to do with their work, and I spot another door on the far adjacent wall. Crouched and moving slow is the waiter, but when he spots my gaze shifting to him, all pretense is off and we are both running again. Both of us are in a chase for our lives.
Literally.
The waiter is running to preserve his life, and I’m running to defend my life. Okay, maybe I’m a little late to the game given that I would have probably been dead on the floor if Ivar hadn’t swept my goblet out of my hand and downed its contents himself.
Oh God, Ivar… Please be alive!
I have only ever met Volex’s mother when she was in a mildly good mood—and I found her absolutely terrifying even then. I cannot fathom what she will do in a revenge driven rage. Would she destroy half her kingdom? Could she destroy half her kingdom? I really don’t know, but I also don’t doubt it.
Before I even pass the last of the work stations between me and the door, the waiter has already thrown it open and has darted through. I slam full force into the door a second later, letting its solid mass be my breaks.
Swinging the door open with a furious arm, I run through only to stop again. This time I’m in what looks to be a service corridor. I look to my right and my left but see nothing. Closing my eyes, I listen. I can hear the sound of him running, but I’m not sure from which direction. Covering first one ear and then the other tells me which way to go, and I’m off again in a fast sprint.
My high heel shoes slap the hard, tiled floor of the gently curving hallway with a muted sound, and they are incredibly sturdy on my feet.
I’m taking these babies back to Earth! A part of my brain that loves numbers as much as it loves not being poor ponders whether or not the shoes could be reverse engineered as the pioneering product to launch my new shoe dynasty. But, the image of Ivar laying on the floor gasping for breath in Volex’s arms has me brushing aside any thoughts of myself. This isn’t my world and these aren’t my people, but they are a part of my life, and I will do my best to honor them.
Ahead of me, I hear a scuffing sound like something being shoved across the floor, but rather than slow down and err on the side of caution, I push hard and run faster… a decision that has me plowing into and doing a header over an abandoned food cart.
The unforgiving floor slams into me and my tumbling momentum stops just in time for me to see around the edge of the wall and down a straight corridor as a door clicks closed about thirty feet away.
My body hurts, and my hands and forearms have skidded so hard across the gently textured tile that I feel as if I should be bleeding. Checking myself, I don’t see any blood, and I groan as I force myself to stand. One of the high-thigh slits of my beautiful gown is badly torn so that it exposes the whole side length of my leg with a glimpse of ass cheek thrown in for good measure.
“I’ve got to find some panties!” Before I manage to get home to Earth, all of Vertar will have seen my good stuff.
Limping at first but quickly shifting back into an unhindered run, I have to grab at the edge of the door’s frame to keep from sliding past it. With a hard yank, I get it open and barrel through into one of the expansive and beautiful main corridors.
Something colder than ice slides past the flesh of my exposed leg and I whirl just in time to see that the waiter has waited for me this time… with a very long, very shiny dagger that’s now tangled in the torn fabric of my skirt.
I swing a backhanded strike at his head, but with a simple step backwards by him, I crash my hand into the sandstone-like wall. Before I even have a chance to regroup, he pulls the knife back to his side for a thrusting blow.
I’m twisting as fast as I can, but I know that it won’t be fast enough. A strangled whimper escape
s my lips as the muscles of my side spasm in anticipation of being sliced into with a dagger at least five inches long.
Who will save me? They don’t even have doctors for my kind. No one back home will ever know I’ve died here. The thoughts flash in my head, each overlaying the other in a cascade of emotion that sadly includes regrets. Regrets for the things I have not done. Regrets for the love I didn’t give and didn’t open myself up to. Regrets for the puppy I didn’t pet because I was in a hurry, and regrets for not making Mr. Cuddles mine when I had the chance. I shut myself off from so many little moments that make a person smile. I’m going to die. Why didn’t I take more time for happiness?
The waiter thrusts forward, putting his whole shoulder into it, and I am propelled backward but… not by him and not by his knife. An arm as big as a telephone pole is wrapped around my shoulders pulling me back, and a hand as large as a dinner plate cannons in front of me just in time for that five inch blade to sink its way through green and orange tinged blue flesh. The knife’s burgundy coated tip peeks through the hand, the point still aimed at me. But, the hand doesn’t waiver. It doesn’t flinch.
Twirled out of the way, I am left standing to the side as Brokk moves between me and my wanna-be killer. With a backhand that makes my earlier attempt look as if it had been made by an infant, Brokk hits the waiter so hard that the man’s feet lift from the floor and he sails backward in an oddly graceful arc.
I’m not expecting the man to move when he lands in a crumpled heap some twenty feet away, but he does just in time to greet the guards that converge around him.
“Aisha.” Brokk’s voice pulls my attention to him and away from the man now cowering on the floor, and my mouth drops open with a small squeak when I see Brokk pull the blade from his hand and let it drop to the floor. “There’s no time, Aisha. We must go.”