by M. L. Ryan
He maneuvered past Alex and Tannis and grasped my hands firmly in his. Now that I was closer, I could see more of a resemblance between Alex and his dad. Same rugged good looks, same cornflower blue eyes, just packaged a little differently. Much like the difference in their body structure, Alex’s face was a little longer and leaner. The King’s hair was straighter and a lighter shade of blonde, but aside from those minor differences, there was no doubt they were related.
I lowered my head slightly in what I hoped would be taken as a sign of polite respect. “Your majesty.”
“No need to be so formal. Please, call me Barack.”
“Your name is Barack?” I sputtered. I didn’t mean to sound so astounded, but I expected the king to have a more Courso sounding name. Something hard to pronounce with a lot of x’s and y’s. I glanced at Alex, and noted that even he seemed a little taken aback.
The king laughed and rotated around so he was next to me. Placing a hand on my shoulder, he guided me toward the door from which he had emerged, beckoning the others to follow.
“My real name, Wyxinorolyxazam, is quite long. If one adds the proper royal prefix of King Consort, it becomes rather a mouthful. As a courtesy to you, our first human visitor, I chose a human name.”
“And how did you decide on that particular moniker, Father?” Alex inquired, barely stifling his amusement.
“It is the name of the current leader of Hailey’s land, is it not? I chose it to honor our guest.”
It was obvious a lot of time and effort had gone into his selection, even though there was no way I was ever going to be comfortable calling him Barack. Even just thinking about it made me prone to giggling. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness, sir,” I somehow managed to say without snickering. I figured I could avoid the matter entirely by addressing him with a nonspecific appellation like “sir,” or better yet, not directly at all. As long as I never had to call across a room to him, when was I likely to have to actually use his proper, albeit made-up, name?
From the side door, we moved down a wide hallway into a large sitting room. The space was huge, maybe 30 feet by 40 feet, with separate seating areas interspersed throughout. Massive tapestries, all of which appeared to be old, hung from the walls along with a number of portraits of people I assumed were past monarchs. Alex’s father and Tannis sat on a richly-appointed sofa in front of a fireplace that was bigger than my bedroom. Sebastian installed himself on a high-backed, upholstered chair with a matching footstool nearby, while Alex gave me a little guided tour of the artwork.
The paintings did, indeed, portray generations of the royal family, decked out in various forms of regalia. The men had on either an elegant, military-looking uniform or an equally resplendent dark tailcoat with a starched, white shirt. The women wore fancy ball gowns, most of which were white and displayed an impressive amount of cleavage. Regardless of their gender, each donned a purple sash that angled from shoulder to waist, upon which a distinctive, jeweled brooch was pinned.
“That’s our coat-of arms,” he said, pointing to the adornments. “The Qajinyb.”
I recalled the mythical, winged seal from my Xyzok reward money. “Why is that particular beast part of your family’s crest?”
“The combination of air and sea has great meaning to Alenquai. It is said that when my great-great-great-grandfather, King Aldegrexynthor the First was a teen, he was swept away by a massive wave while playing at the beach. That’s him there,” Alex said, pointing at the portrait that graced the space over the mantel. Out of the canvas, a golden-haired man — who looked to be in his late twenties — stared across the room, an enigmatic smile curved beneath his neatly trimmed moustache. We walked closer to the fireplace for a better look.
“The royal guards searched the waters for him, some even themselves drowning in the effort,” Alex continued. “When he could not be found, it was assumed that he had perished. But the next day he walked up to the palace gate, and told an amazing tale. He recounted how the wave had thrown him far out to sea, and while he tried to stay afloat, eventually he was pulled underwater. He believed he would die, but a Qajinyb swam underneath him and pushed him to the surface. The creature kept Aldegrexynthor’s head above water and shepherded him to a distant shore at sunset. Exhausted, wet and chilled to the bone, Aldegrexynthor might have succumbed to the elements that night, had not the Qajinyb curled around him to keep him warm. In the morning, when the Qajinyb could fly, it allowed him to ride upon its back, and carried Aldegrexynthor home.”
“Wow. What a great story,” I marveled, viewing the sapphire, diamond and ruby encrusted depiction with a new sense of awe.
“Yes, it is,” Alex’s father chimed in as a butler wheeled in a cart filled with tiny, open-faced sandwiches, sweets and pots of tea. The butler poured a cup for each of us, bowed and silently retreated. Once the servant was gone, the King took a sip of tea and added, “Of course, some have alleged that he spun the fantastic yarn to cover for the fact he had actually spent the night with a particularly comely lass he had met earlier in the week.” He glanced up at the canvas and parroted Aldegrexynthor’s ambiguous grin.
“Wyx, you should not spread such unsubstantiated hearsay about my relatives,” Rexanatyxa scolded as she swept into the room. Her tone was chastising, but she gave her husband a playful pat before she delicately picked up a sandwich with silver tongs and placed it on a small china plate.
Alex laughed. “Really Father, you know full well that evidence points to Aldegrexynthor spending the night with at least three maidens.”
“That explains why he was exhausted,” Tannis added.
Apparently, the allowances Rexanatyxa was willing to make for her mate did not necessarily extend to her offspring. “They could hardly be considered maidens if they partook in such an assignation, Alexander,” she huffed.
I leaned as close to Alex as propriety would allow and whispered, “And his bone was probably anything but chilled.” Alex merely chuckled, but Sebastian started to laugh so hard he had to work to keep from spitting tea across the room. Crap. I kept forgetting about the Courso’s freakishly proficient hearing. I risked a surreptitious glance at Rexanatyxa, hoping she hadn’t caught my comment, and was relieved that she was focused on surveying the snack selection. Or maybe she was just too polite to make a fuss? Nah. I was fairly confident that if she had overheard, she wasn’t the type to remain silent.
Satisfied that I had dodged a bullet, I silently vowed to try to curb my propensity for smart-ass while I was a guest in the palace. If trying to make a good impression on Alex’s parents wasn’t enough incentive to behave myself, there was the added pressure of serving as a sort of ad hoc ambassador for my kind. No need for the Courso to think humans were all sarcastic, cynical, and prone to sexual innuendo.
Rexanatyxa chose a confectioner’s sugar-coated cookie and nibbled on it with practiced punctilious grace. No powdery white remnants would dare stick to her chin. “You know, Hailey,” she intoned as she daintily dabbed her mouth with an embroidered cloth napkin. “Alexander was named after Aldegrexynthor. He is Aldegrexynthor the third, in fact. I always called him Aldex when he was a boy, I suppose that is why he chose Alexander as his human name.”
I’d never thought to ask why Alex had selected that particular name, and now I wanted to know the origin of his human last name. “How’d you come up with Sunderland?”
“On my first trip to your dimension, Sebastian took me to a football game in England; Sunderland against Newcastle. I just liked the way ‘Sunderland’ sounded with ‘Alexander’.”
Sebastian sighed. “I remember it like it was yesterday…December 1908, Sunderland won 9-1, and Billy Hogg and George Holley each scored three goals that day. It was quite a match.”
1908? Okay, then. I often forgot that Alex and Sebastian were really old, and when I was confronted with information that drove that message home, like them attending a soccer match at the turn of the 20th century, it still kind of freaked me out. “Good thing you
didn’t take him to see Tottenham,” I remarked.
“Quite right, Hailey,” Sebastian agreed. “Alexander Tottenham sounds dreadful.” He tilted his head and gazed off for a moment and then added, “Although Alexander Hotspur has a ring to it.”
That made me picture Alex wearing nothing but a black mask and cowboy boots with metal, star-shaped projections attached. Shit, I must be spending too much time around Sebastard. In an attempt to purge the image of the Lone Xyzok — Did that make me Tonto, or Silver? — I asked Tannis how she chose her human name.
“It’s an anagram, actually. I combined the first letters of the names of heroic women throughout human history. Tomyris, Jane Austen, Nefertiti, Florence Nightingale, Ida B. Wells and Sacajawea.”
I knew all of them except for the first. “Who’s Tomyris?”
“Tomyris was the Queen of Massagetae, around 500 BC, I believe. She defeated a Persian emperor who tried to invade her country. After he was killed, she scooped out his brains and for the rest of her life, used his empty head as a wine glass.”
Yikes. “That must have been fun at parties,” I opined. “I’m a little surprised though, Tannis. You are always so upbeat. I never realized you were so….” So what, gruesome? Morbid? She looked like a fashion model; who’d have guessed there lurked some inner bad ass. I settled for the less charged, “so dark.”
“Hey, you have to applaud the moxie,” Tannis replied while releasing an appreciative sigh.
Not to mention Tomyris’ apparent lack of a gag-reflex.
Rexanatyxa, obviously not enjoying where the conversation had drifted, cleared her throat with delicate, yet authoritative resolve. “Not to change the subject, but in celebration of this rare event when all my children are under the same roof, we are having a small dinner tonight in your honor.”
Alex and Sebastian both frowned. “Do you think that is wise, under the circumstances?” Alex challenged.
“Alexander, I’m not planning a gala,” she said with a flip of her beautifully manicured hand. “Just a few of our closest friends and a few loyal members of the Glyzimutitch Zolmere and such. Security won’t be an issue, I assure you.”
Alex looked at Sebastian, who responded with a small shrug. Resigned to his mother’s whim of iron, he sighed in defeat. “Fine. When does Kynkyzalyxch arrive?”
The queen popped open the large, gold locket that hung from a chain around her neck, revealing a watch inside. “You brother should be here any time now,” she replied. “And speaking of the time, I’ll have someone show you to your rooms. I’m sure you will want time to relax and get ready.”
Before she finished speaking, a trio of servants appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, ready to carry out her wishes. Jeez, does the help hang around listening at the door in case she asks for something or is there some magical means for intra-palace communication? Either way, it seemed weird to have your every need instantly fulfilled.
We said our goodbyes-for-now to Barack and Michelle, and our guides escorted the four of us to our quarters. When Rexanatyxa said “rooms” she wasn’t referring to three for the four of us. The place to which Alex and I were taken was a suite; a living room with a dining area and a small kitchenette along with a large bedroom with an attached bathroom that was, itself, bigger than my whole house back home. Granted, the guest house I lived in was pretty small, but it had all the same rooms as the suite crammed into the same square footage as the lavatory. Everything was decorated in the modern minimalist design favored in swanky Scandinavian furniture stores. Lots of leather furniture, simple but elegant tables, granite and glass. The bed was a dark wooden platform with the headboard and end tables attached as one piece.
Once we were alone, I whirled around, taking in the surprising surroundings. “This is fantastic, but so different from the rest of the palace,” I exclaimed.
Alex glanced around. “My mother knows I am not a fan of her style of décor. And she is nothing if not a most gracious host. I suspect Tannis’s and Sebastian’s accommodations reflect their preferred tastes.”
I didn’t know Tannis well enough to know what her rooms might look like, but if the Queen provided lodgings tailored to her guest’s partialities, I imagined Sebastian’s would be decorated in mid-century S & M.
My reflections on whips, chains and handcuffs were interrupted by a small rap on the door. Alex opened it, revealing two men and a tall, rolling garment rack filled with clothes. As Alex stepped aside to allow them to enter, the older of the two grabbed an assortment of items off the stand and lovingly draped them over his arm.
“I am Frydinyx, her majesty’s valet. The queen was concerned that neither of you would have packed suitable attire for a formal dinner. Her majesty instructed us to bring a selection of items for both of you to choose from.” Turning to the younger guy, he bellowed, “Helbrynj, attend to the Prince. These,” he said to me in a much softer tone as he raised the hangers slightly, “are for you.”
I could only really see the first dress in the pile — a black strapless number with a long, flowing skirt — but there were at least five other gowns in a variety of colors underneath. He swept into the bedroom and laid them on the bed.
“Try them on. Princess Tannis let me know what size you wear. When you decide which you prefer, if any alterations are required, I will come back and make the necessary modifications.” He stood there, waiting expectantly for me to do something. I wasn’t sure what was the proper etiquette; I’d never had couture delivered before.
“Thank you, Frydinyx,” I said finally. Apparently, that wasn’t what he was waiting for, because he continued to give me the same eager look. Trying again, I added, “They are all so beautiful. I don’t know how I’ll choose.”
This was, apparently, the response he wanted. “Thank you miss,” he beamed. “I picked these based on the Princess’s description of you. Please let me know if I can be of additional service.”
With that, he went back into the living room. I heard some conversation, the sound of the cart rolling, and then the door opening and closing. Alex came into the bedroom holding a single garment bag in one hand and balancing a number of shoe boxes in the other.
“That’s a lot of dresses,” he remarked as he passed the bed on the way to the closet. He hung up the bag and placed the boxes on the floor. “All of these are shoes for you to try.”
This was a shopaphobe’s dream. I didn’t have to spend any time looking at item after item and trying to decide what to try on and someone, likely with better taste than I, made all the decisions. I opened the box on top and pulled out a pair of red pumps with five-inch heels.
“Huh. Which dress do you think the come-fuck-me-red-shoes are supposed to go with?” I inquired as I perused the selection of gowns. None were red, so I was honestly confused.
“I have no idea,” Alex replied, shaking his head. “But they are kind of hot. He raised a brow suggestively. “I think you should wear them no matter which dress you choose.”
“Are you nuts?” I chided as I tossed the footwear-from-hell back in the box with its evil twin. “There’s no way I’d ever be able to walk in these.”
It could have been my imagination, but I swore Alex breathed out a sigh of disappointment when I nixed the CFM-reds. I decided to change the subject. It was safer than letting his sad, puppy-dog expression make me forget my better judgment and wear the scary pumps.
I pointed into the closet. “How come I got a bunch of stuff to choose from, but you only got one? Your mother likes me best,” I teased.
“That may indeed be the case, but as far as the clothing is concerned, a tuxedo is a tuxedo. And the royal tailors know my measurements.” He picked up one of the dresses — a form-fitting emerald green one with a plunging neckline — and studied it. “If you’re not going to wear the shoes, will you at least model the gowns for me?”
I wasn’t certain if he meant the fashion show would, in some way, satisfy whatever lusty fantasies the shoes evoked, but I was happy for help d
eciding on the most appropriate garment. The only time I ever wore a formal gown was when I was a bridesmaid at my sisters’ weddings, so I had no real experience with such matters. At least these were attractive. The bridesmaid dresses were all pretty hideous. It amazed me that three more or less sane women would select dresses in colors and styles that looked crappy on everyone. Rachel claimed that subconsciously, brides do this to make themselves appear more beautiful. I think it’s so years later, they have something with which to blackmail the members of the wedding party.
I grabbed the gowns and headed to the bathroom. As I removed the black strapless one from the hanger, I noticed an assortment of fancy lingerie in an attached pouch. When I checked, all the dresses came with suitable undergarments. That Frydinyx, he thought of everything. It was a little disturbing that Tannis’s description allowed him to bring perfectly sized bras, however.
The next half hour was spent maneuvering myself into the fancy frocks and strutting around to get Alex’s opinion. In the end, it came down to an off-the-shoulder black lace gown with sheer long sleeves and a capped-sleeved, ecru silk with an overlay embroidered with gold, copper and silver designs. I was leaning toward the black, but when I saw Alex’s eyes light up when I came out in the other, I knew that was the dress. It showed just enough cleavage to be alluring, but the back was cut low to just above my butt. Kind of chastely trampy. Plus, it fit me perfectly; no adjustments needed. Alex said he thought the curve of my lower back was incredibly sexy, and the sleeves highlighted my buff shoulders. And the best part was the red shoes would have looked really ridiculous.
~21~
The queen had more in store for me than providing a fancy dress. She also sent up someone to style my hair. Normally, I might have taken exception, for all intents and purposes, to being told my hair was a mess. But in this case I was relieved to have the help. First, I had no experience with the finer points of hairdos fit for a royal shindig. And second, the electricity in this dimension wasn’t compatible with my blow dryer. That, coupled with the more-than-desert-like humidity, was making my long, curly locks even more unruly that usual. The friendly beautician created a simple, loose up-do with a few tendrils left out. She said it gave me a “carefree, sexy look.” As much as I wanted to agree with her assessment, it looked a little odd with my tank top and jeans. But once I put on some makeup, the flimsy, lace underwear and the dress, the coif was perfect.