The Crisis at the Royal Wedding: Part 2
“Hair you go!” Fleetwood carefully placed the last pin in my elegant updo of woven braids.
“Did you just make a pun?” I asked, impressed. Fleetwood gently brushed out the bottom half of my hair, which was left down.
“I’ve been learning. All bun,” she said, patting my shoulder. I took the hand mirror she offered and twisted in my chair. Using the reflection in the vanity, I was able to see the back of my head. “This braid design says that you’re part of a royal household, but not a family member,” Fleetwood explained. “And this,” she brushed her fingers through my loose waves, “indicates that someone can slap a ring on it.”
“Are you saying that everyone wearing their hair down is single?”
“And ready to jingle jangle,” Fleetwood confirmed with a suggestive eyebrow waggle. “But only when we’re in high, traditional dress like this. Otherwise, it’s just hair.”
I had been steadily reading my way through any annals of Destyrian history that my Ran’dyl could translate. It was necessary to frame and contextualize my work on Vas Roya. I guess I really ought to step up my studies to include cultural practices still used in the modern era before I embarrassed Fleetwood and her family beyond repair.
“Uh, FleetMerc?” Chester called from the adjacent bedroom. “I’ve got the bottom layer on, but how do these robes work?”
“Stay there and be square,” Fleetwood shouted back. “Don’t forget your sash,” she added to me, dropping it in my lap and skipping out to help Chester. I stood, looking at myself in the mirror.
The long-sleeved, traditional gown was made with a decadent fabric that shone green, blue, or gold when it caught the light. Since I was technically a foreign dignitary, the dress was supposed to be in my planet's designated colors. Earth had no official color designation, however, since humans had only been introduced to Destyrians in the modern era. Therefore, Fleetwood’s tailors had based their selections on views of Earth from outer space.
I tossed the embroidered navy and silver sash over my shoulder. I regretted that I hadn’t paid more attention in my fitting when they showed me how to attach it.
“Fulyiti, help me with this infernal thing before I burn it,” Azo’lah stalked into my room from the common area of our suite. There was a moment as we stared at each other. She judging my poor sash tying technique and me well…
Azo’lah looked like something out of a fantasy novel. Her gown was a similar cut as mine, except hers was navy and silver, her family's colors, House Fuiq. Her long hair was also half up, the unbound part tumbling down her back like snowfall. Across her brow, she wore a circlet of dark metal embedded with four amber gems. I wondered if it was normal to notice how elegant a neckline made someone’s collarbones look as I averted my gaze from the area.
“Did they not teach you how to do that?” Azo’lah asked, eyeing my sash.
“They did, but I was distracted,” I admitted.
“What by?” Azo’lah gently tugged the sash out of my hands. She took the loop of thread at the sash’s small tapered point and slipped it over a jeweled button at my left hip.
“How the ancients wove clothes on Vas Roya,” I admitted, face burning. Azo’lah laughed, her previous frustration with her own wardrobe seemingly forgotten. Azo’lah tossed the rest of the fabric over my right shoulder so that it hung down my back.
“Only you.” She turned me, her long fingers deftly securing another loop around a button on my shoulder. “Arm up,” she tapped my elbow, and I complied. I turned my head. Azo’lah had bent her knees to help close our significant height difference, putting her head very close to mine.
“One loop goes here,” Azo’lah explained, mistaking my look for silent curiosity. She pulled the fabric and hooked one of the small loops around a button above my elbow and another right above the end of my sleeve. “There,” she said, shaking the fabric slightly, so it fell nicely. “Now everyone will know you are with our house.”
“Uh, thank you. Fleetwood’s in the other room. Did you need her?”
“You’ll do just as well,” Azo’lah turned, pulling her hair over her shoulder. “Could you fasten the top and then put this panel in? My oath must be visible but covered.”
She handed me a piece of sheer fabric. It was the same shape as the cutout on the back of her dress, which, like most of Azo’lah’s clothes, revealed her scarred tattoo of the Myax oath.
“Why do you have to cover it?” I lifted my skirts so that I could climb onto the vanity stool to more easily reach Azo’lah’s back.
“On the Eastern continent, Myax only bare their oath when they are on duty,” Azo’lah sighed. I took the two sides of Azo’lah’s dress and brought them together, connecting them with the jeweled clasp that, when connected, formed the ancient glyph for Fuiq.
“Aren’t you technically on duty?” I began the slow, painstaking process of inserting the sheer panel’s tiny buttons into nearly invisible buttonholes. I was definitely appreciating the craftsmanship of the dress and not mourning the loss of my unobstructed view of Azo’lah’s back.
Azo’lah snorted derisively. “I am, but they aren’t to know that.” There was a beat. “Why are your hands so cold?”
“Sorry,” I said. “It’s probably because I’m nervous. A large formal gathering with tons of important strangers isn’t my idea of a good time. I’m almost done,” I added when Azo’lah didn’t say anything immediately.
“Stay with me,” Azo’lah said quietly. “I know you did your research, but even so, I won’t let you misstep.”
“Thanks,” I swallowed, as always, oddly touched by Azo’lah’s easy acceptance of my anxiety. She never told me not to be anxious, merely reminded me that, regardless of what my anxiety said to the contrary, I had prepared and that I wasn’t alone. “All done. It’s...pretty,” I decided on after a brief hesitation. The first word that had come to mind was sexy. The powerful muscles in Azo’lah’s back, her familiar tattoo, were still visible but teasingly obscured by opalescent sheer.
Azo’lah turned around. Standing as I was on the stool, I was about a head taller than her. “What were you going to say?” she said.
“It’s weird being taller than you.” I smiled at her frown. Azo’lah disliked being denied answers. “But I suppose I should get down before I accidentally fall.” I went to do so but was stilled by Azo’lah’s hands on my waist.
“You will stay with us tonight, correct?” Her navy eyes searched mine.
“Of course. Where else would I go? You think someone’s gonna see my unbound hair and offer me marriage?” I laughed at the prospect.
“Or something else,” Azo’lah said. “Shockley has already made you an offer.”
“He was drunk off his ass,” I refuted. “Even I look good after that much alcohol.”
“Gretchen,” she lifted me from the stool easily, setting me gently on the floor. “Our royal archaeologist can do better than someone who resembles the rocks she is so fond of digging in.” Azo’lah said tartly.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “If Shockley, the ridiculously handsome, is a pile of ancient rocks, then by that measure I’m like...a modern mound of mud.” I rolled my eyes. Well, I had felt kind of pretty in my Destyrian finery. “It won’t be an issue, Azo’lah.”
On the southeastern edge of Virat stood the Clisin Forest, a boundless outpouring of diverse flora and fauna. Teal-barked trees leaned against those of orange and indigo. Bushes, lavish red and coral pink, dotted the forest floor while glossy black blossoms punctuated the riotous wave of color.
“Woah,” I said as I walked beside Azo’lah into the clearing where the wedding ceremony would take place. At the center was a forty-foot pole decorated with emerald streamers and pennants that carried the marital blessing.
“Right?” Chester agreed from where he escorted Fleetwood ahead of me. He stumbled over the hem of his navy robe, all of his focus directed toward the canopy of magenta and lavender leaves above us. “I’m more of a city guy, but damn, when Destyr does nature, it does it right.”
I bit my lip, glancing around the clearing where various members of Destyrian nobility were congregating. Willowy men in robes like Chester’s stood beside towering women whose sharp features were made all the more severe by the flowing gowns they wore. Although no one stared outright, I could feel keen, curious glances touching upon me and then Chester before darting away faster than Sebastian after a laser pointer. I knew humans were new to Destyr, but I hadn’t considered I might be such a point of fascination.
I distracted myself from the unwanted attention by touching one of the trees. The teal-bark was velvet-smooth beneath my palm. “Do you think we have time to go inside?”
“Inside?” Azo’lah asked, distracted. She was busy assessing the other guests, keenly judging in seconds whether they were potential threats to Fleetwood. I shook my head fondly. Even though Azo’lah was attending this as a member of the House of Fuiq, she was always Myax first.
“Inside the forest.” I pointed to the trees. “I’d love a chance to see it.”
Azo’lah frowned at a pair of men across the purple grass whose gaze lingered on Chester. “You are seeing it now.”
“Azo’lah.”
“If you would like to go frolicking through the underbrush in your formalwear,” she gestured blindly backward, “by all means, Myaxi.”
I grabbed at my gown, swished the hem of it against the grass, and grimaced. I would surely ruin it within five seconds of entering the forest. “Okay,” I conceded. “Can you tell me about the trees? What kinds of animals live there?”
Azo’lah’s nostrils flared in annoyance as she continued to sneer at the men across the clearing. “What makes you think I know anything about the trees or animals of the Eastern continent?”
I tugged on her elbow until her eyes belligerently fell upon me. I had to shake off the ridiculous feeling that she was avoiding looking at me. “Stop intimidating the other guests,” I chastised. “You don’t know anything about the trees and animals here? Why not?”
She arched an eloquent eyebrow at me. “Do you know everything about the trees and animals on Earth?”
“I mean, I know some. Everyone knows some. But...”
“Exactly. Some, not all. The archives will be much better suited to providing you knowledge on this than I.” Her glower intensified as she turned it on a foursome of women in gowns of crimson and cream, each one more elegant than the next. “Fulyiti,” she called, her tone gentle but tipped with urgency. Fleetwood turned from where she and Chester were inspecting a spiky, lime green flower. “A word, please.”
In the light of the midday suns, nature at her back, and dressed in a silver gown, Fleetwood was every inch an alien princess. A complex network of braids wrapped around her head, the rest a waterfall of curls that reached past her shoulders and swayed in time with the hem of her dress as she walked. Her coronet matched Azo’lah’s in shape, but instead of four gems, it held five amber stones.
“Yes, beloved cousin,” she said as she came to my side. She threaded her right arm through my left and pulled me close.
“Auhtula Pola’s envoy and entourage have arrived,” Azo’lah tilted her head toward the crimson-clad women.
“Pola’s envoy?” I asked, my chest tightening. I fought the instinct to immediately look at them, my curiosity and anxiety clashing with self-preservation.
“Excellent.” Fleetwood’s silver-lined eyes widened with delight. “The game is afoot!”
“Best behavior, Fulyiti,” Azo’lah reminded her. “Milyna and my other Myax sisters are not allowed at the ceremony, and I—”
Fleetwood blew a raspberry. “Best behavior gets us nowhere, Azo-Zo.”
“Nowhere but maybe preventing that pesky civil war, none of us wants,” Chester said, leaning into Fleetwoods free side.
Fleetwood happily accepted his weight, pulling him beneath her chin. The stares, and whispers, of the surrounding guests intensified, but Fleetwood ignored them. “Fear not, Favored One. I will keep us from war. I have a plan to bring the Northern Auhtul to our side.”
Chester chuckled against her shoulder. “Why does that scare me?”
Fleetwood cupped his face between her palms. “Because you are the smartest.”
That made Chester laugh harder. “Tell me something I don’t know. Like what the plan is.”
“Shock and awe, beloved.” Fleetwood smiled. “Shock and awe.”
Azo’lah’s frown dropped into a panicked cringe. “Please, Fulyiti, no.”
“Shock and awe should never be the plan,” I groaned as every possible matrimonial disaster flashed through my mind, from cakes toppling to wedding vow interruptions.
From over my shoulder, I heard, “Shock and awe should always be the plan.”
I spun on my heel, my voice wavering as I said, “Shockley?”
He stood in the middle of the clearing, wearing robes the color of the setting sun and a grin that said he knew that he was somehow pulling them off. “How’s it going, Name Police? I like the dress.”
I pushed my hair off my shoulders. “What are you doing here?”
Azo’lah turned her quelling gaze on him. “Yes, those without express invitation are not welcome.”
“Good thing I have express invitation,” Shockley shot back. “I am the honored guest of Auhtula Xia’rali of the Western continent.”
“Why aren’t your robes the colors of Earth?” I held up my arms to show off my green and blue sleeves.
Shockley laughed as he plucked at the offensively bright fabric covering his body. “Auhtula Xia’rali’s advisors did their own research on Earth and, upon seeing photos of beach sunsets, decided those were the most beautiful colors our planet has to offer. Don’t you agree?”
I rolled my eyes. “Still doesn’t explain why she chose you as her honored guest.”
He stepped closer to me, ducking his head conspiratorially as he whispered, “Seems everyone has heard about Ty’uria’s human archaeologist, and they’re scrambling to find one of their own. We’re considered something of a status symbol apparently.”
“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Is it?” Shockley countered, pulling himself to his full height. The orangeness of his robe did nothing to detract from the breadth of his shoulders or the knife’s edge of his jawline. “You led a mission to the Temple of Aluthua and returned with two of the most precious artifacts in Destyrian history. An act that secured the throne for the House of Fuiq and deterred Pola, something no one has been able to do in many years. Your name has been floating around Destyrian inner circles for the last binary cycle.”
I shook my head. “I didn’t really do much. It was a group—”
“Why do you know so much about Destyrian politics?” Chester asked.
“Same reason I watch baseball,” Shockley replied. “Everyone thinks it’s boring, but that’s because they aren’t paying attention to all of the subtleties, all of the signals.” He turned, gesturing at Pola’s envoy. All four women refused to look our way, but I still felt the weight of their hatred. “Half of baseball is mental, so is most of Destyrian politics. It’s fascinating.”
I shuffled uncomfortably, folding my arms across my chest. “What are you talking about?”
“Positions of power,” answered Azo’lah.
“Exactly,” Shockley pointed finger guns at her. I couldn’t tell if the gesture was ironic or not. Catching my look of confusion, Shockley continued. “Look at where Pola’s envoy, along with her entourage, is standing in the circle and look at where you are. They’re right beside the royal family, the highest place of honor, while you’re on the opposite side of the circle.”
Azo’lah’s mouth tightened in begrudging respect of Shockley’s observational skills.
“Now, one could give the Eastern royals the benefit of the doubt and look at this as a move to keep your houses separated to avoid any lingering friction,” I felt the hot flame of embarrassment lick up my neck at that word on his lips, “but that theory loses all weight when you look at who you are placed beside.”
“And that would be?” I asked. An oppressive silence swept across the clearing. I followed the wave of quiet around the circle to the stone-lined path that led from the palace grounds. A young man in robes of icy white that matched his unusually short, cropped hair entered the clearing. He moved at a clipped pace, his steps wonky like someone coming out of an abrupt growth spurt. He was broad-shouldered but short for a Destyrian—not fully grown yet.
“Auhtul Cal’ton,” I said as he walked toward us, a small group at his back.
Shockley leaned close, whispered, “Honestly, it’s harder to know who this placement is a bigger slight to: Fleetwood or Cal’ton. He may be the youngest, least respected sovereign on Destyr, but he still sits on a throne. Whereas Fleetwood, who was sent as a stand-in for her mother, isn’t even the crown heir.” He clicked his tongue like a disappointed grandmother. “That’s gotta sting the kid’s pride, don’t you think?”
“Fulyiti,” Azo’lah hissed as Cal’ton took his position on our right. “Best behavior.”
Fleetwood rolled her eyes. “Never.”
“Fleetwood,” I pleaded as Shockley laughed, backing away from us like we were a slow-motion train wreck. He winked at me. “Good luck, Name Police. Save a dance for me later?”
“I don’t dance!” I hissed, reaching for Fleetwood in an attempt to stop her from starting an intergalactic incident at a wedding. But I was too late.
“Auhtul Cal’ton,” she greeted, bowing deeply to the young Auhtul. On her right, Chester mimicked her. “I am pleased the seven stars saw to light our paths to one another.”
Auhtul Cal’ton’s white eyebrows rose toward his hairline, the momentary expression of shock making him look even younger. He cleared his throat and stiffly returned the bow. “As am I, Fulyiti Kezira.” His voice was deep yet screechy at the edges, his cheeks angular but still plump—the sharp hooks of puberty refusing to release him.
Fleetwood pulled herself upright, dragging Chester with her. Cal’ton’s eyes dragged hungrily from face to face, his gaze staying on me longer than the others.
“It is an honor,” Cal’ton said, though he didn’t sound like he quite meant it. Catching Azo’lah’s sneer, Cal’ton cleared his throat. “I have heard many stories of your exploits, Fulyiti Kezira. I am surprised to see you here instead of on another one of your infamous adventures.”
Fleetwood beamed. “Who said I wasn’t on an adventure?”
The young Auhtul smiled cautiously as one of his companions redirected his attention to the group standing on their other side.
“Well, that wasn’t a disaster,” Chester whispered cautiously.
“Good job being on your best behavior, Fleetwood,” I congratulated her.
Fleetwood rocked back on her glittering heels, her grin widening to showcase all of her dazzlingly, pearlescent teeth. “The night is infantile, Gret’chen.”
A series of high, clear notes rang out, and the crowd fell silent. Everyone around us stepped cleanly into line, shoulder to shoulder, creating a circle around the clearing’s periphery. Azo’lah pulled me back, so I was sandwiched between her and Chester, my shoulder grazing her elbow. Opposite me, I spied Shockley standing beside an older Destyrian woman, her chest puffed up haughtily as they drew almost as many stares as we did.
“What’s happening?” I asked as the notes picked up their pace, like wind chimes in a hurricane.
“The ceremony is beginning,” Azo’lah replied.
I excitedly craned around her to get a better view of the path that led from the palace grounds. A processional came into sight. They were led by a young girl trailing streamers and carrying a folded tapestry in her tiny hands.
“The Eastern Auhtula and her spouse,” Azo’lah told me, as an older couple, clad in emerald green and crowns wrought from gold, their wrinkled hands entwined entered the clearing, “and her younger daughters.” Two young women, who had the same eyes as the Auhtula and the man's proud chin, followed them.
Azo’lah whispered, “Next will come the second bride’s family.”
A family, consisting of two mothers, three daughters, and a son, wearing traditional chartreuse finery, followed the Eastern Auhtula and her family. The brides’ families took their designated places, filling in the remaining gaps in the spectator’s circle.
My cheeks ached from smiling as I watched the brides enter the clearing, both of them practically floating in their joy. One was dressed in a sleeveless gown of gold, a thin circlet placed across her elegantly twisted hair. The other wore no crown, though her black dress was dotted with a thousand diamonds mirroring the night sky.
Azo’lah looked at me suspiciously. The words, Why are you smiling like that? flashed across myI mind.
They just look so happy, I replied.
You do remember that the Crown Fulyiti’s mother is aligned with Pola and is willing to go to war with us, yes?
My smile faltered. I didn’t forget, I lied. Will you just let me enjoy this?
The brides reached the center of the circle. Their radiant smiles were mirrored as they faced one another and clasped hands.
“Wait. Where’s the officiant?” I asked, my voice overly-loud. I shrank beneath the quelling looks of the Destyrians that surrounded me. I shrank against Azo’lah. “Sorry.”
The young girl who had led the procession stepped between the brides. The tapestry in her hands unfolded, and she read, “Beneath the light of the seven stars, you stand in the presence of those who have come to witness your binding. Once, your love started, young as I am, and it has blossomed into the fullness of commitment. Speak your enduring promises as you enter this union.”
The uncrowned bride recited her vows first, her voice wavering with emotion as she said, “These are the hands that will shield and protect you, soothe and comfort you, and always seek yours until the end of my days. I swear this by the light of the seven stars.”
As one the circle said, “It is so witnessed.”
I nudged Azo’lah’s arm with my shoulder. As the vows continued, our eyes met for a moment. The begrudging softness in Azo’lah’s gaze flipped my stomach.
I returned my attention to the center of the clearing. Across the circle, Shockley caught my eye. I did not stop myself from returning his grin.
“No one is to inform Ryan that handcuffs are part of Destyrian wedding traditions,” I declared. Beneath the canopy of the central pavilion, we watched as a guest slid a thick cuff of sparkling golden rope around the wrist of the newly married Eastern Crown Fulyiti and used it to tug her, laughing, into the lively group dance.
“Too late.” Chester turned to show me the Ran’dyl he’d pinned to the front of his robes. A message from Ryan read, Kinky AF. Y tho?
“The tradition of capturing a spouse whenever the couple separates during the ceremony stems from the legend of the First Auhtula. She was kidnapped by a rival clan leader who planned to marry her by force,” I reported from the copious amount of reading I’d done to prevent any embarrassing displays of ignorance.
“Oh yeah, that’s how the Myax and the First Auhtula met. That’s cute.” Chester unclipped his Ran’dyl, sending an explanation to Ryan.
“I have never thought of the custom as sexual before now.” Fleetwood looked contemplatively at her wrist. The golden rope we’d been presented with upon returning to the royal gardens for the reception was wrapped around it.
“Liar,” Chester accused cheerfully. “You gonna take a go at capturing a bride, FleetMerc?”
“No, Azo’lah and I promised my mother we would not partake in this custom. Not after last time.” From her position over Fleetwood’s shoulder, Azo’lah snorted.
“What happened?” I raised an eyebrow at Azo’lah. Her mouth quirked in a mischievous smirk. The glowing amber lights dotting the garden made her navy eyes appear star-filled.
“We were too good at the game,” Azo’lah jerked her chin to where the second bride had returned and was engaged in playful mock combat for the return of her new wife’s hand. “The husband could not win his bride back, and seeing as the majority of the guests were Myax...” Azo’lah shrugged.
“God, did the bride kill you afterward?” Chester pushed his glasses up his nose.
“Hardly. It was the highlight of the three-day celebration,” Milyna supplied, without moving her gaze from the crowd milling about. “People still reminisce about it.”
“Were you one of those in the melee?” I asked.
Milyna shook her head. “I was the bride. How do our weddings compare to yours?”
I looked out, where the rolling lawns of the palace gardens faded into the forest. Guests pressed the lavender grass flat beneath their quicksilver feet, dancing to the lively melody of nearby musicians. I watched as the Fulyiti was playfully pried away from her captor by her new wife and led onto the dance floor.
I said, “We drink, dance, and eat to celebrate too, but our other traditions differ.”
“Don’t look now, Gretch, but I don’t think Shockley was joking last night,” Chester nudged my arm. “Don’t be obvious!”
Too late. I had already raised my head.
God, it really was unfair that he looked so good in Destyrian formal wear and in orange, no less. He conversed with a member of the bride’s house, judging from her sash, without looking at her. Shockley pointed at his drink and mouthed, “Want one?”
“You should take him up on his offer, girl. You look kind of thirsty,” Chester chortled. Blushing furiously, I shoved him.
Fleetwood hummed contemplatively. “He is not the only one making eye love tonight. The Northern Autul keeps looking at us, or namely you two.”
“Oh, gross. Isn’t he Ryan’s age?” I protested. Fleetwood and Chester laughed.
“He’s not looking like that,” Chester waved a subtle hand in Shockley’s direction. “I think the Auhtul’s just bored, and we’re —”
“Exotic, adorable, and definitely not boring,” Fleetwood finished. “That’s it! Chester, take Gret’chen and shake your male feathers—”
“Tail feathers,” we corrected in unison, tripping slightly as Fleetwood pushed us toward the dancers. Thankfully, the music changed to something slow and rich. The Destyrians partnered off, sweeping into a set dance that was full of intricate handholds and turns.
“This is so embarrassing,” I griped as Chester offered me his hand. We stepped into a normal human slow dance hold, utterly ignorant of and, in my case, unable to complete the complicated traditional choreography. We revolved slowly, swaying to the beat, sticking out horribly amongst the other dancers. “How long do we have to do this?”
“Fleetwood’s coming with the Auhtul now. I think I know what she’s doing. But, sometimes she surprises even me,” Chester squeezed my hand companionably. Fleetwood promenaded the young Auhtul into a mimic of our dance hold, with a flair that would put even a competitive ballroom dancer to shame. From her self-designated post at the edge of the dance floor, Azo’lah smiled at her cousin’s antics.
“See, easy peasy chicken sleazy,” Fleetwood wrapped her arm around the Auhtul’s waist, taking the leading position.
“It is, admittedly, much less complicated than our traditional dances.” The young Auhtul spoke softly, his shoulders intermittently tensing beneath his white robes as if he expected us to loudly interrupt him. “May I have the names of your family, Fulyiti Kezira?” Auhtul Cal’ton glanced up at us from where he had been scrutinizing the shuffling of our feet.
“Forgive me for being remiss. This is Chester, my Favored, and Gret’chen of Earth, the first Royal Archaeologist for the House of Fuiq.” She pointed at us in turn, her hand still clasped with Cal’ton’s.
“You are the one that managed to retrieve artifacts from the Temple of Aluthua?” The young Auhtul’s eyes filled with interest.
I shrugged my shoulders up to my ears, uncomfortable beneath his rapt attention. “I didn’t really do much.” I wouldn’t have gotten close to the artifacts without Azo’lah and her powers, but I couldn’t really say that. I wished Cal’ton would look anywhere else, I was already overwhelmed by my own self-consciousness.
“Gretchen here is overly modest,” Chester said. “She’s stellar at what she does. She’s also got an artistic eye. She took some gorgeous photos of the temple.”
“Are you well?” Auhtul Cal’ton reached over and tapped my burning cheek. “Your skin is suddenly discolored.”
“It is a unique human biological reaction that occurs when they’re pleased,” Fleetwood explained. “Gretchen’s skin tone is genetically predisposed to show it more, but blood rushes to the faces of all humans on occasion.”
“Fascinating,” Auh’tul Cal’ton turned to Chester. “You have depictions of the temple’s interior?” Chester and Fleetwood shared one of their symbiotic, knowing looks.
“Yeah, lots of them.” Chester wrapped his hand around my wrist. “But Gretchen was organizing them while we traveled. They’re linked to her Ran’dyl. And it’s back on our ship.”
My Ran’dyl was full well on my wrist, currently concealed by Chester’s hand. Not to mention, all of my pictures were easily accessible to anyone who had been on the mission, but I kept my mouth shut as I had a feeling I knew where this was going.
“I would invite you to the Killer Qu’een, but I am afraid that my human friends who were not invited to the wedding are partaking in their own rituals of bromance,” Fleetwood said, blinking innocently. “To a non-human, their behavior will likely seem indecorous or strange.”
Indecorous and strange seemed to be very much the Auhtul’s speed. He ceased swaying on the spot with Fleetwood, caging her hand in both of his. “I am very interested in seeing these photos and observing these rituals.”
“Oh no, your Majesty.” Chester released me to fling one arm over Auhtul Cal’ton’s shoulders. “You can’t just watch. Bromance bonding is not a spectator sport. You gotta participate. Isn’t that right, FleetMerc?” Fleetwood draped herself atop Cal’ton from the opposite side, capturing a beaming Auhtul in their trap.
“That is so, Favored One. I will comm ahead and let them know to prepare the sacred beverage of bromance bonding: beer.”
They sauntered off like a strange six-legged creature, Azo’lah their disproportionate shadow. From the fringes of the grassy dance floor, I saw Milyna and the other Myax circle the trio, maintaining a discreet distance. They were joined by others, wearing formal Myax tunics in white, clearly the Auhtul’s guard. I followed in their wake, pondering as I passed one of the many food tables if it was bad form to take a dessert for the road.
I looked around. Several other guests were nearby, but none were paying attention to me. I could hide it with my sash and then leave the plate in my room later, so I wasn’t stealing. Maybe I could get a few—
“Caught you,” came a voice next to my ear. I jumped, bumping the table and knocking the plate closest to its edge onto the grass.
“I’m sorry, I won’t take it!” I tried to walk away, but my arm jerked back. One of the golden ceremonial cuffs was secured around my wrist. Holding the other end was Shockley.
Everyone was well and truly looking at me now.
“Easy, Borowicz, you can have whatever dessert you want. Here,” Shockley selected the mate to the victim of confectionary carnage laying on the grass. “We can share.” He passed me the plate, tilting his head down and to the side, like he was...Oh. Shit.
Destyrian flirting.
Feeling slightly ridiculous, I imitated him. All around us, the Destyrians relaxed.
“You just startled me.” I forced an awkward smile as we both straightened our necks. “Why don’t we go find someplace to sit?”
“Great idea, babe.” He grabbed a utensil before linking our fingers. As he led me away, the slack of the golden rope dangled between us. “Sorry about that. But thanks for the save.”
“Save?”
“Yeah, flirting back.” Shockley raised his impressive eyebrows for emphasis. “If you hadn’t, things might’ve gotten ugly. They don’t mess around here. I’m surprised Azo’lah didn’t tackle me.” He glanced around as if expecting her to pop out of the ether and attack him.
“She’s with Fleetwood and Chester,” I explained. “They’re going to hang out on the Qu’een. I was on my way there too.”
“Or, you could stay here with me.” He paused, waiting long enough to spear some of the dessert on a tiny, flat spoon. “Come to the dark side, we have kly’ul.” He held the spoon out to me and I, unthinkingly, ate it.
He raised his eyebrow expectantly. At first, I only tasted the crunch of the outer shell and the light, whipped texture. Then there was a burst of sweetness, with a hint of something herbaceous balancing it out. “Shit, that’s delicious.”
Shockley hummed low in agreement, taking his own bite. The sound was unashamedly sexual. I shot him a dark look when he waggled his eyebrows and laughed unrepentantly. He held up another bite of kly’ul. I accepted it grudgingly, trying not to stare but damn if he didn’t make it difficult.
The dreamy lighting played off his face, highlighting the complementary angles of his cheekbones and jaw, patinating his hair with gold. His expression held the same open contentment of the previous night, his eyes the same warmth, but without the hazy sheen of inebriation. He pulled me past the pavilions, deeper into the cover of the palace gardens, an impressionist landscape of wild color and blossoming beauty. Other couples and small groups meandered by in the distance, their chatter carried by the breeze that caught our clothes.
“Here looks good.” Shockley gestured to a flowered alcove, almost completely sheltered from passersby. It was clearly designed for private conversations or assignations. Even the masterfully carved statue of an ancient Destyrian woman had a coy expression, like she knew, and was proud, of what occurred in her tiny domain. Shockley and I were, more or less, alone. My heart seemed to reach this realization at the same time I did, tripling its average rate.
Together, we sank onto the pile of plush cushions that had been left at the statue’s base. I smoothed my skirt with more care than was warranted, preternaturally aware of the foot of space that separated us, of the golden rope currently bridging that gap. I put the plate with what was left of the dessert on the grass next to us. “So, um...where are you headed after this is over?”
“Nyc’arra is with our newest crew member on Seteno Grand. We’ll rendezvous with them after the closing breakfast. You look nervous, Borowicz.”
I glanced down. My fingers were wrapped around the rope, my grip so tight that my skin was temporarily embossed with the pattern of its braid.
“Sorry. I’m just not good at this sort of stuff. Where’s Seteno Grand?”
“Next galaxy over.” Shockley took my hand in both of his, gently massaging the reddened skin. “You’ve got no reason to be nervous. I’m definitely still interested if that’s what’s got you worried.”
I had been worried about exactly that, not of rejection. That was somehow easier to handle than this moment, with a ridiculously handsome man sitting beneath the light of Destyr’s three moons in a scene straight out of a period romance.
“Why?” I covered my mouth with my free hand. Fuck, only I would ruin a chance like this.
“You’re smart, adventurous, cute, a little insane judging by that last stint on J’olpri.” Shockley accentuated his point by taking another bite of the almost finished kly’ul. “That’s a sexy combination. Also, this look is really working for you.” He swished the spoon up and down, indicating my dress, “It suits you. Though,” he scooped up the rest of the dessert, “I’m really partial to your vintage adventurer look. It’s a bit imperialist, but your ass looks great in the pants.” He held up the spoon to me. “Last bite’s all yours.”
I leaned in to accept it, not wanting to seem rude. Shockley tossed the spoon sideways into the grass without looking where it fell. “Don’t litter,” I chastised, but he was leaning forward, breathing in my startled gasp before his mouth landed on the corner of mine.
“You had some kly’ul, right there.” His lips brushed mine again, closer to the center.
“No, I didn’t.”
He drew back, smirking like he knew just how frustratingly not enough the kiss had been. “No, you didn’t,” he conceded. “I just wanted to see if you’d let me kiss you.”
“You don’t have to do all this.” I waved my hand at the surroundings. “I don’t need this…” I wasn’t about to admit that this was the most romantic, non-date I’d ever been on.
“Well, that’s very small-minded of you, Borowicz.” Shockley leaned back on his arms, the rope going taught between us. “Maybe the romance is for me. Maybe I want it.”
I didn’t know what to say to that because the crazy thing was, I believed him. I swallowed, burning from the soft heat in his gaze. He tugged gently on the rope.
“Isn’t this supposed to be used for the brides?”
Shockley shrugged. He began slowly winding the slack of the rope around his own wrist, shortening it. “I make my own rules. It’s kind of what I do. I didn’t want to capture one of the brides.” The rope was shortened to the point where my arm was extended in front of me. I could either release the cuff or...
Shockley gave one last tug, and I let myself follow it, landing in his lap. “I wanted to capture a Gretchen.”
We paused, inches between us, until I said, “That line was so bad.” I caught his delighted laugh with my mouth. He pulled me closer, smiling into the kiss. I changed the angle of it, enjoying the surprised sound I received. He lay back, halfway off the cushions, tugging one of my legs over his so that I was straddling his waist.
“You’re going to get grass stains on your robes,” I gasped when we broke apart.
“That’s what you’re thinking about right now?” He nipped gently at my neck. “Well then, we can’t have that. How about we go back to my room, and you can help me take them off.”
I looked at him, disheveled, somehow even more impossibly handsome than usual, and let myself be impulsive. If this went south, he’d be on the other side of the galaxy in a few days.
“On one condition,” I smoothed his hair, pressed a kiss at the soft spot between jaw and ear. “We bring the rope with us.”
Shockley’s punch of surprised laughter was heard only by the approving statue.