by M. L. Ryan
“I knew you would like Uncle Fry,” Alex remarked on our way back to our suite.
“Yeah, I do. He’s fun to be around and doesn’t take everything too seriously.” I avoided adding how this contrasted with Alex’s mother’s nature, even though I desperately wanted to discuss the queen’s apparent displeasure with all things me.
He squeezed my hand. “Much like someone else I know and love.”
“Irreverence is one of my most endearing qualities.”
“Only one of many,” he observed with a grin. “My uncle was quite taken with you. He wants us to visit him in Jjestri when things settle down here.”
“Speaking of which, if we are going to be here a while longer, I could use the time in Courso for some advanced Yterixa training. Do you think Hewlyxnathin might come?”
As much as I bristled against the stifling daily grind of palace life, I knew Alex didn’t care for it either. He was the new crown prince, but he was also a Xyzok. How the two roles might intertwine was something that required resolution. If I engaged in something other than sitting around trying to act respectable—endeavors I hardly excelled at—Alex wouldn’t worry about me while he was tying up the loose ends.
“That is an excellent idea, carisa. He might have some insights into your alternate form.”
That was his gentle way of describing my transformation in the third dimension. In both the human and Coursodon dimensions, I changed into a Harris’s hawk. In Dekankara, I turned into a gigantic, avian-lizard hybrid, capable of shooting flames out of my wings. Unfortunately, once I form-bent, I couldn’t change back, and after a few months, my health began to suffer. Alex and Sebastian believed that, with practice, I might be able to change into and out of Birdzilla outside of the third dimension. Not that I didn’t want to get in touch with my inner monster, but metamorphosing again into an enormous, fire-spewing predator that found human flesh mighty tasty scared the crap out of me.
“I was thinking more in terms of working on communication skills.” I could easily push out thoughts to others while feathery, but I wanted to try to develop the skill when I was human. I’d managed a few times, but it was excruciatingly difficult, and anyone nearby could hear my mental musings. Hewlyxnathin told me some Yterixa perfected the person-to-person, direct-thought messaging, and I figured the talent would be a boon for our work catching Courso criminals who preyed on unsuspecting humans. The ability to share snide remarks in public would be an added bonus.
Alex nodded. “That, too, will be a useful expansion of your skill set. I will contact him tomorrow.”
He kissed the top of my head, kicked off his shoes, and made his way to the bathroom. As I listened to the sound of running water, I considered asking the question I so desperately wanted answered—what the hell did Kyzal’s death really mean to us? I didn’t expect life to go back to the way it was, but I had no clue what was expected of Alex now. Or, for that matter, me. At first, I’d hoped Alex might sit me down and explain the duties foisted upon us by his brother’s untimely demise. When that didn’t happen, I tried to gauge when bringing up the topic was appropriate, but the time never seemed quite right. My own experience with bereavement was limited to older relatives or beloved pets that passed after long, fruitful lives. Everyone was sad, but not devastated.
By the time Alex finished brushing his teeth, I’d decided I’d waited long enough to ask. Then, he stepped into the bedroom.
The still-illuminated lights over the vanity backlit him, creating a radiant glow around his naked body. He went to the bed, threw back the covers, and stretched all six foot, five inches of himself on the zillion thread-count sheets. Damn, he looked good. One beckoning finger was all I needed in invitation. I quickly discarded my clothes and slid next to him.
I breathed in, catching a whiff of butterscotch, toffee, and brown sugar. For some unfathomable reason, he always smelled like some flavor of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream to me. Today’s was the appropriately named, Blondie Ambition.
The official period of mourning just ended. I can wait until he is ready to tell me himself, I reasoned as Alex pressed me against the mattress and trailed kisses across nine out of ten of my erogenous zones. Although I let Alex’s divine ministrations distract me, somewhere in the non-sex addled portion of my brain, the truth remained: Once I asked, I’d have to deal with the answer, and I wasn’t sure I was ready. Or would ever be, for that matter.
*****
Multiple orgasms brightened my outlook. That, at least, was what I kept telling myself when I awoke the next morning. In reality, nothing had changed. Alex was already gone, off to some meeting regarding something crown princey that he’d mentioned the day before, the details of which I’d forgotten. He did leave a note on my nightstand promising we’d meet for lunch later.
That gave me a few hours to kill and without anything important to do, I decided to spend the morning exploring the vast gardens surrounding the royal residence. The activity called for outdoor attire, so I happily pulled on well-worn jeans and a T-shirt I’d brought from home instead of a more palace-appropriate outfit. I made a valiant attempt to tame my unruly locks, but we were near an ocean inlet, and the humid, salt air all but guaranteed a mass of puffed-out, frizzy curls. I finally gave up and pulled it into a messy, yet somewhat more ruly bun.
I’d barely made it outside when an all too familiar voice called out from the sunroom I’d just exited. Briefly, I contemplated continuing on as though I hadn’t heard it, but ultimately chose to see what the annoying blowhard wanted.
A middle-aged man waved impatiently, beckoning me back from the garden. I always found it fitting that Ryxjat, the queen’s right-hand man, was missing his left. No one knew how he lost it, but I liked to believe the dismemberment somehow occurred during an attempt to pull his head out of his ass. We had a mutual dislike of one another; I found him condescending and pushy, and he thought I was crass and unworthy of my current position. He never said that to my face, but it wasn’t hard to interpret his constant backhanded compliments and haughty manner. Sometimes, I’d catch him staring, as though if he looked long enough, he’d figure out what Alex saw in me. Of course, when others were around, he toned down the animosity. I assumed I was safe now because he wasn’t alone. I should have known better.
Ryxjat was of average height, close to six-feet tall, but the guy standing next to him made Mr. Insincere look like a giant. They did share identical acerbic expressions, however.
“This is the crown prince’s consort?” Tiny spat as I made my way back toward them. “Look at the way she is dressed. Utterly inappropriate.” He shook his head and crossed his arms. “Ryxjat, you expect miracles.”
“Who are you?” I demanded, surveying mini-man with a similar once-over to the one he gave me.
“This is your new protocol aid. The queen appointed him to help you navigate through the etiquette of your current… position.”
Ryxjat’s emphasis left little doubt as to his feelings, and I managed to avoid saying what I was thinking. Given the way the large, primary asshole and his small, auxiliary rectum were both glaring at me, I decided dropping the f-bomb might not be in my best interests. However, I did add, “I thought that was your job.”
“Yes, but we didn’t anticipate that it would be a full-time career,” Ryxjat countered, sneering.
I had to take a few deep, cleansing breaths to calm myself. I hadn’t rage-zapped anyone for a while, but Ryxjat was, quite literally, playing with fire. Not that I minded frying the bastard, but I figured Alex’s mother wouldn’t be thrilled. I didn’t need to provide her with legitimate reasons to dislike me. “Well, compared to you, anyone would be an improvement.”
His mocking grin widened. “My thought exactly.”
Ignoring his latest barb, I took the opportunity to assess the size-challenged PA. At five-foot six, I wasn’t used to towering over adult men, but there I was, with a not so lovely view of the top of his shiny, balding head. “What does a protocol aid do?” I asked,
but before anyone responded, I imagined him as a silvery metallic tube with a rounder top and absentmindedly mumbled, “This is not the droid you are looking for.”
Ryxjat’s salt-and-pepper brows narrowed. “What, pray tell, is a droid?”
Apparently, Ryxjat wasn’t a fan of sci-fi. “Never mind, I take it Rexa finds my comportment lacking?”
“Is there any doubt?” R2D2 replied, clucking his tongue. “Look at what you are wearing.” He grabbed the bottom of my T-shirt and pulled it away from my hip. “Aside from this being entirely unsuitable, it does absolutely nothing to enhance your physical assets to their greatest potential.”
I glanced down at myself. Sure, I wasn’t dressed in designer duds, but I always thought my favorite jeans hugged my assets just fine. “I was planning to go for a hike.”
“The consort of the Crown Prince of Alenquai does not go out in frayed trousers and a shirt emblazoned with the inane statement, Winter is Coming. Does it not every year?”
Good thing I didn’t grab the one Sebastian gave me that read, I’m Not Always a Bitch. Just Kidding. Go Fuck Yourself. They might have self-combusted.
R2D2 sighed dramatically. “I will do what I can, but this is worse than you described.”
“Just do your best,” Ryxjat offered. He gave R2’s shoulder a commiserative pat and left us in the sunroom. I detected an uncharacteristic lilt in his step as he retreated.
“So, what’s your name?” I couldn’t keep calling him Tiny or R2D2, at least not to his face. Besides, except for his overall body shape, he wasn’t pleasant enough to be everyone’s favorite Star Wars robot.
He answered with a mostly incomprehensible, ultra-long Courso moniker. My brain glazed over after the first syllable, which sounded like it contained a “p” followed by an “x.” “How about I call you Pixie?”
“You wish to refer to me as a tiny creature of your dimension’s Celtic folklore?”
“Well, if the myth fits…”
His pursed his already compressed lips as he mulled over the nickname. “I suppose it could be worse.”
Yeah, I could have chosen to use only the end of his name, which sounded remarkably like, “asshole,” and which I feared was more apt.
“So, Pixie, what if I meet you back here in a couple of hours?” I figured that would give me enough time to check out the gardens.
“As you wish, my lady, but you may not wander about unaccompanied. What if you required something during your excursion?”
“Then I could go get it myself.”
His face morphed into an expression of utter horror. “Oh no,” he gasped. “The consort of the crown prince must never do for herself.”
“Is there a law or something?”
“Uh, well, no. But, it simply is not done. Let me call for one of the servants to assist you.” He turned to go back inside, but I grabbed his arm to stop him.
“You are going to go find someone else to follow me around? If it’s so important to you, why not just do it yourself?”
His eyes narrowed. “I am your protocol aid, not a personal aid.”
“Well, they both begin with “p,” and “a,” I pointed out, stalking off toward the beautifully landscaped lawns. “I’ve wasted enough of the morning as it is; I’m not waiting for you to dig up someone who probably has something better to do. It’s you or I go alone.”
Apparently, his steadfast belief that I was incapable of taking a minionless stroll overshadowed any reticence over performing a duty he found beneath him. Pixie followed, but the constant muttering from behind me left no doubt he was most displeased.
The little man was not only annoying, but out of shape as well. My brisk pace might have had something to do with it, but within minutes, panting replaced his grumbling. When he began to wheeze, I decided to give him a break.
I stopped at a multi-level fountain, decorated with numerous carvings of woodland animals around the edges of each marble tier. At the top, water spurted out from the mouths of a family of Qajinyb, the flow from the largest in the center trickling over the wings of the babies below it.
As he wiped the sweat from his brow, my PA gazed adoringly at the structure. “This is my favorite. King Aldegrexynthor the first, your intended’s grandfather, held a competition. The greatest artisans in Alenquai offered their designs, but he chose this, an entry from a young sculptor, because hers combined both visual and aural beauty.”
He was right; the almost musical tone of the water was as lovely as the fountain itself.
“The sounds change according to the season,” he continued. “It is truly a marvel. See what happens when you touch the water.”
I leaned over the edge of the bottom circle and reached my hand over a stone fawn resting next to its mother, displacing the trickle. The moment my fingers interrupted the water, the key changed. Maybe Pixie isn’t all bad, I considered. He obviously appreciates artistry. I gleefully moved my hand in and out of the water, altering the tone each time. “That’s amazing. Is this magical, or just unbelievable engineering?”
Pixie didn’t answer. Instead, all that came out of his now-gaping mouth was a startled intake of breath. “Your ring! You are not wearing Queen Byjinthilopat’s diamond!”
Queen Bitchenpat? “Of course not,” I said, pulling my left hand from the water. “I thought I might form-bend while I was out, and my talons aren’t the same size as my fingers. I didn’t want to lose it.”
His hands gripped the sides of his face in horror. Shit, you’d think I just told him I ate his grandchild. “I was trying to keep it safe,” I offered, hoping to soothe him.
“Tell me you properly relinquished it to the Wiqyrd dirthyxa when it left your soon-to-be royal digit?” he wailed frantically.
So much for calming him down. “What the hell is a whickered-dearth-ixa?”
“It is a who, not a what,” he griped. “The royal jewels, once given, can never be left unattended. The Wiqyrd dirthyxa is the appointed watcher.”
“One of the royal guards?”
“Oh, no. It is a highly prized position, held by only a most trusted and loyal subject. The current one has been in service to the family for over two hundred years.”
“Let me get this straight. There’s a person whose job for the last two centuries has been solely to babysit jewelry?”
“Only when the royal person to whom it has been given cannot wear it. The royal guards provide security for the bulk of the collection that has not yet been assigned, or for those pieces that are no longer the property of a given royal.”
“Since no one bothered to mention this, I just left it on the counter in my suite.”
The rest of the color drained from Pixie’s pallid face. “This is a monumental breach of protocol. We must return immediately and make the transfer.”
“How is it not safe in my room?”
“It is not just a question of safety; it is also a question of tradition!” he shouted.
“If you want to go back and retrieve it, be my guest,” I argued. “I’m going to continue what I had planned before you and Ryxjat interrupted.”
Clearly, my intransigence presented the little guy with a dilemma. He glanced furtively between the palace and me, not certain which was worse, leaving the engagement ring or the engaged without proper supervision. I stalked off, and after a brief hesitation, he trailed along. Apparently, I was more important than the heirloom. More likely, he figured an inanimate object, no matter how priceless, had less of a chance of committing a faux pas than I did.
I spent more time than I’d originally planned wandering the gardens; mostly because I could tell Pixie hated every minute of it. And to think I thought we might find some common ground. As the hours flew by, he lagged farther behind, sulking. When I finally turned back toward the palace, he got the same look in his eye as horses do when they know they are going back to the stable and picked up the pace. In fact, he overtook me a couple of times in his haste, and I reveled in watching his reaction when he real
ized he had literally overstepped his position. I may have accentuated the problem by stopping, forcing him to run back and resume his proper location. My behavior was childish, but he started it.
When we reached the sunroom, having toyed with the little man enough for one day, I suggested he needn’t walk two steps behind me at any future meetings. His face scrunched up into the now familiar baby-eater response when I said something he considered horrific. The over-the-top reaction made me wonder how he might act if I told him something truly ghastly, but to a protocol aid, maybe there was nothing more terrible than a failure to comply with conventions. He only agreed to acquiesce, and reluctantly at that, when I pointed out the disrespect of not doing so.
“Fine,” he grumbled. “But only when we are alone. I do not want to incur the queen’s wrath if I stand beside you in public.” As we parted, he shook his head while continuing to mutter under his breath in Courso. I didn’t catch most of it, but I understood the last part, “Ryxjat isn’t paying me nearly enough money to put up with this crap.”
I chuckled as I made my way back to my rooms. He had no idea how right he was.
4
The ring was safe and sound, still in the small, crystal bowl in which I’d left it. Phew, I mused with mock relief. Dodged a bullet. I knew I should have immediately informed Pixie, but decided to wait until after my shower to share the good news. While he was convinced nefarious elements of the thoroughly vetted palace staff were hell bent on stealing the famous bauble as it lay unprotected in the royal lavatory, he failed to consider almost anyone in Alenquai would recognize it as a missing crown jewel, significantly reducing the value of the sparkler on the secondary market.
