by Candace Sams
Marcos nodded as tears fell down his cheeks. Darius hugged him hard once more.
With his brother standing near him, Marcos finally got into the incubation unit and stared up at his sibling until the zerion mist in the silver, coffin-like box began to work. His last coherent thought was for Nova.
“Tell her I love her. Tell her for me every day.”
“I will, Marcos. J-just get well. I l-love you,” Darius stammered.
“Love you too.”
• • •
Ten months later
Nova sat in the semi-darkness of Marcos’s bedroom. Stretched out on the bed in front of her was the man everyone waited for.
After being in a stasis situation for so long, even the med-techs who’d removed him and who’d let his family bring him home weren’t sure exactly when he’d awaken. But they urged everyone to let him do so in his own time, outside the strictures of technology. He was healed now, but residual effects of the extraordinarily long incubation period were still at work. It’d taken time to see his scars diminish. No physician had ever treated a man burned so badly; at least none who survived. But the process was finally over, and he’d awaken sometime soon.
There were a thousand things to tell him. First and foremost, she’d missed him. He needed to know how loved he was. His family had taken her in as one of their own, just as he’d said they would. And every day, she received a message from some unknown source on her wrist communicator. It was just three words.
Marcos loves you!
She suspected Darius was behind the missives, but he simply smiled and said the words came from his brother. The delivery of such a note was one of the sweetest things she’d ever experienced in her life. Someone, whether it was the older brother or not, thought enough of Marcos to make sure his last words were ever in her memory.
Other sweet things kept her company while awaiting Marcos’s return to consciousness.
The beauteous plants and animals of Luster—the very same ones he’d described back in that little cave—were breathtaking. The colors on her new home world had almost overwhelmed her senses when she’d taken her first look out a window. So amazed was she at the floral scents, the cool breezes, and the lush growth, she’d wept for almost an hour. Brilliant flowers of red, purple, orange, yellow, fuchsia, and every other hue imaginable were ever present on the hillsides near Marcos’s family estate. Birds of all shapes, sizes, and colors flitted outside the windows as if they knew they’d not be harmed. And as she stayed by Marcos’s side, his family visited en masse. They always made sure fresh floral arrangements were delivered to his quarters—now hers to share—and that a view of the Starlaw palatial gardens was very near, especially on days she couldn’t bring herself to leave her lover’s side.
Nova also had her fill of any food or drink she could possibly desire. Lovely clothing had been sent by Marcos’s mother and sisters, all for her new wardrobe. Life was exactly opposite of what she’d known it to be. And she loved every moment of it. All that’d make living perfect was Marcos’s reawakening from his healing slumber.
But there were other parts of life not so sweet.
Adaman Forrell had stood trial, had been found guilty, and had been sentenced to the icy prison planet of Denophri for the rest of his life. Defense attorneys had kept the courts busy for many of the months Marcos was unconscious. They’d argued their client was a victim of circumstance and that League enforcers, led by Darius Starlaw, had landed illegally. They’d used a myriad of technicalities in an attempt to get their client free. She’d stood witness as soon as her own three-month healing process in the incu-unit was done.
When Prometheus’s body was found and rumors persisted concerning a strange beast tearing Limaxians apart on Delta Seven, Darius Starlaw, his crew, and family let the gossip flow where it would. Since no such attack had ever occurred before or since, the king himself advised letting the chatter wind its way down, without saying anything. The matter was deemed a rumor at best, hysteria at worst. Most people now thought Prometheus’s own brawlers had turned on him when they realized they were doomed.
Then there was Una’s new, delightful situation thereafter.
Marcos’s mother, the queen, took it upon herself to contact zoologists. Though baffled by Una’s species, they still managed to find three more of her kind living on an outlying moon of Uraxis. The queen brought the entire lot back to Luster since scientists hadn’t found them any threat to Luster’s environment.
Now, four of whatever Una was—all acting as though they were pups even though their ages were indeterminate—guarded the family’s nursery with great love and fervor. They played with Marcos’s nieces and nephews on the lawn each summer afternoon. Even the highly proficient and professional household High Guard laughed at their antics, with the result that Una was never alone. She flourished in the company of others of her kind, the adoration of adults and children, and with the grateful heart of her devoted mistress. The Starlaw clan had, for the want of a better name, dubbed the species Novans. The happy coincidence wasn’t lost on her.
As with Forrell, those Limaxians who’d committed the attack on Delta Seven and the League ship Titan were firmly entrenched in prisons on Denophri. For her part, Nova vowed not to mourn if Forrell was ever found dead in his cell. Limaxians had long memories, short tempers, and ways to get around prison systems. The matter was out of her hands and the control of other surviving Delta Seven citizens. Forrell could do what he’d always done and fend for himself.
With the denizens of her world set free, the booty from the mines was now theirs to divide amongst themselves. And there was plenty to go around.
Nova had been receiving her allotment for months; it had been enough to buy the cottage of her dreams, start the herb garden Marcos had spoken about, and even invest in a highly successful natural herbal emporium in the heart of Luster’s capitol city—Crystol. Her investments had done so well that she now employed several refugees who, like her, never wanted to see that dim mining colony of Delta Seven again.
If being an entrepreneur with a tidy bank account was something she’d once spurned, the freedom to hire others, donate to charities of her choice, and provide for herself for the rest of her life—and without asking anyone else’s by-your-leave—quickly changed her mind. There were always two sides to an issue. In her cave, being hunted like an animal, she’d only been able to accept one viewpoint and none other. Things and minds changed. Her heart and perspective did as well.
She also understood the politics of Marcos’s father and the Constellation League a great deal better. If there were remnants of anger left in her heart—from having spent two years living from hand-to-mouth in a cave and from seeing her parents, friends, and beau die—that pain also fled. The fault for those actions lay with those who were either dead or permanently incarcerated, not with the enforcers who had to walk so many political fine lines as to constantly be judged from all sides.
Since her staunch new friends, Cornelius Pratt and his granddaughter Zia, were now living quite close to the Starlaw family castle, she regarded the ins and outs of diplomatic difficulties in a whole new light.
Cornelius, with a firm handle on what’d happened on the mining colony, had recently been appointed as the first ambassador from Delta Seven. As such, he maintained constant contact with Delta Seven and Luster’s other ambassadorial partners. Indeed, Cornelius and Zia were frequent guests at the Starlaw castle and, like Marcos’s family, they eagerly awaited the return to society of the badly injured second son of the royal family.
It was Cornelius’s constant tutelage of protocol and consular tact that better educated Nova on just how difficult diplomacy could be. In fact, diplomacy had been made more arduous by Forrell’s lying and stealing from his own people. Even now, she considered a very heartfelt offer to become one of Ambassador Pratt’s liaison officers to Luster. After devoting time with her newly healed lover—whenever he eventually woke—she fully intended to accept the position.
In her heart she knew she’d wronged the Starlaw family by assuming they’d not wanted to help. Her shame mounted once she’d met them and understood the depths of empathy offered to her people as well as others. But she had no better evidence of their selflessness than that which resided in their son, Marcos.
In regards to setting things right, a position as an ambassadorial liaison might be a way of making amends for her attitude with Marcos. After all, as her mother had always taught her, it was wrong to criticize others for something you were unwilling to do yourself.
But first she wanted time alone with her beloved.
She’d missed him sorely but so had so many others. She’d have to learn to share him. They weren’t in that small cave any longer, and those who needed to reconnect with him must have their chance. But she vowed the nights would be theirs and theirs alone.
If Marcos wanted to continue his career in enforcement, she’d accept it. He’d been in a position as a covert officer when she’d met him. How could she fear the occupation he loved when doing his duty had saved her and her world?
All matters could be sorted. There was only one thing to wait for, and that was Marcos’s return to consciousness.
It was late one Lusterian summer night, but she’d stayed by Marcos’s side as much as possible. She had been with him even more since he’d been brought home and put in his own bed by loving family members.
Occasionally, he’d move a hand or turn his head slightly. With his body healed of all scars and his immune system enhanced to do so, there should be few side effects from the incubation unit. She was told he’d be groggy, and his senses would need time to adjust. But this was minor in comparison to almost having lost him.
She sat on the side of his huge bed and pushed his long black hair back while thinking of all she’d have to tell him. There were all the plans they meant to enact. But would he even recognize her? She hadn’t recognized herself when she’d first seen her reflection in a mirror.
One of the more lauded effects of the incubation-unit technology was that his hair and hers had all grown back with luxurious textures. In his case, Marcos also sported a very long beard when taken from the incu-unit. Previously, he’d not been able to grow even minimal facial hair through the scar tissue produced on Delta Seven. Since normal bodily functions were restored, the king and Darius had actually shaved off Marcos’s beard and still shaved him each morning. Her job, as she saw it, was to sit with him each night so the rest of the Starlaw clan could get some sleep.
But Nova knew the score. If Marcos so much as looked like he might be coming around, and she didn’t awaken everyone in the castle no matter what hour of the night or day, she’d catch every kind of hell for it. But that was a price she’d gladly pay for being part of a big family. There was always plenty of love to share.
Secretly, she hoped he’d awaken during one of her watches, so they could share just a few words alone. To that end, she always wore her prettiest dressing gowns and left her waist-length golden tresses flowing freely. She intended, as any girl with her lover would, to look her best when he saw her.
The evening grew darker and lovely; warm breezes filtered in through the balcony windows. Fresh scents from the castle gardens filled the room. She never tired of the smells or colors produced by the beautiful fauna. It was like living in a wonderland. She stood and wandered closer to the balcony, taking in the starlight and the ethereal beauty of the gardens far below.
She understood why Marcos had used the ancient name of Avalon when referring to Luster. He’d been trying to promise her what his heart wished to give, without causing pain over his heritage. Yes, she understood a lot of things these days. Mostly, she knew she’d never ever want another soul the way she wanted him. He’d saved her in every way imaginable. She was his and always would be.
• • •
Marcos felt the soft warmth of clean bedding around his body. Someone was with him. He sensed the presence and knew he wasn’t alone. This time, he had to awaken. Whatever had kept him from reaching consciousness before wasn’t going to stop him now.
Bits and pieces of conversations, held in low tones, meandered in and out of memory. Was he still in that cave on Delta Seven or somewhere else? Had he died and gone to the reward he believed all just and decent souls received? But if he was dead, then what gentle soul accompanied him? He felt that soul as one feels hope. It was something he couldn’t see, but it was still there.
Finally, he mustered all his inner strength and opened his eyes. Semi-darkness surrounded him, but as he rested there, it seemed that starlight filtered through the room.
My room!
He was back home. Or he was dead and dreaming he was home.
He knew every curve of the arched, white marble of the roof over his bed. The walls were made of the same, sparkling substance.
Dark green curtains, ever the color of the Starlaw men, billowed into the room along with warm breezes.
There was someone standing in the starlight. The silhouette was sylph-like, dainty and so wonderfully beautiful. Long, golden strands of loose curls shimmered in the otherworldly light. They shifted up and down with each new draft of air.
If he’d been accompanied by some waif-like angel into the next life, nothing could have been lovelier.
In slow motion, she turned.
He heard his name called softly, but the syllables also rang in his head as coming out too slowly. His sylph bolted toward him. And when her hair lifted, he saw the pointed tips of her ears and truly knew he’d been blessed with a companion of fae legend.
As she came closer, his eyesight adjusted. The face of his sweet vision was familiar. Her eyes were the most luscious shade of amethyst, he’d ever seen. She wore a dressing gown of pale lavender. Even in the dim light, the colors were astonishing. The most intricate details would forever haunt his memory, like the bejeweled belt cinching her ridiculously small waist, and the lovely, graceful hands reaching for him.
He felt her warmth as she touched him and smiled so brilliantly that all the suns in the universe going nova at once couldn’t reproduce the brightness.
Nova!
Of course. He knew her. He loved her. But the scars were missing. She’d either died with him, and they’d been healed and joined in the afterlife, or the miracle of being home again, with her, was real.
He felt her wrap her arms around his shoulders. Her tear-filled voice was soft but imbued with joy. She kept speaking to him over and over. As she did, syllables turned to words. And words ran into sentences he eventually understood. Then he remembered Darius rescuing them.
Floodgates opened as memory suddenly returned.
He tried to push himself off the bed to hold her, but she pressed him back and softly begged him to rest.
It took everything he had to open his mouth and get out a sound. When he did, it was hoarse and made no sense.
She gently helped him into a position to enjoy cool, clean water from a green glass tumbler. One sip wasn’t enough. He drank more and more.
With dryness of tongue assuaged, he croaked out what he most wanted to say.
“I … l-love … y-you.”
She pushed his long hair back off his shoulders, kissed him hard, and then held him again.
Dead or alive. Let this go on. Let it go on forever.
• • •
Many weeks later, Marcos stood on the balcony of his new residence. With training and hard work, his strength had returned and so had his physique. Instead of sharing it with women who cared little for the soul within the shell, however, he now shared his intense arousal with only one. Nova was all he needed.
The Autumnal Repast, to celebrate the changing of the seasons and the bounty produced from the summer, would soon begin. The love of his life was dressing in the next suite, but he decided they had plenty of time to travel to the castle and join beloved family and friends.
The decision to make love to her all over again was cemented when she walke
d toward him wearing a sparkling, halter-top gown of gold. Her soft, golden hair was piled on top of her head, leaving the pointed tips of her ears exposed. Her pert breasts were pushed high; the creamy skin above them was perfect. She smelled of flowers and fresh air. His lover looked like some kind of moon goddess.
He dropped his uniform gauntlets and pulled her into his embrace.
“We’ll be late … again,” she softly teased.
“I’ll make excuses,” he said as he began kissing her shoulder, then her neck.
“What will the king say when one of the princes doesn’t show up on time?” she saucily asked as she helped him unbutton his dress uniform tunic.
“If he and mother want grandchildren from us, they’ll have to get used to it.”
She smiled coyly. “If we have a little time, will you do that thing you did the other night?”
He nuzzled his nose against hers. “Are you speaking of what we did in the large bathing tub? Is that the thing you’re talking about, love?”
She slowly nodded.
“If we go that far, we won’t get to the party at all. You know that, don’t you?” he hopefully asked.
“My … that’s too bad. What a shame. Stuff happens. I guess I’ll have to make the excuses,” Nova jokingly murmured as she walked backward toward the bathing area, pulling him with her.
The new love in his life was giving him ideas that’d last until late the next morning. But with a full life before them, and all traces of sadness and pain gone, there’d be plenty of time for enforcer parties, ambassadorial soirees, and formal dedications.
Tonight was theirs. And he wasn’t wasting one more second of time. Let it not ever be said that a prince of Luster kept his lady waiting.
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