I have no idea what the sitting area is for. In over three years of working in this building, I've never seen anyone there.
The receptionist gives me a cold smile as I walk over.
"Right wrist please," she says.
I offer her my wrist.
She slaps a clear bracelet on it, coded to open the doors I'm allowed into.
It also tracks my location and the rooms I enter.
Leaving the lobby, I use the bracelet to open the closet with the cleaning supplies and pull out the cart. I roll it into the shiny, gold elevator and the doors close. I'm alone in the ten by ten space, my reflection staring back at me. Even in the elevator the floor is synthetic marble.
The doors open on floor seventy-five.
Half the offices have to be finished before the workday begins. Then I'll switch over to the residences at the top and finish the rest of the offices after the official work day ends.
I hold up my bracelet for the first door. It scans with a low whirring sound and the door clicks open on a room that's many times larger than my entire apartment. Which I suppose isn't very difficult.
My feet sink into the plush carpet as I begin with dusting the already gleaming desk and the table in the sitting area. There is more fake greenery set around the office and paintings lit from above.
I pause to put in some headphones and blast some loud music as I finish up, working through the entire floor and the one above it before moving on to the third.
I'm running a bit behind, but I only have a couple more offices on this floor.
Sweat trickles down my back as the time lights a fire under me.
I'm almost done with the last office when someone taps me on the shoulder.
I jump in surprise and whirl around.
It's a frowning older man with hair that is going gray at the temples.
There's something about the perfection of the pattern that tells me it's a dye job.
His suit is shiny silver, the tie a matching pearlescent gray. His beard is sharply defined, a perfect gray patch at his chin.
I pull out my headphones.
"Why are you still here? You're supposed to be done with your route before 9 o'clock," he demands, irritation in his voice.
I glance at the clock.
It's three minutes after.
"I'm sorry. It won't happen again."
His eyes narrow. "See that it doesn't. Or I will call the maid service and let them know they have a lazy employee."
I bet this guy's hands have never done an honest day's work his entire life but he has the power to have me fired. I can't show what I'm actually feeling.
"Of course. It won't happen again," I murmur, keeping my eyes down.
"Grounder scum," I hear him mutter under his breath.
I've heard worse.
Pushing my little cart out of the room, I hightail it down the hall to the elevator. Time to deal with the residences. The top floor belongs to a bigwig in politics. His wife is always at home with their two-year-old twins.
I scan my bracelet even though I know she will have overridden my access from inside.
Then I wait.
She knows I come at the same time every week, and every week I wait for a minimum of five minutes outside the door.
My first time doing this building, I made the mistake of thinking she didn't want me to clean that day.
Six minutes later, the door opens.
Her thin, almost gaunt body is draped in a silky, floor length robe splashed with garish colors. Her bright red hair is cut in a helmet shape that wouldn't be flattering on anybody.
"Good, it's you. Come in, I don't have time to waste."
I nod and enter with my cart.
The kids are running around in their pajamas, talking to each other.
The place is always a mess because she never disciplines her children.
But as bratty as they are, my heart always clenches when I see them.
I want my own so badly.
"Make sure you get the corners of the windows better this time. And the duvet cover wasn't set correctly. The corners have to be even."
"Yes, ma'am."
I sigh under my breath as I make a note to do those things perfectly.
Once the kitchen is finished I move on to the hallway bathroom.
Everything is state of the art, done in whites and silvers. The bathroom has two toilets, two sinks, and two showers, with a separate tub large enough to fit six.
And this isn't the only bathroom in the apartment. There is a master bath and one more for each child's bedroom, all of them just as extravagant.
I have to use a communal bath for the entire floor.
When I'm in the living room, I take a moment to look out the window.
This building is one of the tallest in the city so I have a good view of the sea of skyscrapers that glint all the way to the horizon.
The sky is a beautiful clear blue.
Finishing up, I push my cart back toward the front door.
"Wait. Do the kitchen."
I turn to tell her I've already done the kitchen and see that there’s something gloppy smeared all over the floor and the lower cabinets.
The two-year-olds are smeared with the same red and yellow goop.
They giggle as they smear it over the wall.
She still doesn't say anything to them.
Gritting my teeth I nod, cleaning the kitchen again as fast as I can so I can leave before the kids make another mess.
It’s late in the evening by the time I finish my section.
Once done, I take off my bracelet and give it to the receptionist. She takes it with the tips of two fingers like it's contaminated. The security guard checks me over again, his face just as suspicious as it always is.
I suffer through it and then I'm finally outside again.
Sighing, weariness pulling me down, I break into a jog.
I don't want to miss the last elevator down.
I also don't want to miss the lottery drawing which will start in about thirty minutes.
When I reach the elevator it’s only about three quarters full as most everyone is already underground.
Once down, I follow the crowd to the subway and squeeze in between a large man and an older woman. The train starts with a groan and lumbers forward.
I get off at my stop and jog to my rundown building, running up the flight of stairs to my dingy hall. I put in my code and step into my tiny bedroom, big enough for a twin bed and a nightstand.
"Project lottery drawing feed," I call out as I pull out my ticket.
The out-of-date holo-screen flickers to life.
My hand trembles as I watch the phony hosts smiling at the camera.
"Well folks, it's that time again! Get out your tickets and follow along! Five of you will get amazing news tonight!" the overly tanned man with the blinding white teeth says.
They draw the numbers.
My heart sinks a little as I don't match the first four.
Last one.
The first number matches.
And the second.
And the third.
My hand is shaking as I see the fourth one matches too.
Come on. Come on.
"And...fifty-four!" the woman dressed in hot pink exclaims in a shrill voice.
I stare at that final number.
Twenty-eight.
I sink down on the edge of the bed, letting the ticket drop to the floor.
Chapter Three
Elorshin
My mood is grim as I drive my carriage back home.
The empathic and telepathic bond of the Paritella is one of the most beautiful and revered connections an Alvan can have.
Learning that I will never experience it with my bride, that I will never have a true partner in all ways...
My heart is heavy with the loss.
Gone is my hope for the future, taken by a Prince too cowardly to risk it himself. A blow I did not even have time to b
race for.
My thoughts circle around this terrible development, my eyes on the juntta's gleaming black carapace, watching it sway side-to-side on its dozens of thin, spindly legs. They are slender, but strong and agile, fully capable of pulling the carriage many times larger than itself.
The temperature cools as we travel farther and farther away from the Major Houses and thus the core-well that powers all light and heat in the Maan'alla.
Driving through the dark tunnels I let my thoughts wander, avoiding thinking about Naefaren's demand. Generations of Alva have lived here, in the Maan'alla, the dark underground. The stories say once we lived above ground.
Snorting, I shake my head. I doubt that truth. Everyone knows the surface is uninhabitable.
The juntta's legs click as it pulls and the carriage rocks with the movement, marking the passage of time as I travel towards home.
The old tales say there was a Galactic War. None say what it was over, but the result was our enemies destroying our sun. As it went supernova some of our ancestors moved underground. In the Maan'alla where we live to this day.
But we are not down here alone.
The exploding sun irradiated the planet, mutating the creatures that survived. Now we keep them at bay with light.
Light powered by the core-well.
Those of us who were fortunate enough to settle near the core-well formed the Major Houses. Those who were not so fortunate made our homes farther away from the source of our light's power. Establishing the Minor Houses.
And the Minor Houses are at the mercy of the Major Houses, forced to ally ourselves with them for survival. A deadly game of politics and shifting alliances. Such showed its teeth today. A request that is anything but.
My thoughts reflect my dark mood as I wonder about the price of being born Prince of House Do'ana.
The weight of the responsibility weighs heavy.
A sound draws my attention, pulling me out of my dark ruminations. Knowing what monsters hide just outside the soft light of the carriage keeps me aware.
I look up to see a male on the side of the path. He is carrying a heavy load of quarried stone on his back, heading toward Do'ana. As I draw closer, I see the familiar face of my stonemason.
I pull on the reins and come to a halt.
He stops as well and looks up at me, his eyes wide.
I jump down from the carriage and take his load from his back.
"I, too, am traveling back home," I explain. "Would you like to travel with me?"
"My Prince," he says after a moment, bowing deeply. "It is unnecessary!"
"I could do with the company," I say, attempting to put him at ease. "Please, take a seat beside me."
He hesitates, but then thanks me profusely as I settle the heavy stones into the sieni lit carriage. The luminous, mat forming fungi emits enough light to see by. I wave away his thanks and climb back into my seat, taking the reins in hand once again.
The Rakennus, the cavern compound that holds my House and my people, is not far now. A few more minutes by carriage and then we will be at the entrance and within the safety of the light.
Just as I think it, the darkness around us begins to lighten.
As I steer through the bend in the tunnel, the almost blindingly bright light required to secure the entrance into the massive cavern shines upon us.
We pass through, into the vast cavern our ancestors created. The bright lights placed at small intervals across the border wall and short tunnel shine outwards, pushing back the darkness.
As we pass through the controlled opening that leads into the protected area, the light dims once again. Carefully fostered sieni grows along the roof and walls, providing soft light that is much easier on my eyes.
I survey the structures housing the people under my care. Homes, workshops, the areas where we grow sieni, and the various other structures necessary to our survival. All built from the stone carved out when this cavern was first created. Gray and sturdy, not the softer, prettier variety used by Major Houses. Like my people, it isn't decorative, but it is strong. And strength is much more valuable.
I receive respectful bows and nods as I drive my carriage to the stonemason's dwelling.
"Thank you, my Prince," he says again, hopping down and taking his quarried stone.
"Of course."
I nod in farewell as I turn the carriage toward the center of the Rakennus.
Greeting the people I pass, I note how different they look compared to Prince Naefaren's. They are healthy and well cared for, but their clothing is heavy leathers and furs, practical with muted colors. Expensive dyes are a luxury.
And the marketplace sells necessities rather than pretty, frivolous things like scarves that won't warm you and boots that cannot withstand mud.
I prefer my people. Honest and hardworking, we are a practical House.
Turning a corner, the House Mansion appears, sitting in the center of the cavern. It offers the most protection, somewhere for everyone to go if something catastrophic occurs.
I pull the carriage to a halt just before the entrance to the courtyard.
My home is built like every other structure, of gray stone. Quiet and strong, built to withstand difficult times.
As I push forward into the courtyard, the stable master comes out to take the juntta’s reins.
"Was your trip well, my Prince?" he asks, his voice soft, his eyes worried.
"As well as could be expected," I say, shaking my head.
I am not yet ready to divulge what occurred. The pain is still new, like a fresh wound.
He nods, releasing the juntta from the carriage and leads it to the stable, making clicking sounds at the beast.
I stride to the front of the Mansion itself, taking the steps up to the fortified double doors two at a time. Upon entering, I cannot help but compare it once again with the House Mansion in Viir.
And the comparison is not so favorable now.
The interior is quiet and small signs of neglect are apparent. A single maid trying to clean the common area curtsies before scurrying away to hide in the kitchen.
The darkness I am attempting to deal with must be showing.
"Did the meeting go well, my Prince?" Raloven, my manservant, asks, arriving silently and taking my fur-lined cloak.
He's been with me for so long my moods don't affect him. Where the other servants hide, he endures.
I shake my head.
Raloven doesn't press the matter, though I can see questions in his familiar eyes. He is like family, but I cannot speak of this yet.
Even to him.
"I see." He folds the cloak over his arm and looks out over the open space before us, just as I am.
I know what he sees.
Dust. Sieni growing wild, unkempt, and emitting less light than it should. Simple furnishings, frayed edges, a minimum of furniture.
The space is large and grand, but it is not fit for company.
There is no softness to it.
It is hard and unwelcoming.
"My Prince," Raloven begins, the careful tone in his voice alerting me that I will not like what he has to say. "I believe it may be time to take a Pari. The House Mansion sorely needs a woman's touch to bring it to life."
"You overstep your bounds," I snap. "It is not your place to tell me how to conduct my life, especially in this matter. Do you understand?"
He murmurs something mollifying, looking away.
I know my reaction is more harsh than his well-intentioned comment deserves, but I cannot help but react as a wounded animal, snapping and snarling.
It is as if he has taken a hot poker to a fresh wound.
The House Mansion is a symbol and promise to my people. That I will care for them, protect them. That I will honor my responsibility to them.
How can someone who has not lived and breathed our history, does not have Alvan blood coursing through her veins, understand the responsibility of leading a House?
How can an off-w
orlder, a human female, love my people as I do?
Love them as they deserve?
Chapter Four
Margot
"Why do you want to do this?"
"Why the hell not? The chances of me winning the lottery are astronomical. And I'm tired of being disappointed. Besides, it's not like the guys here have anything amazing to offer, in the bedroom or otherwise. Might as well expand my horizons."
Finn gasps theatrically, his hand going to his chest in mock offense.
"How dare you! I'll have you know I've never had any complaints!" He does a fake hair toss.
"Is that so?" I tease. "Well, too bad you play for the other team. My team is sorely lacking in expertise. And if you're lucky enough to find one that knows what buttons to push, he usually has a rotation of women going."
"Well, honey, you haven't found the right guy yet. And if there's something we're not short on, it’s men."
I can't help but laugh as we weave in and out of the stream of foot traffic.
He's right, one thing we have an ample amount of is people.
A high-pitched scream cuts off my laughter.
I push against the flow of people around me, trying to see where it came from.
There!
It's a woman, her pale, washed out hair and skin show she's a Mole. Someone who has never gone above ground, living their whole lives in the darkness of the underground. Fallen between the cracks of society, homeless and lost, living in the dark, unfinished tunnels. Her clothes might have once been the standard issue gray pants and shirt most of us wear but now are dirty rags hanging off her gaunt form.
There's a man with a hood shadowing his face, trying to pull a bag away from the gaunt woman, her painfully thin arms bared as she attempts to fight a losing battle to keep her belongings. Another man is behind her, trying to take something tied to her waist.
"Give it up, you Mole bitch!" the man pulling on her bag snarls.
Nobody is sparing the situation more than a passing glance. The injustice of it has me pushing my way through the crowd.
"Hey! Assholes!" I shout, zeroing in.
The men glance over at me, not expecting anyone to intercede as they attack what should be easy prey.
They take in my angry face and then Finn who is following behind me. He isn't a small guy.
A Baby for the Alien Prince: Celestial Mates (The Alva) Page 2
