by Rosette Lex
“So what happens now?” Que wondered when the kiss broke. He sat up slowly, until he was kneeling between her legs again.
“We wait and see,” Vivienne answered simply.
“There’s no guarantee it will happen the first time around.”
Que sulked for a moment. “So how will we know?” he asked.
Vivienne shrugged. “Attitude or behavior changes? Appetite changes? Weight gain?” She used one hand to trace an imaginary baby bump in front of her stomach.
“We’ll know if it happens, but it’s not going to be some magical instant baby.”
“Well, how long will it take?” he asked, shifting somewhat impatiently.
Vivienne’s eyebrows rose in quiet amusement. “Assuming it worked this time, there will be a baby in nine months.” She reached up to pat his cheek as he gaped at her.
“Welcome to the world of reproductive breeding. It’s slow and messy and has a shitload of unpleasant side effects, and people only do it because it’s fun.”
She stretched out underneath him and after a moment, she pointed out, “But you did fulfill that prophecy thing. You fucked a woman. There is potential for a baby. Congrats, your highness. I’m pretty sure that makes you king.”
Que stared down at her, his eyes wide, as if that hadn’t occurred to him until just that moment. And then he grinned and surged down to kiss her again.
Chapter Ten
They kept it quiet at first. It was fairly common knowledge amongst the men living on the base that Que and Vivienne were having sex, but they didn’t seem to connect point A to point B in that regard.
The fact that Vivienne had essentially moved into his room—during the night, at least, as she still needed her space during the day—was proof enough that something intimate was going on with them, though none of them seemed to have enough of a clue about how babies were actually made to come to any exciting conclusions, so keeping it quiet at first was fairly easy.
There was no point in making any announcements prematurely. The prophecy had been that he who sired a natural child would be king, not simply he who bedded a human woman.
There was no sense in spreading the news if it turned out that Vivienne hadn’t conceived, or if she was simply going to miscarry in a couple weeks (that had been an…interesting topic to explain: “Oh, yeah, even if I get pregnant, the fetus might just randomly die for any number of reasons and there isn’t really anything we can do about it.”).
Days passed. Vivienne got sick a couple times, but she thought little of it. It wasn’t until it became an almost daily occurrence that she began to think it meant something.
“I think I’m pregnant,” she told Que as she sat on the edge of the bed.
He paused, stunned, before he grinned more sincerely than Vivienne had ever seen before.
He looked as if he wanted to pounce, but he froze, unsure for a rare moment.
“I’m still not breakable,” Vivienne pointed out.
Que’s grin turned impish and he pinned her to the bed once again.
The news spread quickly. Vivienne swore the entirety of Fort Mallimae knew by the next morning, and it seemed news had spread to the city by the end of the night, and from there it was just a matter of time before everyone knew.
No one quite seemed to know what to do about it, beyond moving Que and Vivienne to the capital to more easily facilitate a change in power.
Vivienne didn’t know what she had expected to happen.
Calm acceptance? Hatred?
She hadn’t expected to be desired, though. Not on a large scale, at least. But duels broke out in the capital, with men challenging Que for her hand. Time and again, he beat them down.
Eventually, Vivienne grew tired of being fought over like a piece of meat thrown to a pack of dogs; the novelty had been short-lived to begin with.
So the next time a challenge was issued, Vivienne kneed the challenger in the crotch, and when he fell to his knees in agony, she kicked him in the face. As blood spurted from his nose and he toppled over, Vivienne glared down at him and stated flatly, “There’s your answer.”
Que very nearly laughed himself into a coma.
The challenges didn’t stop after that—it would take more than just a single incident before people backed off—but they slowed down, at least, and they were more tolerable when Vivienne got to handle them herself.
The actual change of power was slow to happen, but when it did, to say it was grand did it no service.
The capital itself was immense and towering, making Crystallocke look small by comparison and making Fort Mallimae look like a dollhouse. Sharp angles, towering spires that clawed at the sky, and enough metal and crystal that it seemed like it could encase the world.
On an ordinary day, it was an imposing sight to behold, but on the day of the coronation, the streets had all been strung with lights, crawler feathers, crawler teeth, and ornate, lace-like leaves, all braided and tied together, so the city gleamed and glowed and shined.
On every screen, be it on a corner, in the main square, or in a shop, the prophecy was playing over and over, the same ancient man speaking with a million voices from a million screens, all in perfect synchronization.
The capital had no castle, but there was a fortress at the center that the capital had sprung up around. The capital butted up against a cliff, and the fortress was built into the cliff, climbing from the ground to the plateau far above, looming over the city’s smaller buildings like an angry guardian. Like the streets of the city, the fort was strung with the gleaming garlands, and it was there that Que and Vivienne would rule and live.
As it was, Que was most at home in a military setting, and it was the aspect of the inari that Vivienne was most familiar with. On the whole, it was a rather practical building, though within its walls it did have a massive hall that a pair of thrones had been dragged into.
Both thrones were heavy and unornamented, carved from dark stone and cushioned with black padding along the seats and backs. It would be an admirable room to rule from.
A parade led the way to the fortress from the gates of the capital, but it wasn’t like a stereotypical American parade; it wasn’t like parades as Vivienne knew them.
There were no floats and no massive marching bands. There were no balloons that touched the skies. Instead, there were men in costumes that Vivienne couldn’t even hope to guess the history behind, but a lot of them involved very little clothing.
There were men singing and dancing and twirling staffs and rifles and batons and flags. There were men walking along the sides of the procession, playing drums and flutes and stringed instruments. There were crawlers dancing and darting and twisting around each other and their trainers in trained routines, trilling and crooning and barking in time with the music.
And every few yards, always in the center of the procession, there were men in elaborate cloaks that hid their faces, with curved swords at their sides, and they were carrying baskets from which they withdrew handfuls of shredded feathers that they threw into the gathered crowd like fists of confetti.
Vivienne watched the parade from the highest floor of the fortress, peering out of a window because it was not yet time for her to step outside, onto the balcony. Que stood beside her, explaining how each new costume, each new song, each new routine was meant to convey the history of the different tribes from before the inari banded together, and how the cloaked men represented Uthenarilini, offering his gifts to his subjects.
It seemed to take an eternity, but at last, the parade ended. The last of the dancers and singers and musicians crowded into whatever space was still available in the fortress’s courtyard, and Vivienne stared out at the city-sized crowd from the window.
Once again, the prophecy began to play, and that was their cue. Que drew her away from the window, towards the balcony door.
“Almost time to greet our public,” he remarked, and Vivienne was almost surprised to note that he sounded nervous.
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�Our very large public,” Vivienne replied, “who are all very concerned with what happens in our bed.”
Outside, the prophecy fell quiet, and one of the cloaked men began speaking about how they were both blessed by Uthenarilini, about how their entire bloodline would be blessed as well.
It was heartening, in a strange way, to hear someone say they were essentially destined to do well, through divine will.
“I’m sure we’ll get used to it,” Que shot back wryly, and he reached out to grab the handles for the balcony doors.
Vivienne took one last moment to look at him. He really was gorgeous. His hair was slicked back, out of his face, and a wreath of feathers and lace-like leaves had been settled on top of his head.
While usually his clothing was fairly simple, for the ceremony he wore a high-necked, charcoal colored sleeveless shirt with a black vest over top of it, laced up the back with charcoal ribbon and laced up the front with a silver chain. His black trousers were form-fitting and tucked into a pair of knee-high black boots, and his hands were covered by charcoal gloves.
He looked elegant and regal, and he looked timeless, as if he could step from a modern soiree into a medieval ball without looking out of place at either of them.
As for her own clothing, Vivienne had expected a simple pants suit. After all, the inari had no female fashions. What she got, though, managed to make her feel pretty. She had a wreath of feathers, leaves, and purple, curling flowers sitting atop her hair, and a necklace made of crawler teeth, claws, and iridescent gemstones that shimmered like oil on dark water.
She wore a long sleeved black turtleneck, the ends of the sleeves trimmed in heavy silver ribbon, and over the turtleneck she wore a pale, silver-gray vest with long tails that trailed on the ground behind her.
Over top of that, she wore a coat that resembled a modern, sleeveless take on a black frock coat, the silver buttons gleaming as the coat hung open. Her black pants were looser than Que’s, though they were still tucked into knee-high boots. The boots, like the vest, were silver-grey, and the heels were noticeably taller than the heels of Que’s boots.
Que pushed the heavy doors open, and Vivienne slipped her hand around his elbow. They stepped out onto the balcony as one, staring out over the crowd gathered below. They had no speeches planned. Neither of them was terribly keen on speaking at length, after all. But they could make do.
Vivienne let go of Que’s elbow to instead take his hand, and she lifted their joined hands up, over their heads. Almost immediately, the crowd below began to cheer, and the feather confetti was once again being thrown into the air.
One of the cloaked men joined them on the balcony, carefully holding the dark cushion that their crowns were balanced on. He waited until the cheering grew quiet once more before he removed the wreaths and set one crown on Que’s head, and the other on Vivienne’s. The wreaths were draped around their necks, instead.
Neither of them had gone for a massive, overly designed crown. They were circlets, more than anything else. In copper shades and carved to look like leaves and feathers curling together in a wayward breeze as they encircled their heads, with spikes that may very well have been metal-plated teeth.
Once the crowns were balanced on their heads, Vivienne lifted their hands high once again, and the cheering again broke out, loud enough that it seemed like it might shake apart the entire cliff and fortress at once. It was as if they wanted to shatter the entire city, maybe even the entire world, with their excitement.
They turned to face each other, hands still joined.
“It’s been a long day,” Vivienne observed after a moment, too quiet for even the cloaked man behind them to hear, and she reached up to trace one finger along the swirls and spikes of her crown. Already she was feeling worn out, but her nerves all buzzed with electrified energy.
“Crowded, too,” Que added, as he cast a glance over the edge of the balcony, to the entire city gathered below.
“King Que,” Vivienne mused thoughtfully. “It doesn’t have such a bad sound to it, does it?”
“What about Queen Vivienne?” Que asked in reply. “It sounds rather fetching, if you ask me.”
“I do like the way it rolls off the tongue,” Vivienne agreed.
“They sound good together, too.”
With that, she leaned over to kiss him, and the crowd below could have brought down the moon with their voices alone.
Vivienne stared at herself in the mirror, one hand resting on her belly. There was no visible evidence of the baby yet, but it was only a matter of time.
She contemplated her reflection for a few moments, and then she grinned a crocodile grin and said, “I’m done playing your game.”
She pulled her hand away from her belly, and instead drew out a length of black ribbon from within her vest. Easily, she tied it around her head so that it covered her left eye.
“You’ll get nothing more from me,” she stated.
“I win, and you aren’t welcome here.”
PREVIEW OF 'SEDUCED BY THE ALIEN’ BY ROSETTE LEX
Chapter One
Crystal Cavanaugh was a simple girl, and she enjoyed simple things. A quiet morning, a good Scotch on the rocks, a lovely book in the sunlight…
She didn’t need a house full of fancy gadgets, or a vista that could take up a square mile of space, or a job that brought her fame and fortune. She was content with her small cottage on the water, and her bartending job. She had friends and all the comforts she needed.
The bar was a small, cozy establishment within walking distance of the coast, and Crystal had worked there for years. Long enough that she had learned how to flaunt herself—not to excess, but just enough to catch a bit of attention, though she supposed having both a bust and a behind like a goddess helped with that—and deal with the perverts at the same time.
She had every drink on the menu memorized, and she had her own cocktails cooked up for special occasions (and her Fireworks Finale that she broke out on the Fourth of July had a reputation for making people forget their own names). She even had some of the other jobs down pat. She couldn’t fill in for the cook, of course, but she had bussed and served in equal measure. Her true place, though, was behind the bar.
She gave a bottle a twirl before she began to pour with a flourish, and she was quick and efficient as she switched bottles, her long, bright red ponytail all but glowing behind her as she moved. Tanned hands worked quickly, and when she smiled and handed over the drink, her green eyes were bright and her freckles seemed to dance around her dimples.
She set the bottle down as the customer moseyed away, and all that was left for her to do was to wait for the lights to come back on in twelve minutes, and to see if anyone else was going to take advantage of last call. It was a quiet night, though, so she had her doubts.
Indeed, she carried on with the cook through the door into the kitchen, talking about television and the upcoming election, and their conversation went undisturbed until the lights came back on. There were a few drunken grumbles and sighs, but the bar emptied out fairly quickly after that.
Crystal helped clean up, her hips swaying to the music on the radio as she used a dishcloth like an impromptu pompom just to get a laugh out of one of the busboys. Soon, though, she was heading towards the door.
“Careful walking home!” the busboy called after her. “You know what kinds of things are out on nights like this.”
Crystal lifted one hand in a dismissive wave, without looking over her shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she called back to him. “I’ve made this walk a million times before.”
The bell over the door jingled as she opened it, and it thunked closed behind her once she stepped out. She would be fine. The full moon wasn’t until tomorrow.
Of course, that wasn’t always a guarantee of safety.
She made it to the streetlight on the corner when she heard someone howling like a dog at her, and she paused as she looked over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing in irritation. Once sh
e recognized what she was looking at, though, her eyes widened in alarm.
There were four of them, all resembling regular men in most ways, save for a few clues. Their eyes gleamed like backlit amber, and as they grinned at her—leered at her—they bared pointed teeth. The leader of the pack made a gesture to the others, and Crystal saw claws.
Werewolves, only a night away from their full transformation. Perhaps yesterday they had been gentlemen, but for a couple evenings, that wouldn’t matter. They may as well have been rabid mongrels. For all intents and purposes, they were.
The alpha took a step towards her, and Crystal didn’t waste any time in gawking. She turned and bolted at a sprint, her sneakers striking the ground quietly.
Her house was to the right, but that was no guarantee of protection. Four of them would have her front door off its hinges in seconds. Instead, she took a sharp left. She could cut across the park and be at the police station in no time.
