The Men of Anderas I: Jardan, the King

by C. J. Johnson

  “With the selection made, he then begins the long process of beating the gold into fine threads. The number of threads and their diameter is a matter of choice since the ultimate design is as unique as each individual young man.

  “More than one hundred strands make up our bonding cord, Melodie. These strands are no thicker than a single hair. This is what gives the cord its flexibility. If you were awake, you would see how supple it is despite being made of metal. It took me more than a year to complete this initial process, placing each individual strand in a six-foot long box lined with white satin. White is my family color. You’ll find most of the palace decorated in white and gold. My mother often complained of the lack of vibrant color. It probably explains her fascination with her roses.

  “Sorry, my love. I didn’t intend to get off on a tangent. I was explaining the construction of the bonding cord. While I fashioned these golden strands, I visualized the pattern of the braid that I wanted to make. There are no printed instructions or guides for bonding cords. Each must come from the heart of the maker and only males who have completed their cords may observe the progress of another cord. Using three strands at a time, I braided the threads into a simple tight design. I braided the individual strands into thicker threads before starting the more complex design. This process is repeated until the final product is the three-foot cord we hold now. I was twenty-one when I finished this cord. The intricate design impressed my father. He said it looks more carved than braided because of the series of loops and knots that form the pattern.

  “No one knows how or why the gold reacts as it does. It’s something we simply take on faith. You couldn’t see the way the gold took on a life of its own, fed by the energy of our individual life forces. The light from the warm gold was as bright as a torch.

  “When the cord loses the warmth of our joining, I’ll remove a piece from the end to be fitted to your ring finger. This is a custom we’ve started in the last few hundred years. Back in the days when adult women came from Earth they insisted on a ring if they were to be married to us. The remaining cord will be fitted and fused to my wrists. Once in place, they can be removed only by severing my hands.”

  The steady beep-beep-beep of the monitor alarm interrupted JarDan. It was time to replace the cover of the sleep chamber. Laying his head close beside Melodie’s, he breathed deeply of the gentle fragrance of her hair, rubbing his face against its softness. Placing a gentle kiss against her lips, he settled the glass lid in place, watching closely until the monitor light indicated a complete seal.

  The thin glass was all that separated him from his mate, yet he felt alone. This was his wedding night, but he wouldn’t be spending it as he always dreamed. Placing his large hands against the glass, he imagined the comforting warmth of her skin. Almost immediately, the feeling of loneliness faded. Smiling at the sleeping woman, JarDan reset the tape to play and moved the sleep chamber close to his bed. Settling on his side, his hand still resting against the glass, he drifted off to sleep. The smile of contentment never left his face.

  PART TWO

  Chapter Seven

  “I’m through talking about it, Doctor Sladal. I want to go home. I will go home. Are you going to tell me what I need to know?”

  “But you are home, my dear. Prince JarDan had your chamber transported to his private quarters at the palace. This is your room.”

  Melodie wanted to growl like a cornered cougar. Never in her life had she met such stubborn individuals as she had on this cursed trip. Praying for patience, she looked around the large room. Instead of the sleep chamber, she now reclined on a massive bed set on a raised dais. The intricately carved wooden posts reached from floor to ceiling where they supported a canopy of heavy white material.

  You will find most of the palace decorated in white.

  Shaking her head to remove JarDan’s voice, Melodie continued her inspection of the room. The same material draped the four support posts, tied back with golden ropes. She had no doubt that those drapes, when released at night, created a warm, cozy cocoon for sleeping.

  She could easily picture JarDan sprawled across the snowy sheets, his dark hair and swarthy tan a stark contrast to the pristine whiteness. His sleeping form, in the narrow bed aboard the Destiny continued to haunt her. It was the first accurate memory she had of the man. Before the fear. Before the nightmarish memories of her drug-induced sexual frenzy. Being drugged should have made it easier for her to deal with what happened between them, but it didn’t.

  She should feel justified in blaming him for her current predicament -- after all, he took her to his ship where that maniac drugged her. Instead, she found herself wondering if the real Melodie Smith could capture his attention so completely. Forcing her mind away from the implications of her thoughts, Melodie returned her attention to the room.

  Huge windows on two sides of the room brightened the grey stone walls. Several paintings in delicate pastel shades hung among an impressive array of swords, daggers, and shields.

  Other than the ridiculously large bed, the only furniture was a substantial desk and chair under one window, two high-backed chairs covered in dark gold brocade on either side of a massive fireplace and a dressing table and bench in the same shades of white and gold.

  Her grandfather’s entire house wasn’t much bigger than this one room. Returning her attention to the man standing perfectly still beside the bed, Melodie continued with the argument that began two hours ago when he brought her out of space sleep.

  “This isn’t my home, Doctor. My home is a small farm in Missouri about halfway between St. Louis and Springfield.” A repossessed farm. “I want to go home.”

  “You know that is not possible. The tapes …”

  “I don’t give a damn about those tapes,” she interrupted. “Oh, I know all about the plague and I’m sorry, but I am not a brood mare for aliens. Now, who do I talk to about going back to Earth?”

  “King Zeth is the only man who can authorize your return.”

  Melodie hardened her heart against the sympathy on the older man’s face. “How do I arrange a meeting with him?”

  “You will meet him at the evening meal tonight. He is JarDan’s father.”

  JarDan. Memories, both sweet and painful, again flooded her senses. His tapes told her about the drug but the knowledge didn’t ease the sharp pain of humiliation over her shameful reaction to him.

  A prince for Heaven’s sake! She had no business even talking to him. Don’t think about him. If you think about him you’ll remember.

  Melodie didn’t want to remember the dark-haired, blue-eyed man. She had to forget his gentle kindness and the way his touch set her blood on fire. She desperately feared that, once given free rein, her mind would sap her will until she no longer cared where she was or how she got here. She forced her attention to the ill-at-ease doctor.

  “Thank you for everything, Doctor Sladal. You’ve always been honest with me. I know you don’t believe me,” she grinned, “but I am going home.”

  “I know you will try, Princess.”

  Melodie jerked at the formal address. Princess! He called her princess. Melodie Anne Smith from Crocker, Missouri married to a prince! An alien prince, no less! Unthinkable! She stuttered when she spoke to the mayor of Crocker -- and he was her Sunday school teacher. How in the world was she going to convince a king to send her home?

  “… if you agree.”

  “What? I’m sorry, Doctor. I was thinking about something else.”

  Doctor Sladal lifted her hand and patted it gently. “Your Highness … Melodie, I urge you to consider your actions most carefully. Our world appears strange to you now, but give yourself time to understand … to accept … what we have to offer. We changed our language and many of our customs to meet the needs of women from your world. We did all we could to ease their adjustment to a life here for without them … without you … Anderas is faced with extinction. In time you will realize that we are men … no more … no less … force
d to choose between conscience and survival.”

  Melodie decided to keep her plans to herself. She didn’t want to alienate the kind-hearted man. “I’ll think about it, Doctor. That’s all I can promise.”

  He smiled, obviously pleased with her response. “Well, now that we have settled that little matter, I have someone for you to meet.”

  Before she could stop him, the doctor crossed quickly to the door and ushered a young woman inside.

  “Melodie, this is ArDell. She will be your maid and I understand she specializes in long hair.”

  “You honor my family, Princess.” The woman bobbed a curtsey before flashing a quick smile in Melodie’s direction.

  “Why do I need a maid?” Melodie gazed in confusion between the doctor and the smiling woman. “I managed for twenty-odd years to keep my grandfather’s house clean. There isn’t any reason I can’t keep house for JarDan until I go home.”

  “Princess! You cannot!” ArDell argued, her face pale with shock.

  “Melodie,” Sladal interrupted the indignant maid, “ArDell is your lady’s maid, not a household maid. She will be responsible for your wardrobe and grooming, also any personal tasks you choose to assign her.”

  Melodie stared at the grinning woman beside her bed fully expecting her to sprout two heads.

  “Do you mean she’s supposed to help me dress and comb my hair? Like some heroine in a Victorian novel?”

  “That and more, Princess,” ArDell grinned, nodding enthusiastically.

  “Oh, no. I don’t need a maid. A braid is quick and easy and I don’t need help getting dressed.”

  Just thinking about anyone watching her dress brought a blush to her cheeks. Other than an occasional visit to the doctor, no one had ever seen her naked.

  JarDan has. Grunting in frustration, Melodie mumbled under breath. Oh, shut up.

  “Melodie, my dear,” Sladal stated in that placating tone she now recognized as his ‘this-is-for-your-own-good’ voice. “The clothes you wore when Prince JarDan rescued you were beyond salvage. Your wardrobe here is more … uh … formal than the pants you are accustomed to wearing. I’m sure that once you’ve sampled ArDell’s abilities you will appreciate her assistance. Now, I must deliver my report to King Zeth and the Council of Elders. Until dinner, Princess.”

  He bowed deeply from the waist before backing from the room. When did she lose control of the situation? She couldn’t convince a doctor and a domestic servant to do her bidding. This didn’t bode well for her confrontation with JarDan and his father. Lord, how was a body to survive?

  “Princess, if I am unacceptable to you, there are others who can do as well.”

  ArDell’s quiet statement told Melodie how upset the woman was with her rejection. Knowing she had few options at this point, she drew a deep breath, praying for patience. She was not a Barbie doll sitting on shelf waiting for someone to change her clothes and comb her hair.

  “ArDell, I have no complaints with you.” Melodie wanted to wipe the hurt from the woman’s soft brown eyes. “This is all so strange to me. She indicated the room with a sweep of her hand. “I don’t want to be here and I don’t need a maid.”

  “Everyone is talking about you, Princess.” ArDell offered with an infectious grin. She began sorting through the multitude of drawers and cupboards along one side of a massive closet. “No one can remember the last time a crew brought back an adult female. The song masters are already composing tales of your adventure. So romantic -- Prince JarDan snatching you from the storm! Why, everyone knows how dangerous it is to teleport in a storm. He could have been killed and him the heir to the throne.”

  She didn’t know it was dangerous to teleport in a storm. But then, she was beginning to realize there was a great deal she didn’t know.

  “Now then, Princess.” ArDell stopped rummaging through drawers and stood beside the bed. “Your bath is ready and if you expect to look your best before Prince JarDan returns, we need to get started. We only have three hours.”

  Three hours? Just to get dressed? A quick shower, jeans, tee shirt, and a quick braid in her hair and she’s ready to go -- twenty minutes, max. Good grief. Was a bath so different here that it took that long? Just how different was this place?

  The answer came in the space of time it took for her to climb from the huge bed and follow ArDell across the room. There the chattering maid opened a set of double doors with a flourish.

  Melodie closed her mouth with a snap. Before her was a massive white marble tub that could easily hold six people. Gold-veined mirrors covered one wall from floor to ceiling. Another wall contained double sinks, shelves filled with thick white towels, and an open door through which Melodie could see a matching toilet facility.

  She stepped into the room, inhaling the floral scented steam rising from the churning water in the tub. Sunlight from a large bank of windows created miniature rainbows in the fragrant mist.

  “Good Heavens!” Melodie mumbled. “This place is …” Her life in Missouri couldn’t provide her with a word to describe the opulent splendor stretched out before her. “Melodie Anne,” she muttered as she slowly circled the room, “you are in deep trouble.”

  “Come, Princess,” ArDell urged while gathering several thick, white towels. “Tallie and her sister, Dora, are waiting.”

  At the mention of their names, two women rose from the swirling water in the tub.

  “Oh, my goodness,” Melodie stammered, “I’m so sorry. I had no idea anyone was using the room.” She backed toward the door, her face and neck pink with embarrassment. “Please excuse …”

  “Wait, Princess,” ArDell placed a restraining hand on Melodie’s arm, preventing her from leaving. “They are the bathing maids for Prince JarDan and now they will serve you as well.”

  Melodie stared in speechless astonishment at the two women. Their blonde hair curled damply around bare shoulders. Diaphanous material made virtually transparent by the water covered their well-rounded bodies from armpit to mid-thigh. Shock turned instantly into blazing anger, fueled by an emotion she refused to acknowledge.

  “Do you mean to tell me,” she demanded of ArDell, “that these … these …women … bathe JarDan? Like a helpless baby?”

  “Of course,” ArDell answered in her cheerful voice. “Now they will bathe you as well.”

  “Over my dead body!” She exclaimed in righteous indignation. Ignoring the look of disbelief on the faces of the other women, Melodie stormed back across the room. “Nor will you help Prince JarDan with his bath. He’s a grown man and if he can’t wash his own body then let him stink! The very idea!”

  Melodie stood with her arms folded across her chest, waiting for two nearly nude blondes to dress and leave. She refused to let their obvious distress bother her. Never in her life had she caused deliberate hurt to another’s feelings but, by damn, JarDan married her and he could damn well act like a married man. It didn’t matter that she didn’t consider them married. She wasn’t even conscious during the strange ceremony, for God’s sake. Later, after her return to Earth, then he could resume his debauched lifestyle.

  Turning toward the silent ArDell, Melodie squashed the pain in her chest at the thought of JarDan cavorting in the bubbling tub with another woman. Seeing the compressed lips and reddened cheeks, Melodie knew ArDell was unhappy with her actions.

  Well tough! Start out as you intend to continue was now her motto.

  “Do you have anything to say?” Melodie demanded.

  “It is our way, Princess.” ArDell muttered with disapproval. “Tallie and her family have been bathers for generations. It is what they train for from childhood. It will shame their family to learn of your dismissal.”

  “Horse feathers!” Melodie snorted. “They should be ashamed for practicing such a disgusting occupation. They can bathe the animals in the barn if that’s all they want to do with their lives. Your way isn’t my way, ArDell, and if we’re going to get along together, don’t try to change me into something I’m n
ot.”

  “As you wish, Princess.” ArDell mumbled, retreating from the room. “I shall be waiting to help with your gown when you have completed your bath. Prince JarDan will surely call for them to return when he is ready for his bath.”

  Melodie stood motionless long minutes after the door closed behind the maid. Oh, Lord! What had she done? ArDell’s parting comment rang like a death-knell around her. Would JarDan humiliate her by calling for the women? She just didn’t know.

  After weeks of listening to the tapes she could recite Chapter and verse about Anderan history. She knew all the past leaders, could discuss the current political situations, and even list the names of the plants and animals indigenous to the area. What she didn’t know was how to be a princess.

  Be yourself.

  Right. Just walk into dinner with a prince and a king. Tell them you spread manure over the garden plot and it should be ready to plow in a couple of days. Or maybe you could discuss the fact that Belle, the milk cow, isn’t producing enough milk to justify the cost of her feed.

  Turning to face the tub, Melodie caught sight of herself in the wall of mirrors. The pale, wide-eyed woman staring back at her was a stranger. Like a character in a fairy tale, she went to sleep a pauper and woke up a princess -- literally.

  “Now, there’s a topic for polite dinner conversation, Melodie Anne.” She whispered. “Describe to people so rich they don’t even dress themselves, what it’s like to watch the auctioneer sell off everything you have left in the world -- and still owe the bank more than five thousand dollars. To realize that all you have left besides a suitcase full of old clothes is a truck held together with prayer and baling wire. That all that stands between you and starvation is one hundred sixteen dollars and twenty-two cents in pennies from your piggy bank. Or that it took you more than twenty years to save those pennies.

  Allowing herself a few more minutes of self-pity, Melodie slowly straightened her spine. Wiping at the tears clinging to her lashes, she grasped the only lifeline she still possessed -- her pride. The same pride that sent her racing into a storm. The pride that couldn’t accept the charity of neighbors she never saw except at church on Sunday. That pride would see her through whatever this strange world held in store for her.