by Zara Zenia
I nodded professionally. “Thank you.” I turned back to my brothers. “We will conduct remote conferences for the preparations.” I gave them each a glance, locking eyes with them to ensure they understood the protocol and plans to take off from here.
Each of my brothers excused themselves from the council room, making their way to their own itinerant pods that would return them to their individual vessels. One by one, they disembarked, and I was left alone in the great council room with my own thoughts. My head screamed with ideas, fantasies, and hope for the future. There was no shutting off my emotions. I was always going to be spinning in the web of my own making.
I shared Rawklix’s concerns about being linked to a female I would not otherwise have chosen for myself, of course, but what good did it do to give space to such worry in my mind? There was, after all, nothing to be done about it. I was born into a position of the highest privilege, and along with it came the weight of duty. I would not shirk it now, when my service mattered most. Cosmetic and surface beauty were always fixable. Saving my species was of the upmost importance now.
The idea of returning to Trilyn appealed to me, as well. As the future High King, my successful return would do a great deal toward restoring stability to our kingdom. Indeed, though I may never fully silence the fears at the periphery of my mind, I felt quite pleased at the prospect of fulfilling my duty to my people and ensuring the survival of our race. Surely, there could be no greater honor.
I walked down the great hall with its transparent floor, allowing me an unimpeded view of the Earth metropolis below. We hovered in the atmosphere above what was called New York, I was told. Though I longed to set foot once more on Trilynian soil, there was a certain beauty to the glitter of lights that spread across the land, twinkling like burning embers.
The lights from the city below twinkled like tiny stars. The energy was electric and was already rubbing off on me. My heart raced as I stared down at the earth below. Was my future mate somewhere down there? Would we fall in love easily? So many unanswered questions lingered, begging to be answered.
The artificial lights would fade soon as the planet’s rotation caused the city to be bathed in the life-giving rays of Earth’s sun. Somewhere, down below in the sparkling ether of the night, was the woman whom I would wed and share my life with. For a moment, I let myself feel the warmth of hope. If I embarked on this adventure with an open mind and a positive attitude, I was bound to succeed.
2
Amy
“Tell me something, Amy,” Darla said, her lean frame silhouetted in the wide doorway of the dark kitchen where I’d been working all day.
I looked up, the sick feeling of dread coiling in my stomach as I asked, “Yes, Darla?” I swallowed hard and willed myself not to allow any of my fears or trepidation to escape.
“How is it that you are so incompetent? Do you think you were just born a simpleton, or was it growing up as gutter skuzz that did it?” I looked down, avoiding her catty grey eyes and willing myself to be numb and remain silent. If I didn’t respond to the jabs, then I hoped this encounter wouldn’t last as long.
The other kitchen workers had the good sense to scurry away from the central prepping table I was working at, anticipating Darla’s tirade. If she was in the kitchens, it was to chew on someone. Luckily for the other workers, we all knew I was her preferred victim. I could hardly blame them for withdrawing, though just once, it would be nice to go a day without her abuse. I didn’t expect anyone to stick up for me, but it was just as well. I didn’t want to hold onto false hope.
Darla came forward, surveying the racks of delicate pastries and confections I’d been frantically churning out as quickly as I was physically able. She grabbed a plaited brioche, still warm from the oven, inspecting it. She scrutinized the treat as if she were just ready to pounce on any microscopic flaw. It seemed silly that she bothered with the pretense. We both knew it wouldn’t meet her standards, no matter how perfectly prepared the item was.
“By now, I should know better than to expect anything else,” she said, tossing the fluffy, buttery brioche in the waste shoot along with the rest of the tray. My heart dropped through my shoe at her hateful gesture, but I didn’t flinch. “Since your dim-witted goldfish brain is incapable of holding onto information for more than a few minutes, let me remind you that we are preparing a feast for royalty. Royalty! Do you understand what that means? That means that this has to be flawless!” Her voice carried through the room like a siren screeching through the night.
She knocked over several more trays, the metal clattering in a deafening clamor. “This is all shit!”
I held my breath and waited for her tantrum to end, if it ever would. Sometimes, it was better to ride out the storm than to avoid it.
My knuckles turned white as I forcefully kneaded the massive mound of dough, refusing to give in to the anger bubbling inside me. In the refugee camp, on the streets, I’d done what I had to survive, things that in a perfect world, I’d maybe regret. But violence wasn’t something I got to shy away from. Life isn’t sunshine and peaches for a homeless teenage girl with a baby. Hard times were a way of life for me.
It was different now, though. I had something to lose. I was on the way to getting Corinne and me out of that and into a better life, and the instincts that kept me alive before had no place here. I had to bite my tongue until I tasted the bitter, coppery taste of blood in order to prevent myself from spewing vile words at this terrible woman in front of me.
“You know what gets at me?” Darla said, coming up behind me, oblivious to the well of anger inside me. “I gave you every opportunity, took you out of the gutter, took you under my wing, and this is how you repay me? This is the most important event we’ve hosted. If it doesn’t go off perfectly, it reflects on me!” She yelled dramatically and waved her hands in the air as if she were swimming against the swell of a panic attack. “And isn’t it just my luck that I have little bitches like you down here, sabotaging everything I’ve worked so hard for! What is that wretched smell?” She turned toward the saucier and scowled. Her nose wrinkled with patronizing disapproval.
He was a bow-legged man with a deep scar that extended from his hairline to his chin. He’d seen his share of horror. All of us had our scars, though. Some were just better hidden than others. Mine were tucked away beneath the surface and I never wanted them to see the light of day.
She marched around the room, laying into the other staff members who were unfortunate enough to still be stuck at their stations, and I let my mind wander, letting go of my anger in favor of better thoughts. You learn little tricks like that as a refugee. When things get too rough, too hard to process, you shut it out. Little tactics for preserving your sanity. It was a survival instinct of sorts, and I did what I could in order to not implode on myself.
I felt sorry for the ones currently receiving the brunt of her fury, but I’d endured my fair share in the process along the way. I blocked Darla’s shrill screeching out and let my thoughts drift to that secret place in my mind. The place I escaped to with him. In reality, my existence wasn’t even a speck on Prince Gardax’s radar, but in my mind, he was mine.
And in my mind, he made me his. Just the way I wanted it to be. The private seclusion of my mind was my oasis in a desert of chaos.
If I closed my eyes, I could almost feel the warmth of his skin, pretend that he was holding me to him. He was the most beautiful man I had ever seen, and he wasn’t even a man—not a human one, anyway. It didn’t matter, though, because he made me feel more like a woman than I had ever felt. Shivers and trembles of pleasure ran up and down my spine. There was no euphoria that could ever match the depth of passion that I felt toward him.
He would kiss me gently, drawing all the stress and aches from my body as he murmured softly, assuring me that I was safe, that Corinne would be safe, that everything was going to get better. His hands were so strong as they stroked my back, my shoulders, massaging my tired muscles . . . not
that princes probably gave massages, but it was my fantasy, so why not? There were no rules in the cobwebs of my lust-clouded mind.
It would have been the ultimate humiliation if anyone knew what went through my mind in moments like that. The heat of desire and shame flushed my cheeks and sprinkled them a rosy red color.
How ridiculous that I, a lowly, pathetic cook and maid, dreamed of Prince Gardax’s lips curving in a secret smile meant just for me. It was pitiful, no doubt, but when you live most of your life in either a warzone or a refugee camp, you don’t exactly have a lot of happy memories to pull from.
So naturally, I created my own pleasurable world where I was in charge of my fate and blissful serenity accompanied me from all sides. I created little stories in my mind, dreamy, romantic scenes that were about as far removed from reality as I could get. It helped me get through the grueling, insufferable days. I tried not to stay locked in the daydreams for long. I reserved those times mainly for sleep or when Darla was yelling at me and everyone else in her tornadic path.
Sometimes, when I was there well before dawn, baking pastries for his breakfast in the dark, warm kitchens, I’d imagine him coming in, taking the rolling pin out of my hands, and carrying me to his private chamber. Maybe we’d curl up together and talk for hours or maybe we’d sleep. Maybe we would do a combination of both. I yearned for the touch of another. I craved conversation and someone who would be interested in me and would want to get to know me.
Was it sad that my fantasies with a gorgeous alien prince involved sleep? Definitely, but when you only get an average of four to five hours of sleep a night, that deprivation seeps into everything. Of course, there were plenty of daydreams where we did more than sleep.
Whatever we did, it was far, far away from this awful, crowded, heated room. I’d never seen the private wing of his ship, if ‘ship’ was even the right term for it, but anything had to be better than the sweltering kitchens. It was like a sweat lodge in here, and I was layered in chef’s clothing that didn’t do my perspiration any favors. I wanted to sweat in other ways. Other ways that involved Gardax.
Cloaked as the structure was with stealth technology, all but the main hull was invisible from the exterior. From the ground, it was almost imperceptible, just a small aircraft among the clouds. But if the chatter among the staff was to be believed, there was much, much more to it. The shuttle that carried us to work dropped us at the service port and we exchanged stories of the glimpses we caught.
Few knew how large the place really was, and I certainly was never given leave to go exploring, but it sounded massive, a maze of finely furnished chambers and passages that I would have loved to wander. In my deepest fantasies, I’d be waltzing through those doors with elegance and grace, adorned with the finest jewelry that money could buy. I wasn’t materialistic in reality, but like I said before, a girl can dream.
I’d only seen the prince a few times. There was my first day, when I came to work with a group of new recruits aboard his vessel, two months prior. It was brief, and I was so nervous I’m not sure I remembered to breathe. That whole time was a bit of a fuzzy blur in my mind. I naturally blocked out trauma in my life.
He was the first alien I’d ever seen. Before the Trilyns arrived seeking a treaty, the only other alien life-forms humans had encountered were little more than single-celled organisms on one of Jupiter’s moons. It was utterly shocking to discover that there was a sentient, intelligent, and frankly, gorgeous race out there. I wasn’t ever afraid of them, especially if they were here seeking peace and unity. I was more infatuated and curious of them than anything.
Aside from being incredibly tall, with muscles carved so finely he might have been a statue and eyes the exact shade of the freshly ripened corn that covered the plains of the home I was forced to flee, he looked like any other inordinately stunning human. I’d heard whispers that they were trained warriors as well, despite their royal upbringing, and it didn’t surprise me. The way he moved was so controlled, so powerful. His physique was mesmerizing, intoxicating.
There had been a handful of times I’d passed him in the main hall, but he hadn’t seen me. He was always speaking to someone or occupied in some way, always distracted, always serious. I had imagined royalty—alien or otherwise—led lives of luxury and relaxation, but I had yet to see Prince Gardax in any state of ease. I wondered if he took his own mental vacations, if he checked out and ran away to some happy place in his mind . . . and if he did, what sort of things he daydreamed about. I knew that he had to keep his air of confidence and leadership. He had a lot on his plate, as I could imagine.
Then there was the day he gathered the human staff aboard the ship to inform us of the impending party. His piercing yellow eyes had passed over me as he spoke, surveying the crew. It was completely idiotic, but my nerves had a field day as I sat there listening to his deep, commanding voice, hoping he’d notice me. I didn’t know how I could stand out from the crowd to draw his attention, but I wanted his eyes, those piercing eyes to land on me and lock.
Then again, I thought as I looked down at my dingy apron, a wisp of flour-coated hair fluttering into my eyes, there wasn’t much to notice, especially when Prince Gardax could literally take his pick of women. I’m sure I wasn’t even on his radar. He was a prince, after all, and probably had women all over him.
Everyone knew why the princes had come. Their planet had been overtaken by some kind of virus that had rendered their females infertile. To ensure the continuation of their species, the princes had been sent to find human brides, and there was definitely no shortage of beautiful women who were dying to volunteer for the position . . . women I could never compete with. I was ordinary, a refugee who would never stick out.
What was I? I had nothing to recommend me. I was little more than an underfed refugee living in Union housing with no advanced education and no prospects beyond domestic work. I would never hold his interest in my condition or situation.
I sighed and refocused my attention on the sound of Darla’s voice getting closer to me again. My muscles immediately tensed up, bracing for impact of the plume of anger she always had, ready to lash out.
“Do any of you have even the faintest concept of how big of a deal this is? Apparently not, or else I wouldn’t be looking at a bunch of slack-jawed ingrates doing the bare minimum! We’re behind schedule, and unless you want to work through the night, I suggest you all start picking up the pace!” She tossed another tray on the floor.
For someone who claimed to be concerned about completing our tasks on time, she had a funny way of showing it. Time was wasting while we all stood there, fearfully cowering under her command. We could be spending the time being productive, but she was throwing our supplies all over the room. It was a wonder that she didn’t get a sore throat from all the screaming and yelling she liked to do.
“These racks are supposed to be half-full already.” She motioned to the line of preservation racks that would keep the food in stasis until it was laid out for the hundreds of anticipated guests. “Look at this! This is pathetic! If the party wasn’t in three days, I would fire the lot of you!” The veins in her neck bulged in protest.
“We’re all working as hard as we can, Darla,” I ventured, unable to bite back the comment. It had dripped from my tongue before I had a chance to convince myself not to do it. I couldn’t afford to lose this job. Employment was too scarce and I had more than just myself to look out for.
“Oh? Oh, really? Well, then why is it I got a request from you to take tomorrow night off?” She sneered down at me, an evil glint in her eye. She stared at me as if she despised me and wanted to squash me like a bug under her shoe.
I looked up, surprised. She had already told me I could have the night off. My heart dropped with disappointment.
“It’s Corinne’s birthday—” I started, but she cackled in that creepy, brittle voice of hers as if my personal affairs were none of her concern and she couldn’t care less about them.
&n
bsp; “So, the little sponger is having a birthday? Well, wouldn’t it be a nice present for her to have a big sister who doesn’t just expect handouts? You’re not going anywhere.” She spun, eyeing the other prep workers and cooks. “Any of you! Don’t think I won’t be coming back before your shifts are over to see what you’ve got to show for yourselves . . . and if I’m not happy with what I find, no one is going anywhere.”
She stomped out of the kitchen, and for a beat, we all held our breath, waiting to hear her if she’d come back before the collective sigh was released. I stared at the ceiling so the well of hot tears wouldn’t instantly pour down my face like a broken-hearted waterfall.
“What a pain in the ass.” Felix, one of the grill cooks, grumbled and kicked the side of a table with resentful scorn.
Quiet murmurs of agreement were shared, but I kept quiet. If I’d learned anything from all the years on my own, it’s not to trust anyone. I couldn’t be certain if any one of them might turn on me. Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. In this day and age, I had little time to make either.
Of course, I wanted to defend myself against Darla’s rants. And sure, I’d like to vent with everyone else about pulling fourteen-hour days of grueling work in the stifling heat of the kitchens in this floating alien palace. But I also need to survive. So, I bit my lip, swallowed my frustration, and kept my head down. There was no room for error or protest. I had to think of Corinne above all else. Her wellbeing was front and center in my mind.
When I first got hired on the ship, I’d been foolish. I’d thought I could trust people, thought that this was my magic ticket to a better life for Corinne and me. Darla had been so friendly at first. Looking back, it was clear that she was looking for weakness to manipulate. She was nothing if not crafty. Darla knew exactly how to put pressure on people, how to bully them, how to get under their skin and make them feel like the tiniest scrap of human existence. She also knew how to extract information.
