Alien Prince

We laid together for a long moment on a scattering of velveteen pillows, obscured only slightly by the gossamer curtains that separated us from the crowd that was filing out of our chamber. We shifted in our shared afterglow until we were side by side, our limbs all tangled, our breathing falling into the same steady rhythm.

I heard the door shut as the last of the guests left us on our own, and I rolled over until my left leg was draped over his right, until my arm rested, bent at the elbow, on the vast expanse of his chest. I propped my head up on the heel of my hand and peered down at him: his eyes were closed, the hint of a smile gracing his lips, and I thought to myself, How strange. And I thought to myself, How wonderful.

"What happens now?" I murmured, loathe to break our companionable silence.

"Now," came his gentle reply, "the guests will file into the banquet hall, whereupon they will begin the feast." It wasn't until he said the word "feast" that I realized I was starving. My desires sated, it was time for me to take care of other more basic biological needs.

"But what do we do?" I pressed, trailing my fingertip along the lines of one of his spiraling tribal tattoos. It came down in a thick column over his left shoulder, curving beneath his breastbone until it splayed its spiral across the left side of his ribcage.

"We sleep?" He said, but it wasn't a statement. It sounded more like a plea.

"Is that really what we do now?" I asked. "Here? In this bizarre sort of...viewing chamber?"

Calder heaved a sigh, though his smile never faded, and opened his eyes before turning his head to look at me. "I suppose I shouldn't have expected a nap, but you cannot blame me for wanting one." Certainly not, not after the workout we'd given each other. I laid my head down on his arm and looked at him, really looked at him. He had dozens of rings in his elfin ears, countless designs in ink across his flesh, a fine aquiline nose, and skin, sun-kissed and rich. And horns. He had horns. But even those were starting to seem less strange.

He lifted his right hand and swept a few errant locks of hair out of my eyes, locking his limpid blue eyes on my face. "And how are you feeling?" He asked, his tone low and sonorous.

"I'm..." I paused, canting my head to the side as I checked in with myself. I blinked. "I'm fine, actually," came my surprised reply. "I thought I would feel...I don't know. Strange? Or violated somehow, doing...what we did...in front of all those people. But..."

"But you were lost in the moment," he said, and I felt the rose of a blush warm the apples of my cheeks. I nodded, abashed. "So was I."

"I hardly even noticed that they were there, to be honest," I continued, and rolled onto my back, staring up at where the lacy curtains were attached to golden curtain rods mounted to the ceiling. A small crystal chandelier hung above us, sending dancing prisms onto our bodies.

"I noticed them at first," he admitted. "I was keenly aware of them before you arrived."

I laughed. "Undoubtedly."

"But then..." I felt his shoulder rise to his ears in a shrug. "I saw you, and I forgot about them entirely."

I smiled, allowing my eyes to come to a close and losing myself in my other senses: The air was warm, and scented sweetly of smoke and lavender, beneath which was the musk of sweat and sex; my fingertips felt the warmth of Calder's skin on one side, and the soft, cool velvet of a pillow on the other; I could taste the tang of red wine on my tongue; I could hear harp music drifting in from another room. And then I heard him chuckle, breathy and low, and I opened one eye to peer at him. "What?" I urged.

"This is not how I pictured my wedding night," he said by way of explanation.

"Is that so?" I asked, a smile in my tone. "And how did you picture it?"

"Honestly?" He began, pushing himself up to sitting. "I did not think I should ever take a mate. But I thought, if I were to take one, that we would marry in private, on our secluded homestead." His smile faded, urging me to sit up as well. I brought my knees up and hugged them to my chest.

"What is it?"

"I just..." he gave a slow shake of his head, purposefully averting his gaze. "I never expected to come back here, after Ramari-after...my..." He cleared his throat. "After she passed, I never thought I would be back here. I certainly did not expect to take up the mantle of my people. I thought that...once I had given up my position as their spiritual leader, they would not want me back. As the months passed, and the years, I thought I would have to win them over. And yet, here I am." He lifted his eyes to look at me, and they were blue and watery as two still ponds. "They have welcomed me back with open arms."

"They are lucky to have you," I said, reaching out and placing a hand on his arm. "And so am I."

He scoffed, self-consciously running his hands over his hair, mussed as it was from our activities. "I'm serious," I continued. "No one else would have done something like this for me." "What do you mean?"

"Agreed to marry me, to keep me safe," I went on. "You've saved me. And with your help, we can save others."

Something darkened his expression then, and I could almost see the clouds passing across his features. He gave a solemn nod of his head and rose to his feet, sweeping the curtains aside with one swipe of his great arm. "What is it?" I asked, following him off of the nest of pillows. "Was it something I said?"

"Not at all," he replied, monotone. I watched him move around the space, naked save for the crown on his head, and admired the musculature just beneath the surface of his skin. He was carved from stone, and I felt my heart flutter like a caged bird in my chest as I watched him move. He reached a bureau at the far end of the room, out of which he pulled a set of clothing that had no doubt been placed there for him, and he began to get dressed.

When I stood up, my gown fell to my feet, and I laced the ties on the front so as to conceal my breasts from view. Then I joined him at the far end of the room, a beautiful room that I never would have guessed to be a part of a spacecraft: the floors were marble, and intricately decorated with a fleur-de-lis design, and the walls boasted wood paneling and draped tapestries. There was a standing mirror by the bureau, and I peered at myself in it, grateful that I hadn't messed up my hair too terribly. In fact, I looked quite the same as I had when my Europax ladies in waiting had dressed me, except perhaps my cheeks were somewhat rosier.

"We shall waste no time," Calder said, sliding his feet into his shoes. He looked the part of a king, to be sure, complete with a doublet in black and gold brocade. He tied a thick, black leather belt at his waist and adjust the crown that rested in interwoven white and yellow gold atop his head, before he offered me his arm. I took it and looked expectantly up into his face. I could no longer read his expression.

"Good," I said, "I'm starving."

"I mean," he interjected, blinking down at me, "we shall send the distress signal."

"Now?" I asked, "right this moment?"

"Right this moment," he tucked my hand in the crook of his elbow and marched off at quite a clip, leaving me to move double-time to keep up. "That is why you married me, is it not? For protection from the slavers that are sure to come to fetch you once we send that beacon."

"I"

"So, you are married. You are protected. Why waste any more of our time?"

Ah. "Calder-"We had reached the door, and he threw it open with his usual agitated gusto, but I wouldn't budge.

"Come, madam, let us not tarry-" He was urging me forward, nearly dragging me on my bare feet out of the room.

"What? Stop-Calder...would you stop, please?" I tugged him to a halt, and he whirled around, fire lighting his once placid blue eyes.

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"Why? Why should we stop?" He demanded, throwing his arms out to the side, as though he were daring me to come at him. I furrowed my brow and crossed my arms beneath my breasts, the universal body posture for no-I-will-not-move, and Calder let his hands drop to slap against his outer thighs.

"Because," I said quietly, at length, "you are behaving like a child and instead of throwing your little tantrum, I am going to demand that you talk to me like an adult."

"I have nothing to say, my lady," he all but hissed. "I wish to aid you in your task, as I said I would. And then I would like to go to the feast so that I might have some modicum of pleasure on this, our wedding night."

"Oh, because you have not taken pleasure enough from me already?" I spat back. "And in front of a crowd of voyeurs, no less!"

"I have taken no pleasure from you that you were not dripping to give me."

"Ah, yes, I could tell how difficult it was for you to get it up before you fucked me. It was obviously a very trying task for you."

"Not trying, no, but about as memorable as sliding my prick into any back-alley whore."

I slapped him before I even knew I'd decided to, before I could register that I'd lifted my hand up and made contact with the flat of my fingertips to the side of his face. My hand stung from the force of the blow, and I could see his face begin to color with the imprint of my hand. But more startling than that was his expression. It changed so rapidly: it started off smug and self-possessed, then shocked, then enraged, then contrite, all in the span of moments. He took in a deep breath and exhaled sharply through his nostrils, inclining his head and casting his gaze to the floor.

"I should not have said that," he murmured. "I do not know why I said it-forgive me." My face was hot from the humiliation of his words, and I didn't realize that my eyes had begun to well with tears until they spilled over onto my cheeks. Fantastic-now my makeup would be ruined.

Calder looked genuinely distressed when he saw that I was crying, reaching impotently out in a lame attempt to quell my suffering. "Please, do not cry," he pleaded, advancing on me and gripping me fiercely by the shoulders. "I am sorry," and he crushed me to him. "I am so very sorry."

I didn't say anything for a long time, I just let him hold me to him, my arms limp at my sides. Eventually he pulled back and stared down into my face, searching for any indication that I could let the storm pass. I gave him none. Instead, I trailed my lower lid with the knuckles of my index fingers in an attempt to correct the smeared lines of my kohl, and said, "Let's just go send that distress call."