Really Unusual Bad Boys (15 page)

“…And…and that's just how I feel, Sekal.”

“It will be as you wish, my Gladys.”

“I'm sure it sounds very very dumb to you, but…did you just say it was okay?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“You may have as many vows as you wish. I also will recite as many as you require. In fact, I must apologize: I did not consider your traditions when—”

“Never mind about that, Sekal. If where I came from was so great, I'd probably still be there, right? I'm just so surprised you—I mean, you don't have to do vows, I thought they were kind of silly myself, but Lois wouldn't let up, and—and—”

“It is little enough, and it pleases you.” He smiled at her, his large lavender eyes—Damon's eyes—seeming to sparkle. She had never seen such eyes in her life, and had thought she would never be used to them. But she was. It was almost frightening how quickly she had gotten used to them. “I would do much to please you, Gladys.”

Oh that is so much nicer than “Move over, Wide Load.”
“Thank you, Sekal. I feel the exact same way.”

“Do you think sufficient time has elapsed?”

“Beg pardon?”

“For the children to scatter and plot strategies. That
is
why you dragged me out of the throne room this morning, yes?”

Gladys could feel her face heat up, but managed to smile back. “Yes, I guess you caught me.”

“Your concern for a prince who is not yet yours-by-mating greatly warms me, Gladys. You will make a fine queen and a fine dam to my children. Even if the prince is behaving like a dar—like someone who does not know how to behave in matters of honor.”

“She's pregnant, Sekal,” she said soberly. “And they're in love. It changes things. It changes…everything, I guess. Don't you remember what it was like?”

Sekal shook his head. “I am an old man.”

“That's not true at all.”

“Only a future mate could say such a thing and not be telling a false tale,” he teased.

She ignored that. “Besides, you just said—you said you'd do a lot to make me happy. Well, where in the world do you think Shakar gets it from? Not only is he trying to keep Rica happy, he's got the baby to think about. He's willing to make you mad and risk—I don't know—exile? I guess some pretty terrible things happen if he doesn't let her fight.”

“Yes,” he agreed and looked, for a moment, like the old man he had claimed to be. She found it more shocking than the fact that she had to think up marriage vows to keep him distracted. Gladys never thought of herself as old, but she wasn't exactly a puppy anymore. And Sekal had grown children, too. Neither of them were kids, that was for darned sure. But somehow, to her he had always looked strong and beautiful and…and timeless. Kingly. “Some pretty terrible things.”

“Well, maybe we can head back and talk about it. I'm sure we can all figure something out. I'm sure Shakar will remember his manners and I'm sure you'll watch your temper.”

“Will I, my Gladys?”

“You'd better.” But she smiled to take the sternness out of her words.

 

Rica had been in her mother's land about, she figured, six hours, counting travel time from the jump-off point. And one thing her mother had never mentioned was, the pillows weren't stuffed with feathers.

Rica didn't know
what
they were stuffed with, but they looked like shiny black beads…except they were soft. She'd been in the middle of a real circuit-clearing temper tantrum when she realized. What
was
that stuff, anyway?

She picked up a bead and examined it. Part of her knew exactly what she was doing: she had a big problem she didn't want to face, so her mind was casting around for things that she could face. Like pillows without feathers.

She squeezed a bead. It squished, but didn't make any noise or squirt—thank goodness. She'd been half afraid the thing had been stuffed with beetles…that's what they looked like, beetles without legs, except squishy. It was—

“Rica, dear? May we come in?”

It was that Gladys. The king's sweetie. And she said “we” so Rica figured the king was with her. Good. She tossed the bead over her shoulder, crossed to the doorway, and held the curtain back.

“Hello. Come on in. It's your room, anyway,” she added dryly, and the king smiled at her. Why…he looked just like Shakar when he smiled, all open and boyish. He had a downright pleasant face, come to think of it. And those eyes were really something. Small wonder Gladys looked at him like she looked at a rock star. “I made all the servants go away, but I could get you—”

“You need not be in our service, Rica. We came to be sure your needs are being met. And I must beg your forgiveness for what happened earlier. It seems my son did not inherit his stubbornness, pride, temper, or poor reaction to surprise from his mother.” Sekal quirked an eyebrow at Gladys. “Or so it has been shown to me.”

“Sir, I appreciate you and your lady coming by to make nice, but if there's been a screwup here, we all know it's not
your
screwup.”
And what's the deal with your pillows?
she wanted to add, but managed to stop herself in time.

“Ah…yes. About that. Rica, I would beg you to never think I wish any harm to befall you, but—”

“You don't have to explain, King Sekal. Your son made a promise and then tried to get out of it. I imagine it's doubly bad if you're a prince and you try to shirk duty.”

“Yes,” he said simply. “It is doubly bad.”

“But see, the thing is—I'm glad you came by, because I want to make sure we're all clear—the thing is, when I get over being mad at the big cabbage-head, I'm going to want to be with him. After I beat him severely. Possibly more than once. So I better fight. What I mean to say is, I'm
going
to fight.”

“Dear, are you sure—”

Sekal cut her off, and Rica could see how that surprised Gladys. The old guy must feel pretty strongly about what was coming. “Rica, this is how I know you are already my daughter-by-mating. You do not ‘shirk.' I am filled with pride to hear you speak thusly. But I must not set aside my concern for the new princeling—”

“Or princessling,” Gladys added.

“Yes. Do I understand correctly, your dam was from my land?”

“Yes, sir. She fell through a thin spot and mated with my dad, and they had me.”

“Then perhaps you know a bit of what would be required of you at a Groomfight. It is not to the death, of course, but you would have to physically triumph over those whose dams
and
sires came from here, and that I fear—”

“Sekal,” she interrupted—and now
he
looked surprised. She figured not a lot of people cut off the king. “Can I tell you something? You and Gladys? Something secret?”

S
hakar took a deep breath and paused outside the room where his family was breaking the fast. He had—how did Lois put it? “Screwed the pooch,” that was it, that was the term for an error—several errors—of abysmal judgment. His father thought he was a coward, and worse, Rica thought he was a coward. Worse even than that, his baby was in danger.

He had not honestly gone to Rica's world—not that he had had much say in where he went, or ended up—to avoid the Groomfight, but once there, he could not leave the woman he had searched for his entire life. He should have explained to Rica that they missed—he thought they missed—the event, which would have been personally embarrassing for his father, among other things.

His surprise to find he was mistaken was matched only by his horror when he realized that, in due accordance with tradition, Rica would have to fight.

Well. She would not fight, and that was how it must be. If it meant banishment, exile from the hot sands and cool purple sky he loved, then so be it.

He flung the curtain aside and strode in manfully, ready to repair the damage he had wrought through carelessness. Rica should not pay the price for his mistakes; he would see to that, at least.

“—and then splat! Out of the sky he comes. Almost on top of me, thanks very much.”

“Truly?” The king, Shakar was amazed to see, was hanging on Rica's every word, as were Damon, Maltese, Maltese's woman, Lois, and Gladys.

“Yeah, but he can haul a
lot
of wood, so he sort of redeemed himself. You know, until lately,” she added in a mutter.

“You've got to have another one of these jobbies,” Lois said, passing Rica a plate overloaded with ghannas. “They're like a cross between a pear and a strawberry, except five times as sweet. And juicy! They gave you a bunch of napkins, right?”

“Lois, I'm stuffed. I'm gonna pop like a squished grape if you keep feeding me.”

“Well, you gotta feed the baby. And one thing about this place—they don't have sunscreen but the food rocks.”

Anne swallowed then cleared her throat. “When are you due, Rica?”

“I've got a long ways to go, Loo. I—”

“I'm sorry to interrupt, but my name is Anne, despite what you've heard. Loo is—” She cut her gaze to the left, where Maltese was grinning at his plate and finishing the last of his meal. “—a private nickname. But you were saying about your due date…”

“As best as I can figure—”

“I have come,” Shakar declared, “to make amends with all.”

They looked at him, Maltese still chewing. Shakar knew from a lifetime of experience that only the threat of war would keep Maltese from breaking his fast in the morning and possibly not even that—hadn't Lois said something about a fight with the dark travelers?

“Oh,” Rica said after a silence that seemed, to him, to take a very long time to be broken. “It's you.”

“Yes, it is I. I must—”

“You must sit down and eat, dear,” his future mother-by-mating said gently. “Have you eaten a thing since you got back? You must be starving.”

He glanced at Gladys, possibly the only member of the family who did not wish him dead, and found a smile. “As a matter of fact, I am most hungry. But that is not why I—”

“Then sit down, dumb-ass,” Lois told him. “Before Rica eats it all.”

“Oh, I like
that.
Here you've been jamming all this food down my throat like someone was paying you by the hour—”

“Ah, the good old days. Minimum wage, no benefits.”

He sat. “I do not think you are understanding my purpose here this morning. I—”

“Was a total big loser,” Lois said, “and you shouldn't forgive me, but if you
do
forgive me, I'll make it up to you with gobs of oral sex.”

Gladys and Anne blushed to their hairlines; Rica laughed out loud. It was a fine sound and almost distracted him.

“I—”

“—have my father's temper and, occasionally, his poor manners, but I am not a bad man.”

“Father—my king—”

“In case you haven't figured it out—my God, boy, you're slow—”

“No,” Gladys said. “Just stubborn.” Somehow, when she said it, it did not seem like a matter to take offense over. In fact, it seemed as if all of them had decided not to take offense, which was beyond belief, because—

“Look, you screwed up, and I'm not saying I got over my mad-on, because I'm still pretty pissed. But we've all got jobs to do, and we'll do them, and we'll go on from there.”

“Jobs to do?” Rica was right; he
was
slow. His father must have gone to her and tried to explain his position, and she of course explained that she would—“No, Rica! No! You must not fight! You—”

“Shakar—”

“No!
I forbid it! We will leave
at once.
We will not return whilst this hangs over our heads. We—”

“—will be exiled?” Rica asked quietly. She had folded her fingers together to make a tent and now rested her chin on the top of the tent. She did not smell angry, only tired. “You'll lose everything, Shakar. Everything.”

“Not everything,” he replied.

“My son, sit down.” His father had come to him, had hurried to his side, and Shakar was surprised to find himself on his feet; he must have leapt up when he shouted. He allowed his father to press him into a seat and accepted his pattings. “I was foolish not to see this for what it was last sunround. I assumed the worst and did you a sorry turn. But now listen: Rica has a stronger grasp, in this, than you do. She must do this for you, for the baby, and for herself. By doing this, she wins her mate rightfully, and secures a home for her infant. And word is spreading.
Think,
my good son. Everyone is talking about the strong dark mate you returned with; your care for her wellness is obvious. Who will risk the wrath of a prince? I am certain they will ‘put on a show,' as my Gladys says, and then it will be over.”

“But I can't—she can't—Sire, I cannot allow this thing.”

Rica looked at him from the other end of the long table. She popped a kumkoss in her mouth and said, “Honey, what makes you think any of this is up to you?”