Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“No, no, no.”
Norabi huffs, her elegant claws fussing with the neckline of my new gown. She plucks the gaping V-neck open, settling it to display the tops of my nipples against the golden fabric.
I’m told the metallic color is “most auspicious” since, apparently, the Roktusian equivalent of actual gold has been impossible to find for centuries.
Mortana told me that when she and Norabi came to dress me for the day.
The elder female also pointed out the threads of gold in my hair and eyes, labeling them “optimistic omens.”
Both females were endless fonts of information as they shooed me into a new dress. So much so, I had to wonder if perhaps Cylus took someone to task over my lack of Roktusian knowledge.
Like, apparently, their fondness for a good nip-slip.
“Uhhhh,” I protest oh-so-eloquently. “What the fuck?”
Mortana frowns in confusion, but Norabi sighs again. “I’ve told you: all the palace staff have uploaded your language files. You must stop using the word for copulation, unless you wish for a passing alpha to mount you.”
I recall the sight of Rask, hunched over my half-bare body. His features slack with bliss. Wings snapping while he groaned his release and came all over yesterday’s robe.
“Y-yeah,” I reply. “We wouldn’t want that.”
Norabi can definitely tell I’m lying. Suspicious silver eyes narrow on my face as she gives a wary hum. “Just so. There’s no time for dallying, I’m afraid. You have a full schedule.”
That seems impossible, considering I only landed on this damn planet three days ago. Although, this dress most definitely looks like it’s fit for some sort of occasion.
Which reminds me.
“I can’t show my nipples,” I state, tucking my boobs into the dress. It’s toga-style, assembled from whisper-thin drapes of fabric, held together by a gold belt at the waist.
The last solid gold belt in the world, according to Mortana.
So that’s subtle.
Norabi sets her hands on her slim hips. “The people of Khanos will expect you to look like us in some way. Pink is a common skin tone here. Your teats are the only part of you that is a familiar color.”
“Aside from your cunt,” Mortana adds blithely. “But Cylus assured me humans are dreadfully prudish about displaying such things.”
Stunned speechless, I let my mouth hang open as Norabi finishes her adjustments, stepping back with a hearty nod. “Perfect,” she determines, then reaches for my wrist. “Hurry along.”
I remain rooted to the center of the—my?—room. Still too dumbfounded to do much aside from bumble, “W-what about shoes?”
The females look at one another and then back at me. “What?” Mortana asks.
“Shoes,” I repeat, sticking out one foot. Flexing my useless toes and trying not to think of Cylus’s salted scent. “To protect my feet?”
They exchange another troubled glance. Norabi finally reacts, waving off my concern and ushering me toward the door, assuring me that no one on Khanos feels the need to wear “foot coverings.”
Mortana follows us out, muttering a lament. “Humans are terribly bizarre.”
I step out of the safety of my chamber’s entryway, a bolt of apprehension streaking down my spine. Cool air touches my chest, reminding me of my exposed nipples and the open sides of the “gown.”
“Yeah,” I mumble back, grateful the aliens don’t seem to think I’m capable of sarcasm. “Terribly bizarre.”
I really have to stop thinking things can’t get much worse.
Because it turns out, in addition to being abducted, selected, humped by a giant pink male with bat wings, and paraded around with my boobs half out, I’m also going to be dining with the king of the planet.
For every meal.
Roktusians eat twice a day, Mortana explained. Once to “break their fast” and again in the late afternoon. That meal is “collective.” Whatever that means.
But for now, as the third sun finally makes its way over the horizon to join its sisters, I find myself in a breathtakingly large dining room.
It’s more like a terrace, actually. Or an atrium.
The pastel blue stone that makes up the rest of the palace is sparser in this area.
Just thin pillars for structural support, each with not-glass stretched between them.
All the way from the floor to the ceiling.
Beyond that, actually, because the roof is also a series of membranes, stained in various shades to match the suns.
Clear, pink, and aqua, each tinting the lavender sky above.
I tilt my head back as Norabi sweeps ahead of me, relaying a series of instructions in their rhotic language. The attendants stationed on the far side of the space snap to attention, scurrying to do her bidding.
I barely manage to tear my eyes from the view surrounding us.
It’s a lot like the one in my room, but so much bigger.
Here, we’re at ground level—showcasing an array of alarmingly unfamiliar plants, all growing from the iridescent soil shimmering under the planet’s three suns.
Most of them are shades of grayish blue and dusty rose, all swirling and rounded.
That isn’t even the weirdest part, though.
“Is this… a dining hall?” I balk, taking in the enormous table filling its center. It’s made from a silver sort of metal, polished to a gleam. Absolutely laden with platters of stuff.
I don’t know if I would call any of it food, but…
Norabi waves a dismissive hand. “It’s just the morning room. The Zortaire prefers it because it’s more intimate, or some other such nonsense.”
Right. Because he’s in charge of everything around here. And if he says I have to wear a gold gown with my nipples hanging out while eating unidentifiable substances in the morning room—
Well. Here I am.
How did I allow this? I’m usually much more stubborn. At the very least, I could have demanded the man—male?—invite me to breakfast himself. Instead of sending his handmaidens, or whatever.
Why do I want to follow his directions?
Because you want to please him, that new, annoying whisper informs me.
Which…
I can’t even get into right now.
Because, suddenly, we aren’t alone.