Page 36 of You're Not My King!

And treasure every part.

REUBEN

There was a small figurine on the furs beside my head when I woke. A gift, I suspected. An adorable bug-like creature carved from the same sheer black stone as the aliens’ weapons. I sat up, turning the piece over in my hands and marveling at each delicately chipped, fine detail. The craftsmanship was similar to the table—the little marking on the bottom gave it away—just using a different raw material.

Had Vo’ak carved both?

I’d spent the last few days with the doc, learning everyone’s names—and how to actually pronounce them—as well as a few phrases in Ly’zrd that I’d probably forget by the time it came to use them. I wasn’t avoiding Vo’ak. Not on purpose, anyway. I had enjoyed showing him how to crochet, just spending time in his presence without choking on the cloying levels of sexual tension. He’d let me talk and talk, even though he didn’t understand. It was better that way, because I didn’t trust him, not totally, but even keeping my cards close, it felt good to relax for a minute. To air out my woes for a silent witness. It was like he knew what I needed—to get those surface issues I’d locked away and ignored for so long off my chest—and had no qualms about giving it to me.

It was… nice.

That being said, I didn’t want to distract him from his kingly duties, so I’d retreated again—or that was what I was telling myself. I definitely hadn’t felt nervous about the shift in our interactions and run away. Oh, no, that wasn’t like me at all. Insert blank face here.

Was that why he was sending me gifts? Was it his way of coaxing me back to him? Or maybe it was just some kind of alien courting ritual—instead of flowers, I got a carving? Either way, it was a sweet gesture, and that wasn’t something I ever thought I’d know again.

I flipped the figure over in my palm once more, studying it. The creature looked vaguely like a beetle, just cuter, and—though immortalized in stone—fuzzier with a longer antenna. It was intricate, and had clearly taken time and effort, so I couldn’t in good conscience not confront Vo’ak about it. Or thank him. I felt slightly awkward going to see him empty handed, but it was better not to wait and let him stew, convincing himself that I hated it.

For some reason, that thought made my stomach roil.

I threw on the new fur-lined shirt and pants the doc had traded some potions for with another clan. They had a seamstress, and that was who Fiona often picked up her own clothes from since she never fancied walking around half-naked, and she’d thought I’d appreciate the same. I did. A lot. They were warm, and it felt good to be totally covered up instead of walking around exposed to the elements. They also fit better than the belted knapsack, so that was a bonus.

I combed my fingers through my hair, slicking the curtain bangs out of my eyes. The grease helped with that, and it made me painfully aware that I hadn’t bathed in a few days. I should probably get on that. I didn’t feel like being dubbed a stinker now that the uggo title had been revoked.

Leaving the hut, I went in search of my husband—it kinda made the whole ‘don’t wanna distract him from his duties’ a redundant thought, but we’d just ignore that detail. Vo’ak would likely be hanging around the war tent. It was his favorite spot when he wasn’t sleeping beside me. It was the place where the ‘elders’ and, sometimes, other chiefs gathered to talk about planet-related stuff. Apparently. I’d never been inside, and never really asked more about it, so I couldn’t say for sure if it was as innocent as Fiona had claimed, or if sacrifices were being held in there or not. Either was a possibility. I mean, it was all very medieval, having a certain hut at the edge of camp for discussing trade, successions for the chiefdoms and the general future of the people, so a shrine for the Ly’zrd gods probably wouldn’t be that far-fetched.

There were a few raised voices filtering from the tent as I approached, but nothing that made my self-preservation instincts kick in. There was a specific tone, an icy, emotionless command, that seemed to raise my hackles, but thankfully, I hadn’t heard it here. Yet. I couldn’t hear Vo’ak’s satiny rumble either, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t in there, manspreading over a stool for a bunch of his biggest supporters, smirking like the devil.

My belly did an involuntary flip at the mental image, and before I could talk myself out of it, I ducked inside, following the shadows.

No one seemed to notice my presence at first, too busy arguing among themselves over something I’d probably never know about. At least there were no sacrifices happening, but maybe I was early? There was no altar, and no other furniture apart from the large slab of stone sitting in the middle of the room with stools positioned around it—most of them filled. Vo’ak was at the head of the table in a slightly larger, throne-like seat as Zae’l stood at his side, looking bored.

And I had been correct. My alien was manspreading.

Christ, have mercy.

I was kinda surprised that this dude had been able to sense me from literal space, but couldn’t detect me as I lingered several feet away, probably stinking of low-grade, unwashed arousal. Unless he was just so used to my scent that he’d stopped reacting. Who knew? I took a step forward, intending to catch his gaze at the right moment, but as soon as my foot crunched in the sand, my alien’s eyes flipped to me, widening in disbelief. It was barely a second later that the others clocked his reaction, dead silence falling over the group as every face turned to me, scowling.

Awkward much?

I was a deer caught in headlights, frozen to the spot, but somehow, I still managed to slowly raise a hand—as an offer of peace or a wave, I wasn’t sure. “Um… Greetings?”

Zae’l snorted, clearly amused by my fumbling, and a few of the others started whisper-bickering among themselves—as if I could understand them anyway, no matter the pitch. Vo’ak barked something to his right hand, who nodded, before standing with all the grace of a king and crossing the room to me. He didn’t look mad, not at me, so I let myself be guided outside by his warm, heavy hand on my back.

I guessed I’d fucked up somehow. Disturbed something important or broken one of their many unspoken rules.

I would just plead ignorance.

“Sorry, I didn’t?—”

“Roo-bin?” He cut me off, his fingers tilting my chin up. His mismatched eyes scanned my face for any clues as to why I was there. “Something wrong?”

Why was my heart always doing some stupid little dancey-dance?

“Nothing wrong,” I said, dislodging my face from his grip so I could fish the carving from my pocket and hold it up to him. “Did you make this? For me?”

Vo’ak’s shoulders visibly relaxed—I hadn’t realized they were even tense—and he nodded. “For you, Roo-bin.”

My lips curved into a faint smile without permission, so I ducked my head to hide it. “Thank you. It’s nice.”

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