Page 72 of You're Not My King!

My task when I wasn’t the chief’s ornament was to pick berries and wash loincloths. It was unglamorous and mind-numbingly boring, but at least it wasn’t feet related and was simple enough. Fill my basket, scrub fabrics, dump the dirty water, rinse, repeat. The only perk was that I got the chance to observe the clan dynamics, figure out how everything worked and file it away to possibly use to my advantage. It was similar to my clan in that everyone had a task to carry out, but that was where the similarities ended. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that most of the people were unhappy under the asshole’s rule. It was almost as if they’d given up, just accepted their lot and got on with it. It was sad—depressing—and I hoped to fuck it didn’t rub off on me.

From what Fiona had told me, these guys were all outcasts, relatives of the aliens who had committed treason against Vo’ak’s father all those years ago. I would have been surprised if they weren’t a little resentful toward the leadership, even if it wasn’t directly Vo’ak’s fault, but that didn’t seem to be the reason for their loyalty.

It was more like… fear.

I mean, it was clear that this place hadn’t always been a dump. There was some evidence of the togetherness that my clan had—the abandoned pit for community mealtimes, the empty bathing pond—but it must have all been banned under the new chief’s rule, probably to limit the chances of rebellion. It was a shame, because the place itself really wasn’t awful. It wasn’t derelict or as bad as a banishment camp sounded. There was plenty of food, water, supplies, and space, but that didn’t change how miserable the inhabitants were.

The sooner the chief had an unplanned accident, the better for everyone, in my humble opinion.

I was rubbing dirt—or what I hoped was dirt—from one of the pelts I had in my pile, hissing as my still raw wrists stung under the water. Knowing my luck, they’d get infected and I’d end up dying of sepsis or some shit. After literally everything else, that would just be the cherry on top. I gently scrubbed at the broken skin, trying to clean it out, but it was probably too late. If only the doc was there, she’d be able to fix me up in a second.

My chest felt a little hollow.

“Hey, you.” A voice with an accent I couldn’t place rumbled from behind me. I flinched, whirling around to see Tanner loitering a few steps away, a satchel clutched in his hand. “Come o’er here and I’ll clean those for ye. You dinnae want them festering.”

I hazarded a glance up at my guard, expecting him to tell Tanner to get lost, but was pleasantly surprised when he nodded. “Be hurried.”

“Uh, thanks.” I dried my hands on the strip of cloth I had tied to my waist, and shuffled closer to Tanner as he crouched in front of me. I instinctively seized up for a sec, my mind wandering, but quickly brushed the reaction aside.

Tanner must have noticed, though, as he lowered himself to sit, now level with my eyes and no longer looming over me. “Gees yer hand.”

I offered it to him without hesitation, watching as he rummaged in the leather satchel for a bottle and clean cloth. He poured the liquid from the bottle onto the corner of the cloth and took my hand carefully before dabbing my wrist. It burned like a bitch, and I couldn’t help wincing, jerking out of his grasp.

“Ow.”

He huffed impatiently. “Do ye want my help or no?”

“Well, yeah, but it fucking hurts.”

He sighed, softening. “I’m sorry, but they need to be disinfected before I can put on ointment and dress them.”

I eyed him suspiciously, but didn’t get any vibes of ulterior motives so, tentatively, I reached out again, biting my bottom lip as he continued before moving on to the next. “Tanner, right?”

He didn’t look away from his task. “Aye.”

“I’m Reu?—”

“I know.”

I scoffed, pouting before mumbling under my breath, “Just making conversation.”

He finally glanced up at me as if I was speaking tongues. “You dinna have to.”

I sulked.

For five seconds.

“What’s the deal with this place, anyway?” I asked, testing the waters. “Why’s it so… gloomy?”

“You’ve met the chief. Answer yer own question.”

It was a vague answer, a grumpy one, even, but he wasn’t completely brushing me off, so I kept going. “But… Why doesn’t everyone just rebel? I’m sure you guys could take over easily. Why follow him if he’s such a dickhole?”

Tanner brought out a small round container and scooped the thick contents onto his fingers. “It’s complicated,” he said. “The late chief was well respected, and the clan thought to honor his memory by gee’ing his son a chance to prove himself. Apparently, he was fine at first, set on following in his da’s footsteps, but he grew paranoid, started dishing out these rules to keep everyone isolated in their own homes. The grudge he had ate away at him until all he could think about was revenge.”

Revenge on Vo’ak went unsaid, but was heavily implied.

With gentle hands, he slathered the salve onto both of my wrists, the liquid soothing the ache. “It made him dangerous, and no one dared oppose him,” Tanner continued. “There is a lot of honor among the Ly’zrd people, I’m sure you’ve noticed. It may not seem like it here ’cause everyone is following orders blindly and showing no emotion, but trust me, only the shites who guard him agree with his pish, but it’s just enough to keep us in line. That’s why there are more humans here than others clans. Not only are we free labor, but he sees us as weaker. In his eyes, we are the safe option, and everyone else just does what they can to survive, not wanting to risk provoking his wrath. He has a bloodthirsty temper, and it is… unpredictable.”

---