Page 19 of Alien From Exile

“The wedding fantasies of my youth typically involved devastating my family’s expectations by running off to Las Vegas on a motorcycle with some tattooed psycho,” I say with a shrug. His eyes widen in confusion. “But I couldn’t care less. I’ll wear whatever, say whatever, play my part however you’d like.”

“Tattoos… Well, there is body painting,” he points out. “Would you like to invite your family? I can devastate them as much as you’d like. You’d be surprised by how psychotic I can be.”

“That’s very sweet of you, but I think it’ll be more devastating if my dad sees my wedding playing on the news cycle without any advance notice. It might even give him a heart attack.”

Mak squints. “Sometimes I can’t tell if you’re joking. You hate him that much?”

“When I landed on EC-12, I got a call from him. You wanna know what he had to say to me?” I put on my best impression of the miserable old fart. “Where the hell have you been? Oh, well, the whole damn Alliance has been looking for you. If you weren’t such a lunatic, you wouldn’t be in these situations. He thought it was the perfect excuse to get me back to Earth and start behaving how he’d like.”

I let out a snort of derisive laughter but stop short when I see Mak’s face. I tend to forget that people with normal families don’t find it funny. That was always something that united Raina, Kaye, and I—we had nothing and no one worth missing on Earth. We made our own family together. Having someone pay attention to my feelings was something they taught me.

The king is at a loss for words, less composed than I’ve seen him so far.

“Wasn’t he worried about you?” Mak asks.

I shrug. “In his own way. But he’s never seen me as anything more than a reflection on his precious reputation.”

“Then let’s shock him to death,” he says, recovering himself quickly. “Did I tell you that Kar’Kali females traditionally bare their chest? If he sees your nipples on the Alliance news banners, it would be quite the surprise, don’t you think?”

I laugh harder this time, holding my stomach as he watches with satisfaction.

“I think we’ll get along just fine,” I say.

“Let’s discuss the rest over dinner, hm?” He nods toward the door. “It’s being brought to my quarters, so will you join me?”

CHAPTER TEN

FRANKIE

Nisina is pacing outside of Mak’s quarters when we arrive. Her ears perk when she sees us.

“My little beastie is hungry,” Mak says, his voice becoming sugary sweet. The kaia’s tail starts wagging as he presses the keypad. “How rude of us to keep her waiting for her dinner.”

The rooms are much homier when viewed in daytime lighting. The lobby area I crept through has a map projected on the wall, which appears to be receiving live updates from other galaxies. I can’t read any of them, but there are scrolling Kar’Kali text bubbles appearing and disappearing on intervals. To the right and left of the main entrance there are doors that lead to guest rooms, one of which I’ve been invited to relocate to. Straight ahead are the double doors that lead to Mak’s bedroom, inlaid with swirls that interlock in metallic shades of blue and steel. Thick velvet curtains hang round the horseshoe bend of the doorframe, tucked neatly to either side. The same sort of woven swirls decorate them in the subtle brocade sheen.

It’s looks very familiar.

“The seal of House Makiva,” Mak offers when he notices my eyes lingering on the design.

He taps the door command once I’m done ogling the interior decor.

“Is there any meaning to it?” I ask as we step inside his room.

“Oh, of course. I’ve definitely forgotten half of it, but it’s something about the pillars of good leadership weaving together like warp and weft.” He threads his fingers together to demonstrate, then shrugs a shoulder. “Duty. Humility. So on and so forth.”

On the opposite side of the room, a black shade has been pulled from the ceiling to politely hide the bed. The soft glow of a lamp behind the divider turns it into a pretty backdrop by illuminating star-like pinpricks that scatter across it.

In the far corner, there’s a tray piled with raw meat. Nisina trots straight for it and happily goes to town on her own dinner.

“Never get between her and a meal,” Mak says when he notices my amusement.

“Come, sit.”

Mak leads me toward the conversation pit at the center, where cozy woven blankets decorate a plain circular couch. I follow him down into the entertaining space, noticing the way his hand twitches as if to offer me a hand before thinking better of it.

My stomach twists. I guess he’d like to be a gentleman, but I make that difficult.

There’s a feast set up on the low table in the middle of the conversation pit. Instead of using the seats, Mak crouches down and sits on the floor in front of it. I follow suit, surveying the selection. There’s far more food laid out than we could finish, even if Mak turns out to be a bottomless pit. There’s hearty soup and black bread—both Kar’Kali staples—along with an assortment of things I’ve never seen before. There’s meat on kebabs next to dipping assortments, piles of roasted vegetables I can’t identify, fried fish, and inexplicably pink pancakes.

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