Page 62 of Alien Prince's Fated Mate

I bit back a laugh at his expression - somewhere between offended and amused. Even Korrin’s usual dignity cracked as he examined a pair of patched boots.

“How does anyone walk in these?” He turned them over, frowning at the thin soles.

“Carefully and with lots of practice.” Denna demonstrated the characteristic shuffle-step of a rag man. “Like this. Keep your head down, shoulders slumped.”

The three Shakai warriors attempted to copy her movements. Tharon looked like he was in physical pain trying to make himself appear smaller, less commanding.

“No, no.” Denna shook her head. “You’re still walking like you own the place. Slump more.”

“This is ridiculous.” Korrin adjusted the rough fabric wrapped around his face. “How does anyone breathe in these?”

“Better than breathing in the refuse you’ll be hauling.” Mila circled him, tugging the wrappings tighter. “And keep your voice down. Rag men rarely speak above a whisper.”

“Like this?” Ashur hunched his shoulders and shambled forward in an exaggerated stoop.

“Stars above.” Mila pressed her hands to her face. “Please tell me you can do better than that.”

I watched from my perch on a wooden chest, torn between amusement and worry. These proud warriors were trying so hard to become invisible. But would it be enough?

“Again,” Denna ordered. “All of you. And this time, remember - you’re beneath notice. You’re nothing. No one wants to look at you, so give them no reason to.”

The afternoon brought new challenges as we gathered in a circle on the floor.

“One more thing,” I said, raising my hand to interrupt another round of shuffling practice. “You need to learn some Terran.”

Denna nodded. “Right. No one expects rag men to talk back, but they will bark orders and expect a response. Short and simple ones. Repeat after me,” she said. “‘Yes, master.’”

Tharon’s attempt came out more like a growl.

“Try again,” I suggested. “Less murder in your tone.”

He shot me a look that promised retribution later, but made another attempt. Better, though still not quite submissive enough.

“Now some warning phrases.” Denna pointed to the slate. “‘Guards coming.’ ‘Run.’ ‘Hide.’”

Ashur’s pronunciation turned “please help” into “please hit,” sending Mila into fits of giggles. Even Korrin cracked a smile as he accidentally propositioned a imaginary guard instead of apologizing.

But beneath the laughter lay darker currents. Every fumbled phrase could mean discovery. Every missed cue could bring disaster. I caught Tharon watching me, saw the same fears reflected in his eyes.

The inn’s back courtyard became our training ground as afternoon shadows lengthened. Denna and Mila set up mock checkpoints, drilling responses and movements until they became smoother, more natural.

“Papers?” Denna barked, doing her best guard impression.

Ashur kept his head down, thrust out the forged documents with trembling hands. Perfect. Until he started humming under his breath.

“Again!” Mila ordered. “And this time, remember you’re terrified of authority.”

“I am terrified of nothing,” he muttered in Shakai.

“Then pretend,” I suggested. “Unless you want to explain to Mila why you got caught.”

That got through. His next attempt was flawless - the proper mix of fear and subservience.

The sun slipped below the horizon, painting the courtyard in deep purple shadows. My stomach pangs suddenly reminded me we’d skipped the midday meal in favor of practice.

“Food,” Mila announced, as if reading my thoughts. “Before we all collapse from hunger.”

I caught Tharon’s hand as we filed back inside. His fingers intertwined with mine, a silent promise of protection even in this safe space. The common room buzzed with travelers’chatter, plates clinking against wooden tables, the sharp scent of roasted meat and fresh bread filling the air.

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