Page 38 of Alien Prince's Fake Bride
“I’m not afraid of that.” She takes off the big metal plate on the front of her suit, where the big Khavgren crest is embossed. Then she’s able to sit on a wooden chair. “It’s just that it’s hard to put it back on. But we’ll cross that frontline when we get to it.”
“How do you feel about the deception?” I ask carefully. “Mareliux is trying to trick your emperor.”
“No soldier is happy about this kind of thing,” Sigise admits. “But the Empire desperately needs the prince to take charge. Ifthis is the only way, an innocent and victim-less ruse is a small price to pay for it. And yourself?”
“I’m an officer too,” I tell her. “Only a lieutenant, though. But I know what you mean. I agreed to this because the prince promised to help my planet defend itself against intruders.”
“Sounds like a worthy cause,” Sigise says. “I think you both understand each other. Now, I’ve prepared the garments you requested.” She gets up and opens the chest next to her, taking out carefully folded clothing. “At the time, we didn’t know your size exactly. But this can all be adjusted.” She hands me the bundle.
I unpack it. It’s a one-piece suit in dark and lighter green, looking a great deal like the camo pattern we sometimes use in Space Force. It’s not the ideal wedding dress, but I was in a weird mood when I asked for this. I wanted to remind myself that I’m doing all this in the service of my planet and Space Force, to the point where I’m getting fake married wearing the closest thing I can get to a uniform. But this thing is almost too nice to be called that. The fabric is smooth and fine, and I can see that the seams are expertly made. The fabric flows like a liquid in my hands, a cool, silken weight that hints at both resilience and luxury. It’s a far cry from the stiff and sturdy materials of my old fatigues.
"This is perfect. Thank you.”
The greens aren't harsh or blocky like standard camouflage. Instead, they seem to meld and shift like shadows in a deep forest, a sophisticated play between deep emerald and a softer, almost jade-like hue. Yeah, I could get not married in this, no problem.
“And the boots,” Sigise says and puts them on the table.
They’re the furthest thing from military boots I could imagine. They’re a black material that’s both smooth and hard. Ankle height, they’re dainty and girly, contrasted with elegant straps and bright metal details. The two-inch heels and pointed toes add a touch of daring. They’re the footwear of a soldier who knows her worth and isn't afraid to express it — a blend of steely resolve and unapologetic flair. I’m going to look incredibly cool, like a space marine who jazzed up her outfit to be a rockstar. They’re also very light.
“I’ll suggest that we change our uniforms to this when I get home,” I exclaim.
Sigise chuckles. “I’m envious. Look at my huge clogs.” She sits down and puts her foot out.
The boots she’s wearing aren’t quite clogs, but they’re metallic, wide, and very war-like, with no thought for style.
“Order some for yourself,” I suggest. “I’d love to see you in some just like these. Can I try it all on now?”
“That’s the idea, so that we can make adjustments to it,” she says and prepares to stand up again. “I’ll wait outside.”
“No need,” I tell her and walk to the tent’s sleeping platform, which is separated from the rest of the tent by embroidered curtains. “I’ll be right out.”
I close the curtains, strip off my jumpsuit, and put on the wedding outfit. It’s quite clingy and fits me like a second skin, and it feels airy and light. This may not have been such a bad idea after all. Maybe I can ask for one in a different color, for daily use.
The boots also fit me exactly right. I marvel at that — I always have trouble finding shoes that are wide enough for my feet. But these could have been made to measure.
I step out of the sleeping cubicle. “These clothes fit perfectly. Let me guess: Bellatriz?”
“She sent very detailed measurements,” Sigise confirms, looking me up and down with a critical eye. “And very accurate, it turns out. We thought they were wrong, because they seemed so… petite. But I see now they were perfect.”
“She must have thought I only wear jumpsuits. And maybe I should. What do you think?” I spin around once.
“Very… alien,” the colonel says. “And appropriate, although somewhat revealing. Is it as comfortable as it looks?” She reaches out to pinch the fabric between two fingers.
“Probably more so,” I tell her. “A fine outfit to not get married in.”
“Feels like something is missing,” she says and detaches her sky blue cape from her armor. “Let’s try this.” She drapes the cape over my shoulders like a shawl and points to a small mirror hung on one of the side poles. “Much better. The blue is too dark, but now you look more like a bride and not only like a shock trooper.”
I think I look more like a badly lost girl with a camo suit and a shawl, hips that were always too wide, a chest that was always too small, scared eyes, and a pale face. But if this is what the prince wants, then okay. And I am wearing something blue, as the tradition demands. It can be argued that the shoes are borrowed, and the dress is new. How does that rhyme go? “I really do. Do you have something old I can wear?”
“But we’re not finished!” Sigise says and dives back into the chest. “Because I have a small selection of things you might want to use for your… umm… interesting head.” She hands me a bunch of ribbons, pieces of cloth, some things that look like big bonnets, and other things that are probably better suited to decorate Khavgren tentacled heads than my hair. “These things are all old. I collected them from our female soldiers. We’re all very excited about the prince getting married in our camp, and all the girls took part in making your outfit. Almost everyone thinks the wedding is real, I should add. And we want them to keep believing that.”
“This is very sweet of you all.” I’m able to pick out a red ribbon that fits well with the shade of blue of the cape, as well as a sliver of white, lace-like fabric that I can tie around one wrist to break up the camo green.
I look in the mirror. I still look less like a bride and more like a paratrooper about to sneak into an alien rave party.
Sigise fidgets with the sleeves of her armored suit. “Umbra, would you mind if I brought some friends in here? All girls. Just a couple. I think the prince is done inspecting the forces by now. Only if you’re comfortable with it.” She gives me a shy look. “No, actually, never mind?—”
“No, it’s fine,” I tell her. “Bring the girls. But first…” I walk up to her and embrace her. Her hard armor makes it feel like I’m hugging a giant insect. “Thank you for this. For making me feel so welcome.”
