Alien Romance: RAYER: Space Warrior's Mail Order Bride (Space Beasts Book 2) by Alyssa Ezra Page B
Authors: Alyssa Ezra
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whipped up to meet his own.
“The whole city has been on edge waiting. The rites will be held this afternoon. According to the guard posts, the citizens are already making their way to the shield. It is expected and it would be inconsiderate to put off the ceremony another day.”
“Yes father,” Rayer gave in.
*
Cole could tell that her alien was giving into his father, but she ignored the byplay. She had assumed that things would happen quickly once they had arrived. Instead, she covertly kept her focus on the other two members of the Royal family. Where they stood, behind everyone else, apparently they felt safe enough to allow their true feelings to play across their faces. From what Cole could see, they hated Rayer. As in, they quite probably wished him dead, hated him.
As she stared at her reflection in the mirrored glass, a couple of old women dressed her in robes the color of old minted gold. Each layer was adorned with subtle embroidery. They had tried to convince Cole to wear a much more flamboyant set, but had backed off when it became apparent that she was not willing to dress herself in a manner that made her think of the twentieth-century circus clowns.
The pleated lapels of what appeared to be the top layer – I refuse to wear this much on a day-to-day basis! – sat, flared, over her breasts. Then the women turned their fussing to her hair. They seemed at a loss of what to do with the untamable mass of curls. After they got two combs stuck in her hair, Cole brushed their hands away and went about first detangling the combs. After she had successfully extracted the implements papilla torture, she gathered her hair together, and wove the spearing, decorative picks into the mass.
The women seemed to realize that the hair of a mixed race Earthling was not always manageable. As far as Cole had seen, the most riotous hair native to the planet had found its home on Prince Rayer’s head. Compared to Cole’s, the man’s dark tumbling mane was as tame as a robo-pet.
Finally, the women, who hadn’t cared to or didn’t feel it was their place to have a conversation with her, quit their adjusting, straightening, tugging and prodding. They stepped away, and Cole glanced back at the mirror. She stared silently, thinking how far she had come from a stained blouse and the cheapest non-slips on the market.
Cole figured that since her feet were bare, they would remain so, but when a soft chime sounded one woman bustled to grab a last item from the large trunk that had held all of the robes. In her hand were a delicate pair of slippers, Cole could see that there wasn’t a single hope that they would fir her feet. Each of her dressers took a slipper and crouched in front of her. They lifted the layers of golden silk out of the way but when the first tried to force the slipper she held onto Cole’s right foot they were forced to face reality.
“Oh…” one of the women began.
“I could have told you that there was no way that they would fit.”
“We have nothing else available,” the other lamented.
“Wait,” interrupted the first, “The High Queen’s wedding slippers?”
“I am not going in there; we have all heard her ranting and raving these last many days.”
“Not the Second Queen’s! The High Queen Arati’s. I know that they are larger than standard – The High Prince takes after his mother.” For a moment, the two women crouched at Cole’s feet and silently seemed to debate. Finally, the one given to panicking responded.
“But, where are the slippers?” Her whisper barely made it past the swaths of silk to Cole’s ears.
“I think the High Prince has them in the tower.”
“There isn’t time!”
“There is if you get one of the boys to run!” Both women stood and the more rational woman took Cole by the arm and
“The whole city has been on edge waiting. The rites will be held this afternoon. According to the guard posts, the citizens are already making their way to the shield. It is expected and it would be inconsiderate to put off the ceremony another day.”
“Yes father,” Rayer gave in.
*
Cole could tell that her alien was giving into his father, but she ignored the byplay. She had assumed that things would happen quickly once they had arrived. Instead, she covertly kept her focus on the other two members of the Royal family. Where they stood, behind everyone else, apparently they felt safe enough to allow their true feelings to play across their faces. From what Cole could see, they hated Rayer. As in, they quite probably wished him dead, hated him.
As she stared at her reflection in the mirrored glass, a couple of old women dressed her in robes the color of old minted gold. Each layer was adorned with subtle embroidery. They had tried to convince Cole to wear a much more flamboyant set, but had backed off when it became apparent that she was not willing to dress herself in a manner that made her think of the twentieth-century circus clowns.
The pleated lapels of what appeared to be the top layer – I refuse to wear this much on a day-to-day basis! – sat, flared, over her breasts. Then the women turned their fussing to her hair. They seemed at a loss of what to do with the untamable mass of curls. After they got two combs stuck in her hair, Cole brushed their hands away and went about first detangling the combs. After she had successfully extracted the implements papilla torture, she gathered her hair together, and wove the spearing, decorative picks into the mass.
The women seemed to realize that the hair of a mixed race Earthling was not always manageable. As far as Cole had seen, the most riotous hair native to the planet had found its home on Prince Rayer’s head. Compared to Cole’s, the man’s dark tumbling mane was as tame as a robo-pet.
Finally, the women, who hadn’t cared to or didn’t feel it was their place to have a conversation with her, quit their adjusting, straightening, tugging and prodding. They stepped away, and Cole glanced back at the mirror. She stared silently, thinking how far she had come from a stained blouse and the cheapest non-slips on the market.
Cole figured that since her feet were bare, they would remain so, but when a soft chime sounded one woman bustled to grab a last item from the large trunk that had held all of the robes. In her hand were a delicate pair of slippers, Cole could see that there wasn’t a single hope that they would fir her feet. Each of her dressers took a slipper and crouched in front of her. They lifted the layers of golden silk out of the way but when the first tried to force the slipper she held onto Cole’s right foot they were forced to face reality.
“Oh…” one of the women began.
“I could have told you that there was no way that they would fit.”
“We have nothing else available,” the other lamented.
“Wait,” interrupted the first, “The High Queen’s wedding slippers?”
“I am not going in there; we have all heard her ranting and raving these last many days.”
“Not the Second Queen’s! The High Queen Arati’s. I know that they are larger than standard – The High Prince takes after his mother.” For a moment, the two women crouched at Cole’s feet and silently seemed to debate. Finally, the one given to panicking responded.
“But, where are the slippers?” Her whisper barely made it past the swaths of silk to Cole’s ears.
“I think the High Prince has them in the tower.”
“There isn’t time!”
“There is if you get one of the boys to run!” Both women stood and the more rational woman took Cole by the arm and
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