A good man.
I try to cling to that thought. Malav is his closest military advisor after all; he would know best what kind of person the prince is.
Several women whisper “thanks” or “good luck” to me as they file past, and I resist the urge to tell them not to thank me yet. For all they know, I’ll put my foot in my mouth so badly that Khrelan will kick us all off Kalix.
Finally, the heavy doors shut with a thud, and I realize the room is completely empty except for me and the prince. I feel tiny, standing in the large space looking at him up on his throne, and my heart pounds like mad in my chest.
What is he going to say?
Am I supposed to speak first?
What’s the protocol here?
I wouldn’t have known what on earth to do in front of human royalty back on Earth, but at least I would have had some idea of what was expected. Alien royalty is entirely beyond me.
A few beats pass, both of us frozen in place for a long moment. Then Khrelan stands gracefully, descending the few steps to the polished floor and the long, forest-green runner that stretches the length of it.
“Would you like a tour of the palace, Emma?” he asks, his tone cool and formal. “I’d be happy to show you around your new, temporary home.”
“I would love that,” I tell him sincerely, my curiosity about the palace winning out over my nervousness.
Temporary.
That’s the word I should keep in mind. This is all temporary. Another part of the adventure, but not something that will last. Whatever interest the prince has taken in me is purely academic.
But that doesn’t seem to stop my skin from feeling as if it’s lighting up when he gently places his hand on my lower back, guiding me out of the throne room to a side door that leads out into the palace. I suppress the shiver of pleasure that threatens to go down my spine. His hand is broad and warm, and somehow the pressure of it on my back feels right, almost soothing. When he lets go of me to open the door, I miss it.
Don’t be an idiot. He’s just being gentlemanly.
“Have you always lived here?” I ask as he leads me down a hallway. It has a similar floor of dark polished wood, with the forest-green carpet runner edged in gold running down the length of it. On my left are tall arched windows that let the sunlight stream in, bordered by heavy drapes of the same forest-green. The hallway is all light, the dark wood of the walls glowing in it, and stretched along the wall to my right are portraits elegantly done in some kind of vibrant paint.
If the question sounds silly, he doesn’t let on. “I was born here,” he says smoothly. He stops in front of a tall painting of a man who looks much like him, right down to the handsome, angular face, the dark curving horns, and the intense blue eyes. “This is my father, the prince of Kalix before me. And his father, and his father before him,” he continues, gesturing down the line of paintings. “The princes and lords of Kalix, here in this hallway.”
“They’re beautiful,” I whisper. “The paintings, I mean,” I add quickly. “Very well done.”
I see the corners of Khrelan’s lips twitch as he looks down at me. “There are plenty more. The royal family does like to commemorate our lineage.”
“Not so different from ours, then,” I say with a laugh.
He looks at me curiously. “You lived in a monarchy?”
“Well, no, not exactly.” We continue down the hallway, and I try to explain, gesturing as I speak. It’s easier to ignore my shyness when I can explain something. The benefit of having read every book I could get my hands on is that I have plenty of knowledge, both useful and trivial, and it helps me forget how nervous I am.
“There are lots of different countries on Earth, all autonomous,” I say. “The one I lived in has a president, and he doesn’t have total power. There are senators and stuff who have to approve things. And then there’s another country that does have a monarchy. It’s ruled by a queen, but she doesn’t have a lot of power anymore either. She has a Parliament who makes most of the decisions.” I press my lips together, realizing that I’m rambling a bit. “There aren’t really many absolute monarchies left, except in the Middle East.”
Khrelan frowns. “But there were, once?”
I shrug. “A long time ago. Now the power is a lot more spread out, so one man or woman can’t make all the decisions unilaterally, on their own, without the input of a lot of others to balance it out.”
He appears to be considering that for a long moment as we walk.
“I can see how that might have its benefits,” he says finally, and I let out a long breath. I didn’t expect to get into a discussion about the virtues of monarchy right off the bat. I was afraid for a minute that I might have offended him. “For the ruler, as well as the ruled,” he adds with a small smirk, and I see the first glimpse of humor in his eyes.
I nod, suddenly finding it a little hard to speak as his gaze catches mine. “I get that.”
“I have advisors,” he continues. “But the decisions are always mine. The rule is mine, and the consequences are mine to live with as well.”
The humor drains from his face, and he suddenly looks older. The heaviness in his eyes makes me want to reach out and touch him, to comfort him somehow. I think about what I know of Kalix’s history, of the attack by the Orkun, and I wonder if he ruled then or if his father still did.
Was Khrelan in charge when half their population was wiped out, or was it simply left to him to try to pull his people out of the wreckage?
I don’t ask. I don’t know him well enough, and I don’t want to overstep. “How long have you been the ruler?” I ask instead, hoping it might give me some insight without prying too much.
“Since I was twelve,” he says simply, pushing open an intricately carved wooden door. “Here, let me show you the gardens.”
He’s changing the subject, I can tell. There’s no anger in his voice, but there’s a cool detachment that makes it clear that topic is closed.
Khrelan moves past me as he opens the door wider, and I’m suddenly intimately aware of how close he is to me. He’s an imposing physical presence, at least a foot taller than me. I can feel the heat of his body as he brushes past, smell the scent clinging to his skin and clothes. It’s some sort of warm, spicy scent. Not sweet like the oil that the warriors wear, but something that makes me think of a warm room with a fireplace in the winter, like a glass of spiced whiskey with cider.
It sends another of those pleasurable shivers down my spine, and I swallow hard as he holds the door open for me, inviting me to follow him into the next room. The moment we’re inside, I stop in my tracks, my eyes going wide and my mouth dropping open.
We’re in an indoor garden, a sort of greenhouse.
It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
The massive space is entirely encased in glass, the walls rising up to arch over us, letting the sunlight stream in. There’s a huge fountain in the middle of the room, splashing over the carved, tiered stone. Bushes, plants, and flowering trees of every kind imaginable fill the room, with a winding stone path running through it all. I don’t know the names of any of the plants or flowers, but they’re beautiful, a riot of greenery and color. The garden is heavy with a sweet, warm scent.