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It’s pretty sound reasoning. “Lots of wives, huh?”
“Two dozen, last I counted.”
Dora makes an appalled sound in her throat. “What does one man need with two dozen wives?”
“Maybe he likes variety,” I joke, and both of them shoot me dirty looks. “Okay, maybe not. Sheesh. So what’s the plan here, since Jamef’s in charge?”
Jamef grunts, turning his chair ever so slightly and glancing over at his controls. “Kaatir’s expecting us. If this goes like my other visits, he’s going to invite us to dinner first. He’s an old male with nothing but women around him, so he’s going to want to have dinner so he can tell me all about his glory days and make himself sound impressive. Once I’ve listened to his stories and been appropriately impressed with his importance, we’ll get down to business. I figure with all the females he has there, maybe we can get some clothes for Dora, too. You need anything, Bethiah?”
“I’m good, thanks. So this friend of yours, he’ll be fine with you bringing a human with you?”
Jamef rubs his ear. “He knows I’ve got two mates with me.”
Something about that statement seems off to me. I narrow my eyes at him. “Is he going to think you’re setting up your own little harem like he is?”
He grimaces. “Possibly. But it’ll keep Dora safe at least.”
“This is starting to sound troubling,” Dora says.
And by “troubling,” I’m sure she means “annoying.” Because if this old codger thinks he needs two dozen wives, he probably also thinks that they’re lesser creatures. I’m going to guess that he’s some old wizened praxiian that thinks his ego needs to be stroked by having weaker female counterparts. I’d bet credits that he doesn’t have a single mesakkah “wife” in the lot. I’m guessing they’re all ooli and avian and szzt, races that tend to be on the more submissive side.
It’ll probably be best for Jamef if I act sweet and defenseless and…well, like Dora. Just wide-eyed and cock-loving and worshipful. Of course, Jamef won’t know what to do with that.
Which means it’ll be fun. “Well,” I say brightly. “If we’re going to be the cute little wifeys, I suppose we should dress for the part. Come on, Dora. We need to get ready.”
“We do?” she asks, skeptical.
“Oh yes. Don’t worry, Jamef. Your females will make sure they don’t embarrass you.” My voice is syrupy sweet.
“Kef me,” he groans. “This is going to be bad, isn’t it?”
However bad he thinks it’s going to be? I’m going to make it so much worse. This should be fun…at least, fun for me. And Jamef will sweat metal because he won’t know what I’m going to do next.
And it’ll get my mind off of the state of our triad.
Fifty
BETHIAH
Dora makes an adorable wife. Of course she does. She’s all big eyes and pretty yellow hair that I bind into a braid and tuck under the hood of her cloak.
“Do you know this guy?” she asks me as we dress in long gowns that cover every bit of exposed skin. She has to borrow one of mine because her clothing choices are severely lacking, and I use my knife to hack off the skirt until it rests at her ankles.
“I do not,” I tell her. “But I’ve met males like him. Some think that because they live on the edge of space, they can set themselves up as small-time kings of their own little empire. They buy a bunch of downtrodden females and make them miserable. I like to think they’re usually compensating for something.”
Dora chuckles and wiggles her pinky finger at me, which makes me snort with amusement. Smart human.
“At any rate, stay close to Jamef and especially to me. I’ll make sure you’re safe. Don’t go anywhere unless I’m with you. Not even to the lavatory.”
She nods and holds her hand out. “Can we hold hands?”
“Ugh, fine.” So needy. I hate that I actually like it.
Dora gazes up at me, her expression thoughtful. I know that look. It means we’re about to have a talk about our feelings. “Bethiah…”
“Nope,” I say. “Not right now.”
She frowns. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“Oh, yes I do. You’re going to talk about emotions and last night and there’s nothing that needs to be said.” I take a step back, studying her dress. “I think we can fit a blaster at the back of your belt, but you have to promise not to shoot off your non-existent tail.”
Dora flexes the hand she’s still holding out (and I’m ignoring), closing it and opening it again repeatedly in a way that makes it obvious she won’t relax until I put my hand in hers.
Biting back a sigh—such a demanding fluffit—I slip my fingers into her grasp. “Happy now?”
She squeezes my hand and gazes up at me. “I just want you to know that we can go slow for you, too. I know we mentioned going super slow for me, but I’m really fine. It’s you that I worry about.”
