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She looked at him. “If that is the cover story for why I am here, I can get behind it. But we hadn’t discussed how to explain me, and I don’t want to embarrass Syar.”
Reynaldo smiled. “Buckle up, Venetia. We are about to land, and it is a short runway.”
She capped her water bottle, set it on the table, and buckled up.
The attendant took the empty and partially consumed bottle and nodded. “We are landing.”
Ven felt them dropping, and Syar buckled up, reaching for her hand. She held his hand carefully and felt his thumb rub the back of her hand. The plane shook and descended fast. The engines screamed, and she saw the island, which was surprisingly large, suddenly beneath her. Shit. She was facing backward.
The ground got close, and then the engines shrieked as they decelerated. Ven bent forward before she flopped back into the seat. “Ow.”
When they stopped, Syar unbuckled, and she did the same. He held her hand and said, “And now we drive to the hangar.”
“Oh. So, no sense in getting up.”
“Not yet.”
The plane moved across the tarmac like a wide and pointy bus.
When they were in shadow and the plane stopped, Syar smiled. “Now we can get up.”
She stood and went to ask the attendant for her carry-on.
She got the battered nylon and took it with her dark fingers.
She waited to be told where to go, and Reynaldo went first while Syar gestured for her to go next, and he was behind her. A man was standing next to a horse-drawn carriage, and Ven looked at Reynaldo. “You are kidding.”
Syar sighed. “My ancestors washed up and married into the local population. They brought their vehicles here later, and they still work and run on grass, so we kept them.”
The driver took her bag and handled it like it was dirty. He tucked it into the back of the carriage and bowed to Syar. “Welcome home, Your Majesty.”
Syar was handed up into the carriage, and Reynaldo reached for her hand. “Come on, Venetia. Time to head home.”
She took his hand, and the carriage driver looked at Reynaldo’s hand when she got into the vehicle. She looked at her hands, folded them up, and tucked them inside her jacket. They looked dirty. She knew it. She sighed.
Syar was excited, and when Reynaldo quirked a brow at her, she shook her head and stared out of the carriage. The island was beautiful, volcanic, and extremely warm. It was also larger than she had imagined.
“So, we have an emerald mine here.” Syar smiled and then sighed. “That is why there are fairly constant attempts on my life. Well, more like attempts on custody of me. As king, I control how many emeralds we release each year and of which quality.”
“Oh. Geez. Do I have to go through customs or something?” She bit her lip as they left the airport.
“No. We registered you with immigration.”
She swallowed. “Okay. As what?”
Syar smiled. “My emotional support beta.”
She watched the locals, and Syar was right. They didn’t wear much. Natural-fibre skirts and trousers were worn by men and women equally. Women wore a simple band around their breasts and not much else. No matter the skin tone, everyone was dressed, or undressed, the same.
She took off her jacket and folded it over her hands. It really was hot as balls.
It was laughable how few clothes she had that would be appropriate for this place. She needed a new wardrobe before she melted.
Syar touched her cheek. “Venetia, are you melting?”
She looked at him seriously. “My clothes won’t work here.”
“That is why wardrobe is in your contract. We don’t wear much, so it won’t be pricey if that is what you are worried about.”
