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“I told him in the lift that day, but he made that dismissive sound like this.” Dartan put his lips together and blew out, making a sound like “Pah!” He shook his head. “Then he said, ‘Why are you telling me as if I would care?’”
“I can ask Prince Mikol to make him leave you alone.”
“I can make him myself if I need to. He doesn’t bother me.”
The corners of a smile played at Kalen’s mouth. Dartan protested a bit too much when it came to the big Tygerian, and he blushed whenever he came into a room. He thought maybe his friend wasn’t quite as unaffected as he pretended. And he also suspected Dartan didn’t only like women, like he said he did.
Not that he acted much differently than Kalen. Whenever Prince Mikol leaned close to him or bent solicitously closer to ask him how he was, or just sat down next to him, he could feel his own heart beating faster than it should. Maybe if he were less handsome, or less kind and solicitous it would make this whole thing way less difficult. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to like the prince or be impressed by him. But he was doing this whole thing to get his throne back and get rid of his despicable uncle, and not to get a husband. He needed to remember that.
Of course, the ideas Mikol had told him about establishing a fortress along the southern borders were fucking delicious. Mainly because of how much Nerol wouldhateit, and the king’s council would be alarmed and frantic, thinking Tygeria might decide to colonize their planet. Kalen supposed it could happen, but he’d be there to see it didn’t. And in the meantime, it would be good to see the bastards on the council squirm. Everyone knew this whole betrothal thing had been Nerol’s idea to begin with—hell, he’d announced it at his installation as Regent in front of thousands. So they were getting just what they asked for and good enough for them.
He knew that Nerol never guessed Prince Mikol would bring him back home, however, to take his rightful place. He thought he could talk his way around Mikol’s objections to his being on the field with his men when he was actually back on the planet.
Now he simply had to make Mikol see that. Perhaps the humans his father and grandfather had married could help him in that regard, but he was going to insist, nonetheless. From the stories Mikol had told him, the humans seemed like strong, independent people, though he’d never actually met one before.
The door opened suddenly, and Florin sauntered in. He looked directly at Kalen, never so much as glancing in Dartan’s direction. “Your Highness, Prince Mikol would like you to dine with him this evening. You and your useless guard can come to the main dining hall whenever you’re ready. The Dyson will meet you there.”
“Thank you. Please tell the uh, Dyson, that we’ll be happy to come.”
He bowed and turned away to leave, flicking an unreadable look over at Dartan as he went.
“Gods, I hate him,” Dartan said as the door closed behind him. His face was flushed pink again. “Why did Prince Mikol send him anyway? I’m sure he has other servants.”
“Florin isn’t a servant. He’s the captain of this ship, and a good friend of Mikol’s, from what I understand. And I have no idea why he sent him. They have different ways of doing things, it seems.”
“Obviously.” He stood up restlessly. “Well, let’s go and get this over with.”
“Dartan, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I can make an excuse.”
“No, I won’t leave you while we’re on this ship. Florin’s men are animals. Some of them made kissing noises when I passed them in the passageway earlier. And one of them grabbed his crotch and leered at me.”
“They’ve never done that to me—they won’t look directly at me. In fact, if they see me coming, they go the other way.”
“That’s because they know you’re going to marry Prince Mikol, and they wouldn’t dare.”
“Well, maybe you should have taken Florin up on his offer to find you a robe. They might have thought you belonged to Captain Florin and left you alone then.”
“I’d literally rather die.”
“Suit yourself,” Kalen replied, laughing only a little at his friend. “I’m ready to go, if you are.”
Dartan stood up with a sigh. “The food will be horrible, no doubt. Maybe I can eat some bread.”
Kalen took Dartan’s arm. “Come on. We’re too far in this thing to back out now.”
They went out in the ship’s passageway and made their way down the narrow opening. This was a battle cruiser, built for speed and maneuverability and not necessarily for luxury. They came to the small lifts next to the stairs, which werenarrow and so steep they were nearly vertical. Kalen started to climb them anyway, but Dartan pulled on his arm.
“I’ll take the stairs and you ride up.” He shook his head. “No, please don’t argue, Kalen, because you know you’ll just make your prince angry if you don’t. You can’t climb in those long robes.”
Kalen made a face, but it was true. He’d started to descend the stairs the morning they arrived on the ship, and Mikol had pulled sharply on his arm. “Stairs on a battleship are called ladders for a reason. You’ll break your neck”
. He rolled his eyes, but he had to agree Dartan was probably right. But it was one more mark against the blue robe, and it bitterly galled him as one more indignity he had to endure as the mate of this tyger prince.
He got in the damn tiny lift, though, and rode the short distance to the upper deck where the dining hall was located. It moved so slowly that Dartan arrived on the deck just seconds later. The dining halls were at the other end of the deck, so they went in that direction, with Kalen leading the way. As they reached it and stepped inside the crowded room, all conversation stopped and the Tygerian soldiers stared openly at them. Dartan stepped in front of his prince, which didn’t help anything at all. A loud murmuring started up and even a few calls to them that they thankfully couldn’t understand. Until, that is, Captain Florin stepped into the room behind them, and the noise cut off instantly. The men who’d been laughing and calling out suddenly started getting very interested in their plates as Florin glared around the hall. He stepped up beside them and took them both by their arms, one man on each side of him, and began walking toward a door on the side of the hall.
“His Highness is waiting for you,” he told them. “In his private dining room.” He steered them inside and the door slid closed behind them with a slight whooshing sound. Prince Mikol was standing by a large porthole in the intimate room, gazing out at the faint, faraway light of some distant galaxies, sprinkled over the blackness of space. He turned and smiled at them as they entered.
“Good evening. I hope you’ve had a nice day.”
