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“Yes, thank you.”
“Good,” he said, his gaze raking over his body so intensely Kalen felt the heat of a slight blush working its way up his neck. Mikol motioned to a seat beside him. “Come sit here by me, and Florin, you and Captain Dartan take these seats across from us, please.”
They all sat down at the table, which was already set with plates and utensils. The plates were large and bowl-like, with rounded upturned edges, but not as deep as the bowls he was used to. The utensils were shaped oddly, considering what he was used to as well, but they were certainly adequate. When the first course arrived, Kalen was shocked to see that it looked like Lorian food, though not quite. It was like the cooks had been given the recipes, but then decided to embellish them with strange sauces and unfamiliar spices. It was still quite recognizable though, and Kalen, who was starving suddenly, gave a little cry of welcome to some of his favorites, like honeyed rice and a spicy stew he enjoyed.
“I asked the cook to order some Lorian dishes before we left the station. Freeze-dried, I’m afraid, but he’s an excellent cook, so I think you’ll enjoy them.”
“I’m sure I will,” he said softly, a little touched by the idea that Mikol had thought of what he would like.
Mikol and Florin seemed a little less enthusiastic over the spiciness of the stew, and Florin’s face got dark red as he swallowed a heaping spoonful. He dropped his spoon and took a large gulp of his wine. Mikol called over a galley hand who was standing by the door and had a quick whispered conversation with him. He nodded and went back into the galley.
“You don’t like it?” Kalen asked.
“Tygerian food is bland, according to what my human relatives say. Perhaps they’re right, because this seems terribly spicy to me, but I’m glad you enjoyed it. I’ve asked the cook to send something different for me and Florin.”
A few minutes later, they brought out some big slabs of some kind of meat, very rare, and both Mikol and Florin began to eat heartily, washing it down with quantities of a dark red wine. They were both offered a glass of the stuff. But they decided to make do with Lycan tea.
“Is everything comfortable in your room?” the prince asked, and Kalen nodded.
“Yes, it’s fine. A little cold, though.”
“I’ll have them adjust the temperature for you then. Anything else?”
“Yes, now that you mention it. Some of your men onboard have been rude to Dartan.”
His friend dropped his spoon and glared at Kalen. “Please don’t,” he said softly.
“Rude in what way?” Mikol asked, ignoring Dartan and glancing over at Kalen.
“Making sounds as he passed them and grabbing their crotches as he walks by. I guess ‘crude’ might be a better word.”
“It’s fine,” Dartan said quickly, sending a look over at Kalen. “I can handle myself.”
“I’ll have a word with them,” Florin said. “Though Captain Kajeer wouldn’t be having this problem if he’d worn a robe like I asked. My men don’t like uniforms of other armies, particularly those they associate with the old Alliance.”
“The war is over, Captain,” Kalen interrupted. “And if these soldiers can’t respect our uniforms, then how can they be expected to come to our planet and fight alongside us?”
“It won’t be a problem,” Mikol cut in. “Because my men can follow orders.”
Kalen shrugged. “Except for now, on this ship?”
Mikol turned to look at him, his eyes a little fierce. “I said, my men follow orders. I’ll handle this.”
“Thank you.”
The silence that fell over the table was awkward, to say the least, so Kalen stood up, pushing back his chair. “I’m a little tired. Thank you for the lovely dinner. But I think I’ll going back to my cabin now, if you’ll excuse me.” He gave a little bow and turned to leave as Dartan scooted back his chair too and stood up to accompany him. He half expected Mikol to stop them, but he made no move to do so, just stared at him broodingly as he swept out of the room.
They were almost back to Kalen’s cabin—had reached the steep stairs outside them, in fact—when the ship suddenly jolted, lurching to one side and knocking them both off their feet to the deck. A horribly loud scraping, grinding sound started up, sounding like the whole ship was coming apart. Kalen clutched Dartan’s arm as raucous sirens blared, combining with the shouts of the Tygerians and sounds of running feet. It sounded like an all-out attack, like the end of the world.
Kalen’s heart banged in his chest as the sounds pierced right through him. He sat up on the deck beside Dartan feeling panicked and disoriented. He had bitten down so hard on his tongue when they both fell that it brought blood to his lips, and he wiped his sleeve across his mouth.
Kalen scrambled back to his feet as best he could with Dartan pulling on his arm. Dartan had his disruptor out in his other hand as smoke began to swirl down the staircase from the upper decks. Dartan was yelling something about taking him to his cabin, but was that the right thing to do? Maybe they’d have to make it to a shuttle if the ship was exploding. He pulled back against Dartan’s arm.
“No, we may have to evacuate! Let’s move down to a lower deck.”
“Not until we know for sure what’s happening,” Dartan shouted back over the noise coming down to them from the upper decks. It sounded like a fierce battle was going on above them, with sounds of disruptors firing and the acrid smell of smoke and the sharp cries of men in pain.
“I’m getting you off these stairs,” Dartan yelled to him, and then seized him around the waist and picked him up bodily to haul him down. The bottom seemed a long way off, and all Kalen could do was cling to Dartan as he manhandled him to the lower deck.
