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She couldn’t explain why she felt protective. The king had been rude. Holding a soft spot for him made no sense, and it wasn’t some idolization due to her proximity to the crown. He looked like he needed a solid week’s worth of sleep and a gallon of chicken soup. It was her doctor instincts at play. Nothing more. She wasn’t nursing some sort of infatuation because a couple of years ago, he had been handsome.
Gallant, she quickly corrected herself. He had been gallant until he had been rude.
“I am not in the habit of apologizing to those who barge into my private rooms uninvited,” he said. His words were haughty, but his tone was almost friendly.
“Mistakes on both sides.” She shrugged her shoulders, willing to accept that was all the apology she would get from him. She was a doctor. A good one. Because she was such a good doctor, she was more concerned about the obvious decline in his health than a petty grudge.
“You should be enjoying the party,” Baris said.
“I could say the same of you. I needed to cool down.” She could go back to her room, but she knew anticipation and nerves would keep her awake.
“It is too loud and too warm for my liking.” He shrugged off the black feather mantle, draping it over the railing, and mimicked her lean. Although he faced forward, the eyes at the side of his head watched her.
“No guard?” she asked.
“Am I a prisoner in my own kingdom?”
The tone was gentle but had a bite, like a tired dog growling out a warning. The heat of annoyance rushed to her face. Like she was an expert on the habits of royalty?
“Sorry,” she said with a touch of sarcasm.
“My answer was unkind. The station is secure. I do not require an escort at all times,” he explained.
Well, that was probably as close as she’d get to an apology. She’d take it.
Silence fell between them. It felt tense and prickly, as if each was unsure what to say next. What kind of small talk did you make with a king? What even was small talk? She was going to blurt out something offensive and get beheaded.
Be cool. She could do this. She talked to Prince Vekele, who was a complete sourpuss, every day and managed not to get beheaded.
“You throw a good party,” she said, desperate to fill the silence. As a farewell bash, it was top-notch, with swanky music, fancy food, lots of booze, and people dressed to impress.
“My aide organized it. I had little input.”
Well, that went nowhere. Changing the topic, she asked, “Do you think anyone’s made it back to Earth?”
“The Khargal ambassador reports that they have some humans but did not say if those humans have been returned,” Baris said. With a frown, he added, “They do have ships with the capability to reach Earth.”
“Would the ambassador tell you if they had?” she asked. She caught a glimpse of the Khargal ambassador, a stony gray alien with gargoyle wings.
Baris took his time to answer. “If the situation were reversed, I would not.”
Well, she didn’t know how to respond to that.
“Knowledge is power,” she fumbled.
Baris gave her an evaluating look. “Exactly. Make your opponent work for every scrap of information.”
“Are the Khargals your opponent? I thought they were allies.”
“It is the same thing.”
Yikes. That was a conversation killer.
This was ridiculous. If the man didn’t want to talk, then why come and stand next to her? There was a whole-ass space station he could lurk in, but no, he had to pick the spot right next to her.
“Look,” she said, done with small talk, “you’re making me incredibly nervous, and right now, I’m not sure I even remember how to talk like a regular person, so this is going to come off as rude, but you look like death warmed over.”
Yeah, that helped. Good job.
