“No, you’re not worth my time.” She spun away and darted into the woods as fast as she’d appeared.
If he wasn’t still on shift, Gib would consider following her. He yearned to learn more about her people, or specifically her. He’d never been blocked in reading someone’s initial judgment of him. No being seemed to remember to conceal their thoughts until moments after they met a Mingot. He wanted to find out how she hid her thoughts, how he couldn’t even detect her when she’d been watching them. She’d left him curious and yearning. How long had it been since he’d satisfied his sexual desire?
“Universe to Gib.” Zair waved a hand in front of his face. “You asleep or just still mad at that Hemera woman?”
“Mad?” He wrinkled his forehead. “Why would I be mad?”
“Because she told her pet to attack me then yelled ’cause you were going to kick it into the fire.”
Gib shook his head. “I was never going to kick the tibbar into the fire. And you deserved her scorn for acting like a fool.”
“Oh, I see.” Zair plunked onto his bench with a harrumph. “You’re attracted to her, so you’re going to take her side.”
Had the ignorance of members of his squad kept them from being sent on major missions? Some members simply didn’t get along with the natives, always assumed they were out to get them. Or him. He glared at Zair, confident any argument would be a waste of time.
“Doesn’t matter.” Zair kicked dirt toward the pit. “But I still don’t get why we’re here. This planet is the last place the Erebus are going to travel. They haven’t been here since the former king and queen were killed.”
And the princess, once rumored to be involved with Bryce, the new leader of Echo squad. Gib now understood the Defender’s attraction to the women of Hemera. But he didn’t stand a chance with the one he’d just met. Unless he found some way to see her again, make her understand he wasn’t at all like Zair. Cosmos, he yearned for a glance into her mind, and if luck came his way, an opportunity to get to know her on a very personal level. He nodded with determination. “You’re right, it doesn’t matter. We’re here, and I’m going to make the best of it.”
Two
“Here, take this naip”—Vilarra passed two baskets to one of the many people she had helping her—“and put a loaf on every table.” The Alorama ceremony wasn’t until the next day, but the kitchen staff of the royal palace had just as big a feast to prepare today. Unlike the family-oriented Alorama, the evening before a celebration for the adults—mostly men—and, cosmos, did they know how to eat. Not only the noblemen of Hemera, but also the ignorant Defenders who came every year to keep the planet safe from another Erebus attack. King Rachivus—universe rest his soul—had been killed by the vile creatures on this night many years ago, along with his wife and daughter. If not for the survival of his son, Luchivus, the kingdom would have been passed to another family. Thankfully, the Erebus had not returned to the planet since, but the traditions continued, making this a hectic evening for Vilarra.
As lead hand, she not only had to ensure enough food was prepared for the evening, but also that she had more than her usual number of staff to serve all the guests. It hadn’t been difficult to round up enough volunteers. Men and women with families had come to her home to volunteer, excited at the prospect of taking a share of the leftover food home at the end of the evening. And the single young women yearned to catch the eye of at least one of the men at the table they served.
Vilarra gagged at the idea. With all the mead that would be consumed along with the food, her servers would feel more than just eyes upon them. No, thank you. Fortunately, her position kept her away from all the spontaneous advances and unwanted groping.
Taking a trek around the kitchen, she remained confident the food would be ready with precise timing. The soup bubbled in its pot, and the geow meat roasting over the pit had lost its pink coloring but still held onto the moisture of the juices Samish ladled over it. The naip had already been baked and sent out to the tables, and Osnam skinned and blanched an assortment of greens grown steps outside the kitchen door, to serve to their hungry guests.
Needing a quick break from the blasting heat of the kitchen, she headed out to the banquet hall. Flowers she’d picked herself and arranged in vases rested atop every table. She didn’t expect the men in attendance to enjoy them, but she believed it a nice touch for the queen, her mother, and any other women who braved their dignity.
Her friend Beckalie waved from across the hall, busy setting out the finest dishes at the head table. Last Galactic year, her first chance to serve in the royal palace, she had been ill during the Alorama ceremony. So for the past few day cycles, she had talked of nothing but meeting some hunky off-world Defenders. Always out of earshot of her boyfriend, of course. Vilarra wished she shared her friend’s excitement, already having had her fill the night before when two of the visitors threatened to kill her tibbar. As soon as the banquet started, she would hide in the kitchen to ensure all the palace guests remained well fed and left her alone.
After a quick smile and nod to Beckalie, she continued her inspection. Everything was ready. Except for her friend, the other young women waited in the corner near the large windows and stared outside. They giggled and whispered to each other, likely about the men and women sent to guard Hemera from a possible Erebus attack. Naive. Every one of them. Well, they’d find out soon enough how the Defenders viewed Hemera and their kind.
Vilarra straightened a napkin with a heavy sigh. Her shoulders feeling like an invisible force pushed them down, she slinked back to the kitchen. Maybe the Defenders did know more about Hemera than her. Maybe she was just a lowly commoner on a backward planet and she’d never amount to anything. It’s not as if she’d ever become royalty or get a chance to leave Hemera. The two men she’d overheard had probably been to every planet belonging to the Alliance and some that didn’t. Why would any Defender care about her—about any of her friends—when the Defenders didn’t want to be there? Not even at the request of King Luchivus.
All she’d worked to accomplish, all her dedication meant nothing beyond Hemera. And, really, it didn’t mean much on her own planet. She was the same lowly girl she’d always been, with a darker than average complexion and tight curls instead of everyone else’s straight locks. Her mother used to tell her that’s what made her special, helped her stand out from the crowd, but the confidence boost died with the woman who’d birthed her.
The scent of something burning caught her attention. “Oh no!” She ran toward the pot of soup but it hadn’t burned. A small amount had dripped over the edge into the fire. No need to panic. Pushing her ill-timed thoughts away, she stuck her chest out and nodded. Regardless of her insecurities, she had to get this feast served, and would celebrate a job well done with the rest of the commoners later in the evening.
Deep laughter erupted from the banquet hall. The guests had started to arrive. Thank the universe. The sooner she served the meal, the closer they were to the end of the celebration and the Defenders leaving Hemera for another Galactic year.
At the ding of a bell, the guests quieted, and King Luchivus began his speech, the signal to begin serving. Vilarra transported bowls of soup from the large pot to the counter for the servers to pick up and take to their table. A mad dash, but she managed the task without spilling a drop until she’d emptied the pots and all the guests had their first course. Samish carved the geow, the scent of the meat leaving Vilarra’s mouth watering. Any leftover food would be packed up for the proletarian gathering after. She looked forward to seeing the young children enjoy such a feast as well as dancing and singing with her friends, listening to stories told by friends of her mother. She’d never met her father, and no one ever spoke of him. But her mother had done well securing her position on the palace staff and raising Vilarra to love and respect her planet and her own people. That didn’t mean she had to tolerate the Defenders, though. Especially when they failed to show her any respect.
She organized the kitchen staff into a perfect assembly line to plate the main course. A couple slices of geow, topped with vyrag sauce, served with fresh greens and roasted tubers. After this, she and her staff arranged a variety of desserts on wooden carts, ready to be rolled out. Vilarra didn’t expect any to return uneaten, but she had made extra in the past few days and stored them at her neighbors so they could be enjoyed later. Cleanup would restrict her to the palace late into the evening, but it helped her calm down after keeping all the staff on task and getting the food out on time.
“No!” A shout from the banquet hall. “I am not, nor will I ever be your lover. Get your hands off me.” A moment later, Copia burst into the kitchen, skirt swishing side to side with her quick steps. “I’m done. I refuse to serve those dirty foreigners.”
Dread pooled in Vilarra’s stomach as the woman left through the back door. Everyone expected the Defenders to proposition the servers, so she hadn’t imagined such a vocal objection. At least not from anyone but her. Copia had been the most excited to “meet an offworlder and fall in love.” What had the Defender done to change the woman’s mind?
She dared a peek into the hall. Who sat at the table Copia had served? She couldn’t see past Frotathia, the female leader of the council who bustled in her direction. Cosmos, she was in trouble. She had personally vouched for all of the staff and promised they would be quiet and efficient.
Fear kept her feet from moving as the woman rushed nearer and nearer, her scowl becoming deeper with each step.
“Vilarra, I need you to take care of this problem right now.” Frotathia pointed to a table in the middle of the first row. “The Defenders are our honored guests, and we must keep them happy to ensure they continue to protect our planet.”
“They’re vile,” she protested.
The co-leader held up her hand. “You must take that girl’s place. If you don’t like their attention, at least reject them without making a scene.”
“But....” She gulped, her mouth suddenly dry. “I have to take care of the kitchen. I don’t have time—”
“You are good at delegating. That’s why you have this position.” The woman crossed her arms, taping her foot on the wooden block threshold between the stone floor of the kitchen and the polished planks of the hall. “Hurry and tell the staff what to do in your absence then get out there.”
All of the excitement she’d had for this event drained out of her. She’d never intended to serve the guests, had no desire to see them, let alone be close to them. Now, she had no choice.
“Samish.” She pointed to the burly man who had prepared all the meat for the feast. “I need you to finish platting the food. And, Osnam, you can help him then pack the extra food away. I’ll be back in when I’m done to help clean up.”
Feeling like a rock had settled in the pit of her stomach, she trudged over to her newly assigned table. All Defenders. All male Defenders. Cosmos! Why couldn’t there have been at least one nobleman from Hemera who could teach them a thing or two about the planet? Like how most of the population had at least one pet tibbar. Even the late Princess Lalia’d had one. Without making contact with any of them, she eyed the men. Only one Defender had been served the main course, and his plate sat empty. How rude. He hadn’t even waited for his friends to be served. Of course, it had to be one of the Defenders she’d run into last night, the one who’d aimed his plazer at her tiny pet. Like Elynyn would hurt him.
Vilarra spun away from the men. She could avoid them for a few more moments while grabbing their food. At the serving counter, she loaded four plates onto her arms. As much as she needed to hurry back to give them their already delayed food, her feet worked in conjunction with her anger to slow her down. Sucking in a deep breath, she continued on. If she avoided eye contact and refused to engage with them, hopefully they’d leave her alone. She managed to serve the first four guests without any issues, putting their plates in front of them from the left. None of them paid her any attention, too engrossed in their conversation. Just as she turned to get the rest of the meals for the table, a thick arm of a Gersonion wrapped around her middle, pulling her back. She fell onto the lap of the boorish guest.
“Wha’ do we ha’ here?” His words slurred, probably from too much mead. “I li’ you beder tha’ the las’ girl. You’re comin’ ba’ to the barra’ wi’ me toni’.”
Remembering the words of Frotathia, she swallowed the urge to turn around and punch the Defender. Though he deserved nothing less. Instead, she pried his hands from her waist and attempted to stand.
“I don’ thin’ so.” He leaned closer, his hot breath leaving a patch of moisture on her neck. “You ’tay wi’ me.”
“Let her go.” A new voice, deeper, and with a growl so threatening, she yearned to run straight out of the palace.
The arm around her middle tightened. “You gaw no claim on her, Gib. She’s mine.”
“Actually, he does.” This voice she recognized. The Defender who’d wanted to shoot her tibbar. “We met her last night, and Gib happens to be attracted to this Hemera woman.”
It took everything she had to hold her tongue. No one had any claim on her, but if she wanted to keep her job, she had to wait for this situation to defuse. Closing her eyes to keep herself from lashing out about the unfairness of it all, she willed him to let her go. She couldn’t believe the royal family had no issues with their staff being treated this way.
Instead of the Defender releasing her, he twisted her across his lap then flung her toward the completely hairless man beside him, the one she’d met the night before. “Fine, you ha’ her, then, but I’m gonna sperience me a Hemera woman afore I lea’ this awful planet.”
Not if her people had any taste. And, once her staff left the palace, they no longer had to be nice to the Defenders. She’d ensure none of the foreigners came anywhere near their private celebration tonight. Vilarra waited for Gib to fondle her, or do whatever else the Defenders thought they could get away with. Instead, he set her on her feet and stood up as well. She wanted to run from the Defenders, gain some distance before any of them grabbed her again, but she feared how the royal family would react. Never did she expect Gib to place his hand at the small of her back and guide her away from the table.
“I would apologize for Flaine’s behavior, but there is no excuse for it.” At the serving counter, he stopped and faced her. “Some Defenders think they can take anything they want because they can kill an Erebus. Please know I’m not like that.” He headed back to the table before she could respond.
Though what would she say? Sure, he might not be like them, but what difference did it make? As a Defender, he would only be on Hemera for another couple of days. She preferred not to have anything to do with him. He’d been about to squash her tibbar when she’d darted out of the bush.
When she returned to the table with the next set of plates, not one Defender made any motion to touch her. They didn’t even speak to her. No one dared to even looked in her direction except Gib, but she was pretty sure he did so to ensure none of the other Defenders bothered her. A welcome change. Yet, she still wanted nothing to do with him.
Three
“You coming?” Zair raised his mug full of mead, sloshing some of the frothy liquid over the side. “We still have another few hours before our shift.”
“Nah. I need some rest.” Not really, but Gib preferred not to spend the rest of the night drinking. Especially when his partner likely wouldn’t show up for their watch shift. He’d pass out somewhere around the palace for one of the king’s young children to discover in the morning. Gib had other plans to pass the time involving a certain Hemera woman who intrigued him beyond belief.
The last to leave the table, he gathered the empty mugs and carried them to the kitchen. His excuse to talk to her again, learn her name.
The woman stood in front of a washing basin, arms immersed in soapy water up to her elbows. Her grey smock dripped water onto her thin foot coverings. He
couldn’t call them shoes, as they looked to provide a bare minimum of protection, if any. She had pulled her hair into a loose bun—tied up with a piece of string—with stray curly strands hanging into her face. Every now and again, she blew a strand away, only for it to return to the same position. Cosmos, he could watch her forever. She didn’t have one particular feature he found attractive. Just everything about her. The whole package. And he wanted to get to know her better before he had to leave.
Leaning against the doorframe, he cleared his throat and held up the mugs. “I have some more for you.” Would she reveal her wrath once more because he’d brought her more work?
She spun to face him, her wide eyes growing cold. “Leave them on the counter.” After nodding to the left, she returned her attention to her task. And, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t focus on one single thought from her. Did she purposely block him, or was she simply different from every other being he’d ever met?
Gib entered the kitchen rather than set the mugs on the counter in the banquet hall. Anything to be closer to her. He glanced around, finding the room void of anyone else. “So, you’re here by yourself?”
“Yep.”
He wrinkled his forehead in confusion. “No one stayed to help you?” With all the Hemera serving at the banquet, he’d expected to find the kitchen full of staff cleaning up from the meal.
“Nope.”
Okay, he couldn’t take the one-word answers. He’d never learn more about her and Hemera like this. It would be so much easier if she’d simply let him into her mind. “How come?”
“They have other responsibilities.”