Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 144433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
Even so...no running water? It boggles the mind.
I eye the contraptions that she claims are for warming towels and the various...things in the area. "What is this place?" I point at the countertop. "This area right here."
"It's a kitchen." Her eyes are wide and innocent.
I was afraid of that. I think I have walked through a kitchen...once. And perhaps I saw some things that looked vaguely like these. I think. "And no water comes out of any of these things? At all?"
She shakes her head. "I tried. Trust me." She snaps her fingers. "Oh, but there's running water in the barn."
"The animals get running water and you do not?" I stare at her in horror. "Surely you complained about this."
The creature shakes her head again, pressing her fingers to her lips. She looks quite distressed.
This won't do at all. "I will speak to Lord va'Rin in the morning and let him know that these conditions are unacceptable."
"Oh, but I thought you were in hiding." She crosses her legs under her and leans forward, fascinated. "You think Lord va'Rin would listen to a random stranger about the conditions here?"
Kef. She's right. I'm not supposed to be here. I'm certainly not supposed to be Heir Zhurrrvas of Praxii Minor. I run a hand down my face, stroking my whiskers. "You're right."
"I appreciate the gesture, though." Meev tilts her head at me. "Are cat guys not very domestic?"
Cat guys? Does she mean my people? "I am praxiian, not whatever a 'catgui' is. And yes, we are a warlike race."
"That doesn't go in the kitchen," she prompts.
"There are plenty of praxiians that do." She makes us sound like a race of morons.
"But you don't. Is it because you're a dude?"
Again with the dewd. "What is 'dewd' exactly?"
She gestures between her thighs crudely. "Born male. Twig and berries."
"If you are asking if our domestic chores are gendered, no. It is a little different for nobility, but amongst the common populace I'm told it's equal."
"Told?" She smirks as if she's discovered a secret. "Someone's a noble, then. What's your title?"
I glare at her. It hasn't even been a day and I'm already bleeding secrets. "Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?"
She sighs. "Everyone, actually."
"You should listen to them."
"This is my house, Lord Hairball. I can talk as much as I want."
"Hairball” sounds like a vague insult, but I don't correct her. If I seem too fussed about my title, she'll keep asking about it. "Clearly you are a commoner back on Earth."
Her strange little brows go up and she chuckles. "Oh? What gave it away?"
"Your manner. It's crude."
"You know back on Earth, in France, they beheaded the nobility. Didn't like them pretending to be better than the regular people."
Yes, well, we are better than regular people, and it doesn't surprise me that her barbaric world would resort to such things. That's like asking if a star is bright, or space cold. "Are you lecturing me?"
"Just pointing out that a snotty attitude gets you nowhere."
I ignore that. With another look around at her hovel—because that is all it truly is—I fight the despair that threatens to overwhelm me. This is to be my home for the next several years while my brother tries to stage his coup? It's unbearable to think about.
And yet there are many that are depending on me. I can't simply allow my brother to take over. He'll destroy everything our family has worked so hard for. It's not my fault he was born third in line instead of first. Even though I might not like the situation I'm in, I owe it to those that have helped me escape to do my best.
To survive this.
I can survive this. "All right, human. Heat me some water."
"Excuse me?" She sits up on her couch, frowning in my direction.
"It has been a long day—"
She interrupts. "It's barely noon."
" —and I would like to clean the stink of travel off of my fur. I require hot water, a fur conditioner—nothing that smells too strongly—and fresh clothes. Do your best." I flick a hand at her. "I realize this crude home means more work for you, so I won't chide you if it takes a while." With that directive, I peel the annoying cuffs back and then decide to just get rid of the entire uniform. Kef it. I want to burn the thing anyhow. "I shall lounge while I wait."
I turn and enter the bedroom, undressing.
CHAPTER
TEN
MAEVE
I know I didn't hear that correctly.
Any of it.
I stare after the presumptuous alien as he enters my bedroom as if he owns the place. He shuts the door behind him and I'm left fuming in the living area. He wants a bath and fresh clothes? I want a live-in maid and a chocolate cake as big as my table. We don't always get what we want.