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)
Do they not? As she moves to the door, I head to the window in the small kitchen area to peer outside. A human woman stands on the porch, with two of the Port custodians behind her.
Authorities.
This is not good. They will know I am here. Panic flares in my chest and I look for a place to hide. They will recognize my snow-white mane for what it is and word will spread and then I will be dragged back to Praxii Minor in chains. If my brother is still in power, I will be executed.
I cannot go back.
I cast my gaze around, looking for a place to hide. Maeve has some storage in her tiny food-preparing area, but nothing big enough for a full-grown praxiian male to vanish into. There is no way I can move past her without alerting someone to my presence.
The door opens.
I must do something—anything.
My gaze falls to the spices on the counter. Without thinking, I toss them into my face. Immediately, I sneeze, my eyes watering, but I grab another fistful and fling it into my fur and then begin to rub frantically, trying to cover every bit of snowy white that is left with something that is a bit more mangy orange. An orange praxiian is nothing out of the ordinary, after all.
Coughing, sneezing, I miss whatever conversation Maeve is having with the people at the door. I blink my eyes and then widen them, trying to clear them from the grit I've flung into them, and when I hear footsteps approaching, I pick up the kitchen utensil and stir the food in the pan briskly, trying to seem as domestic as possible.
"Everything okay in here?" Maeve asks.
I turn toward her, and to her credit, her expression doesn't change despite being confronted with my bright orange face. I grin at her as if everything is just dandy and gesture at the food. "The scents were tickling my nose. Are we expecting more for the morning meal?"
I hope I sound genial and not demanding. It's impossible for me to tell, as every fiber of my being is currently focused on not sneezing again and sending up a cloud of orange dust in front of them.
There are two mesakkah custodians with the human woman. One is big and overfed, and the other taller with the tattoos and horns of a lower-caste mesakkah. They eye me with curiosity but I do not sense menace.
I keep smiling and stirring the food as if I do this sort of thing all the time.
"This is Zhur," Maeve says, her voice bright. "He's why I haven't been coming into town. We're newlyweds."
"Yes we are," I sing out, beaming at Maeve.
Newlyweds?
"So you see, Simone, there's no reason to worry," Maeve continues blithely. "The reason why I haven't come into town in the last few days is because of Zhur. We've been getting to know each other."
"I worried about you," Simone frets. "What was I supposed to think when someone that stops by the bread stand every day suddenly stops showing up for two days in a row? I was worried the worst happened."
"Not the worst," Maeve says, her voice sweet. She moves to my side and grabs my sleeve, resting her cheek on it. "The best."
I don't know that her friend Simone is buying this. She has a suspicious look on her face. "Why does he have hay in his hair?"
Maeve giggles and looks over at me as if we're sharing a secret. "We were repairing something in the barn and it dumped hay all over him. Had a good laugh, too."
"Trust me, I hate the hay, too," I grumble, trying to seem good-natured and dumb, like the husband of a human colonist must surely be.
Simone watches us both closely. "And you're sure everything is all right? You can tell me. We're friends, Maeve. You know I'd protect you."
Before I can reply to that insulting declaration—why does someone mated to me need protecting?—Maeve gushes onward, squeezing my arm. "Everything is just wonderful. You know me and how I always want someone to talk to? How I'm always looking for company? I figured the best company is a husband. So...here we are."
The custodians exchange a look. One clears his throat. "While I am pleased that more of our humans are settling down and creating lives intertwined with those of the galaxy's cultures, I must remind you of the Risda III laws regarding human matings," the overfed one says. "To ensure the security of humans who depend on this planet for safety, each mating must be registered with the local authorities. Remember the trouble we had with pirates a few years back?"
"Oh, I remember," Maeve says brightly. "I didn't think that stuff still applied."
Pirates?
"It does," says the taller one. "So while I appreciate the need to remain cozy in your nest here, we have to ask you to go into town and get married. You understand, right?"