Her Brutal Alien (Alien Overlords)

I place a gentle hand on her arm with the intent of waking her. Whatever is going on in her mind, it is too much for her to suffer. It takes a gentle rocking to wake her.

She opens her eyes, takes one look at me and screams at the very top of her lungs. The sound is even more piercing and shattering than the cries she made before.

“Shhh,” I soothe her. “It's okay. You're okay. You’re safe.”

“Sorry,” she gasps. “I can’t seem to get used to how you people look.”

“We are called korabi, and yes, compared to what you’re used to, we are rather strange. Do not be ashamed of your fear. We would undoubtedly be afraid of you, if your species were something other than… what it is.”

“We’re not very scary, are we.”

“You don't look very scary," I correct her. “But you have the capacity for truly terrifying acts.”

She smiles.

The smile only lasts a second, but I see it quite clearly before it disappears beneath a careful expression. It strikes me as strange. Incongruous. But I suppose she is in a strange situation, and humans often don't know how to act when they are put into new situations. They follow patterns of behavior they're not even aware of, scripts which play out again and again, day after day. Good morning. How are you? Good, you? That is one of their favorites, and it never fails to put them at ease when used on them.

“How are you?”

“Good. How are you?”

She responds with the expected polite lie. I see her breathing slow. She is calmed by the oral exchange. Humans are so very sensitive to the small mouth noises of their language. It reaches into places inside them not even they are aware of.

“I am well. You need to eat. I have made you breakfast.”

“You're incredible," she sighs, lighting up with gratitude. “I should keep you.”

That makes me smile in turn, for obviously I am the one keeping her. She is my captive prisoner. I think, in truth, she may have been somewhat forgotten about by the rest of the palace. Tusk cannot truly believe that she is guilty of assassination, and Rath has a great deal to worry about as Krush starts to rebuild his power base right in the very heart of Megaris.

Margaret is blissfully unaware of almost all of these dynamics.

She pulls her robe around her body and pads lightly over to the the table where I have set out a very buttery bread known as croissants, coffee, and chocolate-covered strawberries. These are all indicated as pedestrian yet luxurious foods. I want her to feel pampered. I want her to know that there is some male of some species capable of not hurting her. I feel a deep need to give her some kind of positive experience of males and maleness.

I take great satisfaction in watching her eat. She enjoys the spread laid out before her with obvious hunger. Her appetite is good to see. It means some of the fear has loosened its grip on her, enough to allow her to eat well.

“I could get used to this," she smiles, patting her mouth with the napkin I laid out for her. “You think of everything.”

“I try.”

“I’ve had a request from Tusk.”

Rath really knows how to ruin a good mood. I have been called to him to report on the status of our newest human prisoner, and, it would seem, to be told bad news.

“Yes?”

“He wants Margaret.”

“What do you mean, he wants Margaret?”

“I mean he wants to take her from your custody into his own. It was all I could do to stop him from coming down here and claiming her himself.”

“No.”

“I cannot deny him. His asking me was a courtesy which surprised me greatly.”

“You're the king of Megaris.”

“I am not," Rath reminds me. "I am a weight on the throne, the definition of a placeholder. Tusk has every authority to claim a human he abducted.”

“I am not letting him take her. He will hurt her. His mad vendetta against everything and everyone cannot be allowed to claim her life.”

Rath’s expression softens into sympathy.

“You can’t save everyone, Tyvian. You're the only jailer I know who does it out of a desire to help those who are incarcerated. You’re twisted. You know that?"

“I might be twisted, but I care. Tusk doesn’t.”

“Who knows what Tusk thinks or feels. He is an enigma.”

"He's an anachronism.”

“Don’t discount him. He may be evil, but he’s not often wrong about his capabilities. This is not an issue we can wave away. He is going to insist on claiming what he believes is his.”

“Wait,” I say. “I have an idea.”

“Oh?"

“Yes. Let me talk to Haut.”

“Haut? Why?”

“Call a royal conference on this matter and play along,” I say.

“Tyvian, what…”

“It is better you remain able to say you are unaware of conspiracies, Rath.”