Page 57 of Alien Prince’s Fake Bride (The Tentacle Throne #1)

- Umbra -

Earlier today it was a workshop for the many land transport vehicles that belong to the palace. Now it’s the venue for a reception at the Imperial Court.

To me it looks a lot like an airplane hangar, with six big doors and a massive, empty floor with millions of stains from leaking vehicles.

It smells a lot like a car shop on Earth, like lubricants and various fluids.

The many machines for maintaining and servicing the transports have been pushed up against the walls to be out of the way of the guests.

There’s probably a hundred of them, all dressed in their finest clothing.

We’re all completely out of place here, under the glaring white lights that are meant to make life easier for the mechanics working at night.

But at least it makes the endless amounts of gemstones glitter and shine, so Bellatriz’s random choice of a venue for the reception worked out in that sense, at least.

I’m wearing some gems myself, in a fine diadem Mareliux gave me for this occasion.

It consists of hundreds of tiny blue gemstones that seem to hold the light of distant stars, set in intricate silverwork that spirals around my head.

Each time I move, the diadem catches the light, scattering shimmering pinpricks of sapphire across my vision.

It’s a glittering crown that feels both fragile in its beauty and heavy with the weight of this dangerous pretense.

My dress is long and flowing, its dark red shifting subtly as I move.

The fabric feels cool and supple against my skin, a soft, heavy weight that flows around my legs as I walk.

It's cut simply, with a high neckline that draws attention to the shimmering diadem in my hair and long, fitted sleeves that end in delicate, silver-edged points over my hands. I’m wearing silver heels as high as I can comfortably walk in, but still I’m shorter than all but the most petite of the elderly Khavgren widow duchesses.

I’ve spent most of my time watching information videos that the Khavgren call ‘visuals’. They were about the Empire and how things work on planet Khav, clearly made for aliens from other parts of the Empire who come to Khav for the first time. That made them pretty useful for me, too.

Mareliux is dressed almost as usual, in a bare torso and black pants.

But for this occasion he’s put on a blue cape and a silver ring around his head, placed so it doesn’t interfere with his tendrils.

“These days,” he said as we were getting dressed, “most of these people rarely have a chance to wear their finest clothing. They will like us for that reason alone, for giving them a chance to be seen in the way they most enjoy, with their glittering jewels and old medals.”

Mareliux and I stand in one place, while the courtiers come up to us one by one or couple by couple. The latter is rare — most of these nobles and officers are either widows or widowers, it seems, although their average age can’t be much over fifty.

“ That’s the Countess of Bratsh,” Vera says in English.

She’s gathered a lot of intel about the courtiers from other AIs she’s befriended, and now she keeps me informed with a soft voice I can barely hear and the others not at all.

“ Rumored to have murdered her husband by simply pushing him out a window. It’s unclear what she gained by that.

Probably she killed him because there was a big wave of spousal murder at the time and she didn’t want to be considered unfashionable. ”

“Dear Prince,” the old woman creaks as she comes up to us, gray tendrils so thin and withered that they don’t move at all. “Finally home again. And your wife, the… interesting Princess Rumba of Orf. What an… interesting couple you make. You are clearly very much in love.”

Many of the Khavgrens struggle with alien names, and I don’t see any reason to correct them.

“We are indeed, Countess Bratsh,” Mareliux says smoothly. “I recommend being married. It has certainly let fresh air into my life. As if a window had opened .”

I hide a smile behind my hand. He’s trying to keep me from getting bored, and his naughty comments work.

The countess blinks while she ponders it. “Yes. Fresh air. Do you also breathe air, Princess Burma? It’s just, I heard some aliens don’t. And you are very alien. In the most interesting way, of course.”

“I do,” I tell her with a little laugh, surprised at her inane question. I don’t think she means anything mean by it, she’s just old and clueless. Or perhaps she remembers the strange alien hive queen that breathed methane. “It’s one of the things that Mareliux found so attractive about me.”

“How romantic,” the old lady creaks sincerely. “Brought together. From the air. Now, we expect children, of course. Little princes and… others. Aliens, I suppose they will be.” She screws up her face as if she imagines it. “Oh well, it will all be interesting.”

She withdraws to give way to the next in line. This is a couple.

“ The Duke and Duchess of Biafirat,” Vera says.

“ Both still alive, although all their siblings gradually died off under mysterious circumstances. Luckily all those deaths meant these two didn’t have to split their inheritances with anyone, despite being born into big families.

They have big land holdings on the moon Dolpian.

They are close with the Empress. Or as close as anyone can get. ”

“Congratulations, Prince Mareliux and Princess Umbra!” the duke says.

He must be in his forties and wears a toga-like outfit, like most of the males here.

“The Empire needed some fresh influences. And here she is. We saw her on the visuals! Visiting the park that bears your name. Touching the people, of all things! They love her, Your Highness!”

“They should,” Mareliux replies, looking around as if bored.

“And so do you, Your Highness,” the duchess adds, looking at me. “Plainly. Such love I have rarely seen.”

“It’s a rare love,” I reply. “We both had to travel to space to find it.”

“Ah yes. You even got married in space,” the duke says.

“Or on an alien world, anyway. Such a… refreshing idea. And then this reception in a workshop, filled with oil and dirt, under glaring lights! Truly the Empire will change with an alien as an Imperial Princess. Some say it will become worse, but I don’t believe it.

This reception in a dirty work space is simply a way to say, ‘these are our alien ways’.

In the very heart of the Empire, only a short walk from the Tentacle Throne. ”

I recognize the unpleasant edge in that statement, despite the friendly voice. Dealing with these things is not difficult. I just agree and amplify, and they can interpret it any way they want.

“Yes!” I reply cheerfully. “It will change so much. Nothing will be as it is now! It will all be completely different! Completely alien !”

“And everything will be much better,” Mareliux backs me up. “As you said, Biafirat, we needed some fresh influences.”

“Well,” the duke says, taken aback, “just don’t change it too much. The Empire must still remain Khavgren at its core.”

“I’m very Khavgren,” I assure him. “The Emperor said I had to be. He made me a princess!” I point to the diadem.

Embracing the airhead persona is easy, and it works by making everyone unsure about how much I really mean of the things I say. I don’t think anyone believes I’m actually this vapid.

The duke says “hmmm,” then bows to Mareliux and turns around.

I find that I don’t like him, so I use Syntrix to have his outer toga slide down in the front, so that he steps on it and trips.

His wife stops him from falling over, but his sword clatters to the ground and everyone stares.

The guards grab their own weapons in readiness.

“Apologies,” the duke says as he straightens, face red. “The floor is so slippery here in this workshop…”

Mareliux leans in. “He deserved it, but let’s keep the Syntrix to a minimum. We don’t want them to start calling you a witch.”

“Maybe we should let them,” I whisper back. “It could be better to be feared than to be dismissed as harmless.”

More people come to congratulate us and to be greeted. Some are officers in the army, and they greet us more heartily than the other nobles.

I’m pleasantly surprised at how easy this is.

I know Mareliux has feared this reception, worried I would give the scheme away somehow.

But I’m actually having a good time. Most of the people here are actually perfectly nice, at least to our faces, and those who try some veiled attack are easy to deflect.

I’m starting to enjoy the reception, feeling that I’m handling it.

I’m even starting to think of how I would deal with these people if I were an actual princess.

I could do the airhead act with the worst of them, then talk normally to others.

It might actually be a lot of fun. And the Syntrix would help.

I could use it to embarrass my enemies when they deserved it.

“ Quaestor Preniat,” Vera says. “ I don’t know if he was ever married. He can’t be now, because he has no wife with him.”

“Your Highness,” Preniat says and gives a stiff, shallow bow. “How gratifying that you have survived the many assassination attempts.”

“Yes, it is gratifying, isn’t it?” Mareliux replies. “That is the appropriate word for still being alive. Gratifying. Have you investigated the attempts, perhaps?”

The quaestor raises his eyebrows. “Investigated, Highness? The attempts? No, no. That is not my function. I have investigated other matters. That are equally important. Or even more so. For instance, your marriage to Ambassador Umbra. It has puzzled me.”

“Has it?” Mareliux asks coldly. “Yes, the act of getting married must puzzle a man who has never found a woman worthy of his attentions. Shall I explain? There is this emotion called ‘love’. It makes one want to be close to a certain other person. Because one simply can’t get enough of that person…

it’s a feeling of… oh, it’s so hard to explain to someone who’s never felt it! ”

An icy smile creeps across Preniat’s face. “I am familiar with the concept of love, Highness. But in Imperial marriages, especially one that the heir apparent is entering into, other factors are more consequential than the fleeting emotions he might have for his wife.”

“Surely not,” Mareliux says, pretending to be shocked. “Surely one must recognize that an Imperial prince is as much a living thing as any other man, and that he should love his wife?”

“An Imperial prince,” Preniat says, “is more than any other man. He is the future of the Empire. The wedding on Grefve happened under strange circumstances. I cannot find any document signed by you two that confirms your marriage. I saw no such document be signed. I also have significant problems getting to the bottom of who Ambassador Umbra really is. There are no records of her, and that in itself is a problem. No records from her own alien world have been provided. Was she married before, perhaps? Is she still married to someone else? These things need an answer before the House of Nobles can recommend that the Emperor gives final approval for this marriage.”

Mareliux frowns. “He has approved it. Unlike you, the Emperor believes us on our word that we are properly married. He made Umbra a princess. Quaestor, let us not try to be more imperial than the Imperator himself! That way, madness lies.”

“I was present at the time,” Preniat goes on, “and I remember the Emperor using the term ‘provisional’. It means that he assumes everything is in order, and that he will make it all permanent, provided it can all be confirmed. We have still not seen confirmation that Umbra is in a position to get married or that any real wedding actually took place.”

“You were there at our wedding, Quaestor. You saw it happen. Surely you haven’t forgotten? ” Mareliux’s voice has a dangerous edge to it.

I look around. The crowd has thinned a little bit. I spot a general’s aide come into the workshop and whisper something to his boss. The general stiffens and hurries out. Other officers follow until only the older nobles and widows are left.

“What I saw may well have been a play,” Preniat says, “a theater. I saw no document being signed, and nothing like that has been presented to be registered at the House of Nobles. I regret having to bring this up here and now, but it has proven remarkably hard to find you two on Khav. I have had no other way to reach you.”

Mareliux sighs loudly. “There exist visuals of the wedding. From several angles. They even show me fainting with the immense strength of the Syntrix bond between me and Umbra. Was that theater, too? The Crown Prince fainting? Was that a play? ”

“I have in my life seen many entertainments on the visual,” Preniat says flatly.

“Weddings are a common feature of some of those productions. Those are all fake weddings, featuring actors. Nobody would think that they are real. For a marriage to be real, the wedding must be. And the most important part is the legal document, signed in front of witnesses. I would have expected to be asked to witness such a signing, being the only quaestor on Grefve at the time and the sole representative of the Imperial Court, apart from yourself, in that solar system. Was such a document signed, Your Highness?”