Page 17 of Alien Spare (Cosmic Mates #9)

Falkor woke up with a start and lifted his head from the counter.

He wiped the drool from his mouth with the back of his hand then reached for his glass.

Empty. He squinted at the barkeep. There were two of them.

He closed an eye. No, just one. He was seeing double.

That couldn’t be good. Fortunately, there was a solution.

He lifted a finger. “Barkeep? Bring me another!”

“Your Highness, perhaps you should call it a night. You have had quite a few spirits this evening.”

“It’s night?” His new routine brought him to the tavern every afternoon. He’d drink through the night until the wee hours of the morning then crash into bed and sleep until the afternoon, get up, and do it all over again. How many days had it been now? Three, maybe? “What day is this?”

“It’s Farkyn .”

“Farkyn?” He’d left on Mokyn . He counted on his fingers. Mokyn , Tinkyn , Wopkyn , Tumkyn Farkyn. “I’ve been gone from the palace five days?”

“I don’t know, Your Highness. But you have been coming into the tavern for that many days.”

“I think this calls for another drink.”

“With all due respect, Your Highness, it calls for you to go to bed.” The barkeep paused. “Preferably, go home. Work things out with your wife.”

Work things out? “I mentioned I’d gotten married?” He had no recollection of any such conversation with the barkeep.

“Yes.”

“What else did I tell you?” he asked warily.

Avoiding his eyes, the barkeep scrubbed the bartop. “That you were having problems.”

“Did I get specific?”

“More specific than I would wish for, Your Highness.”

Hekkel. He rubbed his bleary eyes. Spirits had a tendency to loosen the tongue, and he’d pretty much stayed drunk since vacating the palace— five days ago . Hekkel. He hadn’t planned to be gone that long. He had no plan, except to dull the stabbing heartache.

Now, he’d end up in another Kaldor Celebrity News report. The barkeep could make a bundle selling the story to Bynti. “I don’t suppose I can count on you to keep what I told you confidential?”

“I would never breathe a word, Your Highness.”

He slid off the barstool onto rubbery legs. His mouth was fuzzy, and he spotted two exits—he vaguely remembered there being one. He hoped he didn’t smack into the wall and make a spectacle of himself—or, at least, no more than he already had. Closing an eye, he lurched toward his best guess.

“Your Highness?” the barkeep called.

He turned.

“For the record, I never believe what I see on Kaldor Celebrity News—and you shouldn’t either.”

He nodded and staggered out of the bar. The jolt of cool, crisp morning air chased away some of the fogginess. He rubbed his prickly chin. If he hadn’t removed the hair in five days, he probably hadn’t showered either. He raised his arm and sniffed his armpit. Nope.

Eying the street, he tried to recall where he’d left the hovercar.

Taking a chance, he veered to the right.

To his relief, after several minutes of searching, he located the vehicle on a nearby side street and instructed it to take him to his hotel.

He prayed the vehicle knew the location because he didn’t.

The rocking motion combined with alcohol and the lateness of the hour lulled him to sleep. He awakened when the hovercar announced, “You have arrived.”

He squinted at the seedy building advertising rooms by the hour. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, you have arrived.”

“I mean, is this the same place I left from?” Memories trickled in, slow and hazy. Off the grid, the seedy inn was the kind of place a royal would never set foot in—hence the perfect place to go unnoticed.

Entering the run-down lobby, he spied a woman, naked except for strategically placed strips of cloth. She stood up. “Well, hello, handsome. I’ve been waiting for you.”

Oh, hekkel. Had he engaged in…commerce with this woman? “Do I know you?”

“No, but you could,” she purred.

Thank the Gods of Kaldor! He’d never paid for sex in his life. Never had to. He could imagine the scandal that would have caused. At his most reckless, he’d retained some vestiges of common sense.

“I’m married,” he said.

“Most of my customers are,” she replied.

“I love my wife.” A fresh stab of pain shot through him.

Why, Karma, why? She’d tried to explain, but he’d refused to listen.

Perhaps he should have. But what could she have said?

It was a mistake? I never meant to hurt you?

Excuses wouldn’t alter the facts. She’d tried to deny it—but her voice on the holovid…

He stepped around the near-naked woman.

“Anyone ever tell you you look like Prince Falkor?”

Double hekkel. “All the time. I get that a lot.” Ducking his head, he hurried down the hall.

Dim lights flickered on, bright enough to reveal how sparse, dreary, and dingy the disinfectant-smelling room was. Per regulation, the violations of which resulted in stiff fines, all accommodations had to be cleaned and sanitized in between customers—whether rooms rented by the night or the hour.

His unopened suitcase sat by the bed. He couldn’t have been wearing the same clothes for five days, could he?

Yes, he could have. He hadn’t showered, and his mouth…

ugh. Still woozy and tired, he stripped naked and padded into the bath.

He cleaned himself, hot-air dried, and then brushed his teeth, feeling slightly more alive.

He rubbed his scruffy jaw. The barkeep was right. He should go home. Running from problems had never fixed them, but he needed to be alert when he confronted her. Sleep first.

He lurched into the other room and crashed onto the bed, covered with scratchy paper. Disposable linen, just like my marriage. He doused the light, rolled over, and slipped into oblivion.

* * * *

The holovids are fake. I didn’t cheat on you, I swear. Please come home.

Are you all right?

We need to talk. Please. At least answer me.

Falkor awakened to a dreary overcast afternoon, and three pleading messages from Karma on his communication device.

They’d been sent days ago, but he hadn’t checked his comms until now.

With a clear head, he read and reread her words, and in a flash, the world righted itself and revealed what an idiot he was.

I should have listened to her. Insecurities had undermined common sense.

Convinced he’d once again become second best, he’d bolted, unable to face losing the woman he loved.

The idea she’d chosen Soton over him had hurt more than anything he’d ever experienced.

He’d abandoned her before she could abandon him.

He’d stayed away because he was afraid of what he’d find when he got home.

Cowardly.

Stupid.

He’d had a reputation for loving-and-leaving, but usually the woman left him.

Many women curried his attention because of his pedigree, some to get closer to Jaryk, the heir who would be king.

Other women had been seduced away by Soton.

Ironically, Bynti, who’d set her sights on him, was the one woman he couldn’t wait to be rid of.

What he first mistook as confidence, drive, and boldness, he’d realized was brashness, selfishness, and greed.

Since he’d extricated himself, she’d made ruining his life her personal crusade.

Dubbing him the Prince of Scandal, she’d proceeded to embellish his exploits.

No matter how much he tried to be discreet, he always seemed to end up a Kaldor Celebrity News headline.

As the victim of numerous misleading news reports, he should have given Karma the benefit of the doubt. Even the barkeep considered KCN to be excrement.

He recalled their physical intimacy, laughter, conversations, the sweetness and heat of their marriage, and shame filled him. I’m the Prince of Stupid! Would she ever forgive him? Could he ever make it up to her?

From his pants pocket, he retrieved the silver-gold orb and studied the ring inside. Thank the Gods of Kaldor he hadn’t given in to the impulse to throw it away. Would she accept the ring as a symbol of his love—or reject it as an indulgence to buy forgiveness?

He tucked the ring in his bag and grabbed his comm device. He couldn’t imagine what she’d be thinking after he’d vanished for five days, and her pleas had gone unacknowledged? He reread her messages.

The holovids are fake. I didn’t cheat on you, I swear. Please come home.

Are you all right?

We need to talk. Please. At least answer me.

How could he account for his behavior? I’m sorry for not responding sooner, he messaged. Erase. Erase. Erase. What could he say? I was on a drunken bender? Feeling sorry for myself? Acting like an idiot?

I don’t blame you. It’s all right. Erase. Erase. She wouldn’t believe him. If he hadn’t blamed her, why would he have left for five days and ignored her messages? He had believed the worst of her.

I love you. Can you forgive me? Erase. Erase. A quick message, even one from the heart, could not fix things. An apology of this magnitude must be delivered in person. He needed to beg for forgiveness.

I’m coming home. We’ll talk. Inadequate, but he hit send . Still on his comm device, he took care of some other urgent business and then donned fresh clothing. There was one last task to take care of before he went home to his wife.

* * * *

Soton was swearing at the computer.

“I didn’t expect to find you at the office today,” Falkor said, having assumed he’d have to hunt him down. But he’d tried the office because no one was more brazen than his former partner.

Soton scowled at the retinal scanner used to log employees into the system. “Where else would I be on a Farkyn? What in the hekkel is wrong with this thing? It won’t acknowledge me. I can’t access the system.”

“That’s because you don’t work here anymore.”

Soton spun around in his chair. “You saw the broadcast,” he deadpanned. “It’s not what you think, I swear. It was all Bynti’s doing. I was set up.” The words and tone sounded innocent, but Soton couldn’t quite hide his smirk. He was proud of what he’d done.

“You set Karma up. You set me up. You’re done here. Your services are no longer required.”

“You can’t fire me. We’re partners.”

“Actually, I can. You violated the nondisclosure agreement, which itself is grounds for dismissal, but I don’t need a reason. I own the company. However, if you need a reason—it’s personal. You attempted to destroy my marriage.”

“This proves what I always suspected. You never considered me a true partner. It’s always about you, isn’t it?” Soton sneered. “I was just an employee, a servant who did your bidding. I worked my ass off for you.”

“I did mean it. I never considered you a servant or treated you as such. I considered you a friend. And I worked my ass off, too.”

“Worked?” Soton scoffed. “Everything you have got handed to you. You snap your fingers, and you get whatever you want.”

The vehement accusation floored him. Other than Jaryk and Karma, no one knew him better than Soton.

He saw how he had struggled to break free of the restraints of royal expectations and carve out a meaningful, satisfying life.

Soton knew of the late hours he toiled designing, testing, and tweaking the products the company sold. He did more site visits than Soton.

“Whatever you desire is yours for the asking, yours for the taking. Like Bynti.” Soton’s features contorted into something ugly. “She was the only woman I ever loved, but after I introduced you, she wouldn’t look at me—except to ask about you.”

His jaw dropped. This is about Bynti? “You liked Bynti? I had no idea. We were only together a short time. You could have had her.”

“After you? No, thanks.” His lip curled.

“We’re not in competition.” I am the Prince of Stupid.

How could he have had no inkling of Soton’s jealousy and hatred?

In a flash, he recalled the most salacious KCN stories had aired after he’d been out carousing with Soton.

His friend was the anonymous source! Soton had been selling him out all along.

Probably the only thing that had kept Soton from revealing who owned the business was the NDA and the penalties—and the opportunity to continue to avenge the perceived wrong.

“I elevated Bynti’s career, handfeeding her tips and stories about you—and still, she wouldn’t give me the time of day.”

“Maybe she didn’t trust someone who would betray a friend.”

Soton turned purple with rage. “You think you’ve won?” His mouth twisted into a malicious grin. “Your wife is on her way back to Earth.”

He wouldn’t fall for his lies again. “No, she’s not.”

Soton came out from behind the desk and thrust his comm device at Falkor. “See for yourself.”

“What is this?”

“The passenger manifest for the ship bound for Earth. Check the last name.”

He scanned the list. Karma Kennedy.

“The ship launches in ten minutes—if you hurry, you can catch it. Oh, wait. No, you can’t. You’ll never get there on time.” He laughed gleefully.

“You’re full of shit.” He flung the device at Soton.

If he and Bynti could manufacture an entire holovid, he could fake a flight manifest. “Get out—oh, wait. Before you go—one more thing.” He drew back and punched Soton in the face.

Blood sprayed from his nose, and he went sprawling. “Now, get out!”