‘the old guy’ is His Majesty the King! She cannot—”
“I don’t give a shit if he’s the Pope. He’s hurting, and you dildos are just standing around. Now move.” She put her hand on the nearest chest—it was Damon’s—and shoved. Then she noticed the heavy curtain beside the doorway, and tugged on it. It fell into place, obscuring everyone from sight, with a satisfying flap.
From behind the heavy curtain, she heard a plaintive, “What is a dildo?,” and then many retreating footsteps.
“Come here,” the king said weakly.
She turned and stomped back to the bed. “Sorry about that, but Jesus! Someone had to light a fire under those guys.”
“My name is not Jesus. But you do such things very well. Sit here beside me. Ah—your clothing will be tended to, and I must again humbly implore your forgiveness for my foul and coarse behavior—”
“Don’t worry about it. You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve been puked on, spit on, had shit flung at my head, not to mention bullets—seriously, this is nothing. Shoot, I’ve had dates that weren’t this pleasant.”
“The lady is too kind. If you will permit a bold query, does your striking coloring come from your sire or your dam?”
“Um…my mom’s Black Irish, if that’s what you mean.”
“I do not know that tribe. I would know all about how you came to my home.” He leaned back against the pillows and wriggled to get comfortable. He looked happy for the first time since she came into the room.
Poor guy’s probably bored to death. Not used to staying in bed, that’s for damn sure.
“Sure, I’ll talk. What do you want to know?”
“I do beg you to tell me everything, good lady.”
“Your son—Damon?—brought me. My name’s Lois, by the way.”
“I am Sekal, Lord High King of the SandLands, Ruler of the Exalted Ranges of the OnHigh Mountains, Emperor of the Snowy Islands, Maker of the—”
“So, Sekal, yeah, nice to meet you.” She automatically stuck her hand out, then cursed herself as he just looked at it. She sort of waved at him and continued. “As to how I got here…” She started to talk. She was still talking when tight-lipped servants showed up with fresh nightgowns—one for her, one for the king—sheets, blankets, and food.
While the servants bustled around, changing sheets and offering her clothes, the king beckoned and Damon was instantly at his side. He started to kneel, but the king waved weakly and Damon took his hand instead. “Ho, my son, when you said you left to go a-hunting, I did not think you should enjoy so much luck!”
“Nor I, my good father.”
“And at exactly the right time, too.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Right time for what?” Lois asked, but then she was hustled behind a changing divider, and being divested of her clothes. She slapped the servant’s hands away. “I can undress myself, thanks. What’s your name?”
“Zeka, my lady.”
Zeka—poor kid, what a moniker!—was a petite woman with curly blond hair and the greenest eyes Lois had ever seen. They were the color of a newly mown lawn, and as big as quarters. She was dressed simply in a white robe—in fact, all the servants were dressed in white, draped robes; they looked like escapees from the set of Gladiator.
“Well, Zeka, whatcha got there?”
Teeny Zeka was hefting a brimming stone jug—the thing had to weigh thirty pounds!—with one arm, and pouring bluish-purple water into a large basin. A delightful perfumed scent rose from the splashing water; a cross between roses and water lilies. Suddenly Lois wanted a bath. Very badly.
“If you would be so good as to hand me your soiled clothes, I will see them washed. In the meantime, if you approve, you may wear this.” She held up a plain white robe.
“Sure, looks great. Thanks a lot.” Lois quickly stripped down to nothing, feeling a little awkward. She would have preferred to keep her panties, but all her clothing stank. Working quickly, she sponged herself clean with the water and rough towel Zeka provided. She turned to slip into the robe when Zeka gasped.
“You—you have many, many battle marks!”
“Uh, yeah. Also known as hideous scar tissue. Thanks for noticing—and yelling about it.” Lois knew her body wasn’t exactly a candidate for a Playboy pullout. “Jeez, calm down, willya?”
But Zeka was already darting out of the small changing space. She heard urgent whispers and grabbed for the robe, about two seconds too late. Suddenly the divider was wrenched aside, and Damon and his brothers were standing there.
“Jesus Christ!”
“By the Great Lion,” one of the brothers whispered. “What a woman!”
The other brother reached out and touched the puckered bullet scar above her right breast. She smacked his hand away with her fist and clutched the robe to her chest. “Hands off, unless you want to spit out your teeth,” she snapped. The prince’s eyebrows arched as she continued. “You guys might be comfortable walking around without any clothes on, but I’m an old-fashioned girl.”
“Things are different here,” Damon said mildly, his gaze riveted to the rope burn on her shoulder.
“Thanks for the news flash. Now buzz off so I can get dressed!”
“What is it?” the king called weakly. “What is the matter?”
“Nothing, Father,” Damon said. “Our visitor is simply more beautiful than any of us had imagined.”
“Lord, what has that boy been smoking?” Lois muttered. One of the brothers edged forward, staring at the knife scar near her belly button, but she kicked out at him, effectively herding him back. The other brother laughed. “Get lost. Go find some other woman to ogle.”
“Oooh-gull?”
“Stare at. Gape. Gawk.”
“I must beg a lady’s pardon, but your beauty robbed us of—”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“—our good manners. I am Maltese, second in line to the throne of the SandLands, Prince of the—”
“Fine, I’m Lois, nice to meet you.”
The other blond—they were as alike as twins, except this one had eyes the deep green of wet leaves, while Maltese’s eyes were the color of the sea after a winter storm. “I am Shakar, third in line to the—”
“Meetcha. You mind turning around while I put this on?”
“I do mind, yes.”
“I also.”
She
