Chapter 13

Ellax

I did not know where to look or what to think. I did not wish to look at the human female who sat anxiously on the edge of my bed. She stared at me, her eyes huge and luminous. I had promised her I could fix this. Promised her it would not be an issue.

I could not keep that promise.

My stomach felt filled with lead. As though I'd visited the lead mines on the planet Dormet, and eaten my fill from the carts used to trundle the metal in and out of the pits.

"Wh—what are we going to do?" the human female asked.

Her voice was timid. Shaky.

"I cannot say." I shook my head grimly. "I still have hopes the Council will come to the proper decision."

"What if they don't?"

I had no answer. What if they did not?

"Can't we just—ignore them? Can't we apply for a divorce ourselves? Or an annulment? We don't have to stay married, do we, because the Council says we should?"

"It is not that simple," I responded. I could hear the tightness in my voice. It was not from anger at her. Rather, at the situation in which we found ourselves. My brain whirred, attempting to decipher a path through the maze.

"Asterion marriages are not typically rescinded by anything save death, anyway. A judge or a member of Council must agree to the divorce, or the annulment, and they must have proper grounds. Even with what some might consider proper grounds, they are rarely granted. Asterions simply do not divorce. An annulment might be easier to obtain—and I feel we've proper grounds, indeed. But if a judge or a member of Council refuses to sign off on it…"

"We're screwed," she said, her voice flat.

"Indeed," I intoned.

"I just can't. I can't!"

She almost seemed to explode—jumping off the bed, speaking rapidly, even waving her arms. Clearly, to my mind, losing control.

"I can't do this again!" she snapped. "I can't be married to a man who doesn't love me. I can't share a bed with a man who wants everyone except me. Do you know how miserable that is? I just got the hell out of one bad relationship, and now I'm getting thrown into another one? I can't do this!"

I eyed her suspiciously. Never had I seen anyone stomp about, ranting and rambling like this. It must be a human trait. I wasn't clear on what to do besides wait for her to finish. At last, she did, sinking into a chair as if spent. To my horror, a sob escaped.

"I can't do this," she repeated in a tearful voice, shielding her face with her hands. "How can a stupid drunken mistake upend my life?"

I snorted derisively. "Your life is hardly upended," I said. "It is not as though you had much of a life to begin with. You were, what, an unwed mother whose children are already grown and need you no further? You were a records keeper on a space ship? If anything, I am the one who should be weeping. My life is the one upended."

This seemed very practical to me. Common sense. Logical.

Perhaps the human female did not grasp the value of logic the way she should have.

Her head came up, her hands dropping to her lap. Although her eyes were wet with tears, sheer fury had displaced any hints of sadness.

"You bastard," she snapped. "It's all about you, isn't it? My life, my thoughts, my feelings don't matter because I'm human. Is that right?"

I shrugged. "Well, comparatively speaking. If you were at home on Earth, you would likely be given to an Overlord as a breeder. Despite being a little old for that role, you have born two sons, which proves you are capable of carrying and bringing forth offspring."

"Well, I guess that's what I'm supposed to do for you, now, isn't it?" she snapped. She rose, bracing her feet as if steadying herself for a fight. Her fists were clenched at her sides. "You heard what the spokesperson said, didn't you? The Council thinks you need an heir. And they think you need a human wife. So, logically, if you have a human wife—that means they think you need a half-human heir. And if I'm your human wife, that means they think we need to have a baby together."

I blinked at her. Yes, I'd heard everything Spokesperson Ventara had said. I supposed, in the surprise of the moment, the full implications hadn't settled upon me.

"That is not…" I stopped. Why protest? That was exactly what Ventara was indicating.

"Oh, it's not?" The human woman was not finished yet. "I'm pretty damn sure it is! What better way to seal the deal with human and Asterion relations than for a damn Asterion Elder to produce a legitimate half-human heir?"

It was very reasonable. It was also very unpleasant. An Asterion on Earth fathering half-human children was all very well. But for a nobleman, an Asterion like myself?

My mouth twisted as I considered the ignominy of a half-human child on my home planet. I had seen such creatures before. Sometimes their skin was as dark as ours, sometimes not. Sometimes their eyes were golden like ours, sometimes not. Sometimes their ears were not our normal wedge-shape. To my mind, most infants were homely enough. Throw human features into the mix, and they become truly unpleasant to behold.

"Yes," Lorelai said, her arms now folded across her ample breasts—which were admittedly still shapely for a woman her age, particularly for a mother who had birthed two children and likely nursed them. "I can tell by your face that you're loving this idea. It was all fine for me to be upset about it because my life's been thrown into a corkscrew. The shoe doesn't fit so well now that it's on the other foot, does it?"

I may not have known precisely what her odd terminology meant about shoes, but I could tell she was mocking me in her own way.

"Let us have one thing straight," I said, stepping towards her. "My life is more important that yours. My role in the Interstellar Coalition is more important that yours on a space ship. My offspring are more important that yours, and I am more important than you. Now, you may choose to be angry and resentful over it, or you may accept the truth…which, you'd best accept it, if we are to be stuck together in this farce of a marriage. You'd best learn your role, female. The sooner you learn it, the happier you will be."

I'd anticipated her being angry. Truthfully, my former wife, Druea, would have been angry over such a speech too, despite its veracity. Hadn't human invented the quaint little saying, The truth hurts? Yes, the truth was painful sometimes. I did not expect her to accept my words without absorbing the sting. And yet, what I did not expect was for her to take the words, take the sting, and retaliate as she did.

Which was for her hand to flash up and her palm to strike my cheek with all the force she could muster. I felt my head whip to the side beneath the force of the blow. Felt the smart of her flesh striking mine.

"You bastard," she hissed. "I don't care what all the councils and coalitions in the universe declare—I'll never be your wife and I'll never give you a baby!"

Before I could call her back, before I could catch her arm to stop her, she'd run for the door, used the handle to fling it open, and fled outside. I saw a glimpse of her form turning to the left before the door slid closed behind her.

"Well," I said quietly. "This bodes well for our future marriage."