“Oh,” is the only reply I can eek out.
“Now, you’ve just come out of cryosleep, and your emotions will be varied at best. Beyond maiming the duke, is there anything I can get or do for you, anything that might make you more comfortable while you stay at the estate?”
“I just want to go home; can you help me?” The words bubble up from my throat. God, a minute ago I was ready to murder Raf’ere, and now I’m about to beg a stranger for help. I can already feel the fat tears brimming behind my eyelids. “Varied emotions” is an understatement.
“That, I’m afraid, is truly impossible,” he says kindly.
I swallow a sob, not wanting to break down here with this stranger, no matter how unusually comfortable he makes me.
“What I can do is get you some new clothes—and maybe some time to shower and refresh yourself? I can’t imagine cryosleep is particularly kind to your body.” He grabs one of the duke’s ornate robes and places it over my shoulders like a cape. “Maybe once you’re clean and dressed, you’ll be able to figure out the best use of your time here.”
“As if I have a say in that? That sick fuck wants to keep me as his…as his… I don’t know, his sex slave or something,” I say, pulling the robe tighter around myself.
The butler raises his four fingered hand to his mouth, stifling a laugh, like what I’ve just said is the most hilarious thing he’s ever heard.
“What’s so funny?” I demand, as my current predicament doesn’t really lend itself to humor. Maybe I just don’t understand alien humor very well.
“His Grace, the duke, has so many willing bedfellows. I highly doubt that he’d ever force you to attend to him in that way. His Grace is many things, incredibly forward being one of them…but rapist he decidedly is not.” He regains his composure and continues picking up bits of the broken sex toys from the ground.
“So if he’s got so many willing suitors, why won’t he let me leave? Why the hell did he look like he wanted to eat me just now?” It doesn’t make sense. If he’s such a playboy, why is he holding me captive? I felt the bulge in his pants, I know what his body wants.
“That is peculiar, and I won’t pretend to know his motives, but I do trust him. Maybe it’s for the best you stay here with us, take this time to relax and learn about your new world.” The butler deposits the pieces of trash into a nearby bin and straightens to his full height.
“Stay here with him? He’s a monster! I can’t—” I feel a tear roll down my cheek as I yell.
“His grace is a hero.” The old alien’s face grows serious as he cuts me off. “He fought for our planet during the Korlyan Moon wars, and he sacrificed so much to keep Sontafrul 6 safe. He’s one of the only people on this entire planet in a position of power that fights for our people’s natural way of life, under the water.” His tone is curt.
“Convince this hero to let me go, then. I don’t belong here under the waves.” I panic, thinking of the water that surrounds me here. “It doesn’t have to be Earth, but anywhere else…”
“I can provide some small comforts, Marta. Take advantage of them.” He puts the liquor back into the bar of weirdly shaped bottles. “Raf’ere isn’t as bad as his first impression comes across. I promise that.”
I don’t even have the energy to tell him I don’t fucking care. I slump back onto the ground, like I have a hundred times this past hour, and start to sob.
“I’ll have some clothing brought to the duke’s shower unit. When you’re ready, please let me know. Just knock and the duke will summon me—my name is Jens’i.”
“Like Gen-Z?” I ask between sniffles, not able to stop crying.
“I don’t think so,” he says, closing the door, his face confused. He must not want to deal with an inconsolable human woman.
What he does do, that the duke didn’t, is hit something on the panel near the door which turns on soft yellow lighting that’s integrated into the cabinetry of the wood.
At least he didn’t leave me in the dark.
I pull the robe tightly around myself, my fingers brushing the intricate beading along the shoulders of the garment. In the glow of the new lights, the metallic beads glint, and I catch the detail in their shape for the first time.
Each bead, long and tapered, is sewn into the garment in the style of fringed epaulets. I finger one and it’s featherlight in my hands. As I inspect the bead closer, its shape becomes familiar.
The slight twist, the tapered end…it’s a cornicello. How in the world am I wearing an alien garment covered in hundreds of tiny Italian horns? I stop crying immediately and tug one of the beads free, ripping the thread securing it to the garment.
Most Italian Americans don’t believe in coincidences, myself included. The amulet in my hand is supposed to protect you from the evil eye, and holy fuck, is that something I need right now.
It’s also supposed to make you more virile, but that's beside the point. I’ll take any good luck that the universe will hand me.
Using my forefinger and thumb, I pluck the plasticky thread that once secured the bead. As I do, more beads fall to the floor, but I eventually work a length long enough to tie the horn around my neck. It might be superstitious, but seeing as I didn’t believe in aliens until just a few hours ago, why risk it?
Is it stupid that something so small could make me feel so much better?
I still don’t believe Jens’i. I don’t think the duke is anything but the monster I’ve seen…but maybe he doesn’t want to hurt me.
