Page 16 of Alien Charming
Her stomach tightened. Those three words never preceded anything good.
“I’ve decided you won’t be joining us for dinner after all.”
“But—”
“Don’t argue with me,” her aunt snapped. “The Vultor leader will be here with his delegation. This is an important negotiation for the village’s future. I can’t risk you embarrassing me.”
“I wouldn’t embarrass you,” she whispered. “I know how to behave at dinner.”
“You embarrass me by simply existing. Even leaving your past aside, your awkwardness, your constant daydreaming—it’s not the impression I want to make on our guests.”
Her cheeks burned, and she stared at her folded hands. “Yes, Aunt.”
“I’m glad we understand each other. You will remain in your room,” her aunt continued. “I’ll have Marta bring you a plate later.”
“But I?—”
“This isn’t a discussion. This dinner is for adults who understand what’s at stake. Not for girls who spend their days playing in the dirt with plants.”
Her aunt closed the door with a heavy thud, leaving her alone with her disappointment. She sank onto her bed, the grey dress pooling around her like a storm cloud as hot tears spilled down her cheeks. The unfairness of it stung worse than any of her aunt’s cutting remarks. To be so close to seeing Seren again, only to have it snatched away at the last moment.
She crossed to the window and pushed it open, gulping in the cool evening air. Her tears subsided to hiccupping breaths as she wiped her face with her sleeve. The window overlooked the frontgarden and the path that led to the main road. From here, she could see anyone approaching the house.
She perched on the windowsill, knees drawn to her chest. The grey dress bunched uncomfortably around her waist, but she hardly noticed. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the garden as a group of figures appeared at the gate. She immediately recognized Seren—even from this distance, he cut an imposing figure. He’d dressed formally for the occasion in a deep blue tunic that accentuated his broad shoulders, and she drank in the sight of him.
One of his companions said something, and he nodded, his posture stiff and formal, but then he looked up. For one breathless moment, his eyes locked with hers. A flicker of surprise crossed his face, followed by something warmer that made her pulse quicken. She started to raise her hand, but then her aunt’s voice interrupted the moment, all false warmth and exaggerated welcome.
Seren looked away as he was ushered inside, but she remained at the window, her fingers pressed against the glass. The space where he had stood seemed emptier somehow, as if the garden itself missed his presence. She couldn’t stay here, trapped in her room while he sat downstairs enduring her aunt’s false hospitality.
She quickly removed the grey dress, replacing it with another equally as drab, but worn to a comfortable softness. The sounds of conversation and forced laughter drifted up from below, punctuated by the clink of silverware against fine china. Her aunt’s voice rose above the others, artificially melodious, as she crept down the back stairs to the kitchen.
If she timed it right, she could slip out while Marta was serving the next course. The kitchen was warm and fragrant with roasting meat and herbs, and through the doorway she could see Marta arranging food on serving platters.
As soon as Marta disappeared through the swinging door to the dining room, she darted across the kitchen and out the back door into the gathering twilight. The cool evening air kissed her flushed cheeks as she circled around to the side of the house. Through the dining room window, she caught glimpses of the dinner party—her aunt at the head of the table, gesturing grandly. Seren’s face was locked in a stoic mask, even though he was seated in a chair too small for his big body.
The dining room windows cast golden rectangles of light across the lawn as she moved closer and crouched beneath the sill, her heart hammering against her ribs. The voices inside carried clearly through the partially opened window.
“As I was saying,” her aunt’s voice dripped with false warmth, “our village has much to offer your people, if the terms are agreeable.”
“We seek fair exchange,” Seren’s deep voice replied, the formal tone at odds with the way he had always spoken to her. “Not charity or exploitation.”
She inched up just enough to peer through the window. Seren’s massive shoulders were tense, his expression carefully neutral as Margaret gestured with her wine glass.
“Of course, of course,” her aunt simpered. “Though I must point out that it’s our village taking the greater risk. Many here still remember the… incidents from years past.”
One of the other Vultor—a striking female—shifted forward. “Ancient history, perpetuated by misunderstandings on both sides.”
Margaret’s smile tightened. “Perhaps. But perception matters, especially when asking humans to welcome your kind into their midst.”
Seren’s eyes flashed. “We’re not asking for your welcome, Mayor Jacobson. We’re proposing trade that benefits both our peoples.”
Her fingers curled into her palms. Her aunt was deliberately provoking them, setting up the negotiations to fail unless the Vultor accepted disadvantageous terms, and the realization made her stomach twist.
As if sensing her presence, Seren’s gaze suddenly shifted towards the window. For the second time that evening, their eyes met. This time, his widened slightly in recognition before he carefully returned his attention to Margaret, his expression revealing nothing.
She ducked down, her heart racing. He’d seen her. A strange thrill ran through her body, followed immediately by panic. What was she doing? If her aunt caught her spying, the consequences would be severe.
Yet she couldn’t bring herself to leave. Not when Seren was so close, enduring her aunt’s thinly veiled insults for the sake of his people. She settled back into her hiding place, straining to hear the conversation over the pounding of her heart.
