“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 scandalthatwould 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. Perregulation, 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.
