“When you’re not beating each other up—figuratively speaking—you get along well.”
Karma harrumphed. “The one minute when we retreat to our corners in between rounds?”
“You have a lot in common.”
“Mutual dislike.”
“You’re more alike than you’re different.”
“I beg your pardon! He’s a jerk! Are you saying I’m a jerk?”
“More of a free spirit.”
“I can’t believe you think this is a good idea.”
“It’s not a bad one.”
They could debate this forever and ever. “We’re going to have to agree to disagree. Can I borrow a dress or not?”
“Yes, but not black. I’m not letting you wear black to your wedding—I am invited, aren’t I?”
“Yeah. We delayed doomsday so you and Jaryk could attend.”
* * * *
The wedding officiant, a gray-green lizard man with a serious overbite and a noticeable lisp, droned on about the seriousness of marriage. She allowed her attention to wander, pulling it in periodically in case she missed something important—like an escape clause.
The ceremony was being held in one of the smaller public galleries. Small being relative. Everything in the palace was gigantic and grand. Holograms of former monarchs and princesand princesses gazed down from pedestals around the room, making it appear as though there were more guests attending the wedding than Kismet, Jaryk, King Rullok, and Queen Myka.
Falkor, damn him, did formal well, handsome and rakish in a dark-blue jacket and pants offset by his spiked hair and devil-may-care light-blue cosmetic stripes across his nose and cheeks. Although forced to comply with the king’s edict, he hadn’t lost his cheeky attitude, drawing her reluctant admiration.
She also had to admit Kismet had picked the perfect outfit for her. The flamenco-style pink dress revealed flashes of deep rose when it swished around her calves. She gave a little twirl now to feel the fabric swing around her legs. Fun and flamboyant—it matched her style.Too bad I’m not wearing it to my real wedding.
Falkor caught her eye and winked, like they were conspirators in a grand caper rather than tragic victims of circumstance.Us against the world.What a novel idea. What if, instead of fighting each other, they fought the forces against them?
“Do you,PrinthFalkor Rullok-Myka of Kaldor, agree to enter into a legal union with Karmaathyour wife for the term of one year, to beextheendedindefinitely should you bothconthur?” the officiant lisped.
“I do.” His “conthurance” rang out clear and true, but his mouth twitched with amusement, and she had to bite her lip to keep from breaking out into hysterical giggles.
“Do you, KarmaThelestinaKennedy of Earth agree to enter into a legal union withPrinthFalkorathyourhuthbandfor the term of one year, to beextheendedindefinitely should you bothconthur?”
“I—do,” she choked, hoping she got through the ceremony without a laughing fit.
“By thepowerthinvested in me byCothmicMates, I pronounce youhuthbandand wife.”
“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” Kismet chanted in sisterly revenge. When she married Jaryk, a near stranger, Karma had finagled them into kissing at the altar.
It wasn’t so funny now. She scowled. “I don’t think—”
Falkor swept her into his arms, bent her over, and laid on a lip-lock. His tongue tickled the seam of her mouth, shocking her into parting her lips. He pressed his advantage, sweeping inside and crashing her defensive shields with smooth seduction. Good Goddess, the man could kiss!
When he let her up, she swayed on her feet, mind muddled.Why did he kiss me like that?
The king, queen, and Jaryk applauded by whistling, and Kismet tossed confetti she’d pulled from a tiny pouch around her waist.
“Thinehere.” The officiant pressed a tablet into her hands, and she scrawled her name. Falkor signed, and, with that, her fate was sealed.
Chapter Six
