Page 27 of Splintered Shadow
Vekele
Vekele was not a cook. Why would he be? There was always someone in the palace to prepare meals. In the military, self-serve appliances delivered meals on demand. When those broke—and they always did—he gnawed on a ration bar. At Summerhall, someone from the village came once a week to deliver supplies, mostly bland rations. Vekele never made requests and had been content to survive on what he had been given.
The meals he had prepared for Sarah seemed inadequate now, despite being nutritionally sound. Even though she disliked the ration bar, she consumed it without complaint, which was more than he could say about some soldiers he knew.
He needed to do better.
Vekele stood in the kitchen, unsure where to begin. He had very little in the way of fresh produce. When the new delivery came, he would ask for a greater variety, but that did not help him now.
The pantry had several types of packaged food, all providing enough vitamins and calories to sustain existence, but he doubted that would please Sarah.
He did not know why it was important to please the female. In his generosity, he provided water, sustenance, and shelter, in addition to medical care. She should be grateful for the gelatinous and nutritionally balanced rations he provided, even if unappealing.
Yet here he was in the overgrown kitchen garden, searching for anything edible. His actions made no sense.
Last fall, in an uncharacteristic fit of optimism, he cleared the beds and planted seedlings for a spring harvest. He was not a gardener and the small plot had fallen into neglect.
He found a raised bed of leafy greens that had survived his abandonment and grazing from wildlife. There was a vine of heavy gourds that sprawled across the ground, covering most of the garden. He collected the ones that were ripe and nearly ripe. He had no idea how to prepare it, but leaving it to rot seemed a waste. In addition, he found a few berries and vegetables that had escaped grazing from the local animals.
His harvest seemed pitifully small, but it was a start.
Carefully, he read the instructions on how to prepare a box of grains. While the grains boiled, he researched the best way to cook the gourds. The knives in the kitchen were insulting. Dull from neglect, he spent far too long bringing the blade back to acceptable sharpness. Chopping required that he hold his head at an uncomfortable angle. He felt ridiculous, head tilted and hunched over the cutting board.
Vekele paused, setting down the blade. If anyone were to see him, they would mock his weakness, and then…well, that was why he spent the last year in exile at Summerhall.
No. The female required sustenance, and that was more important than his ego.
He shook off any lingering insecurities and resumed the meal preparation. What did he care if he looked ridiculous? He was a prince. If any dared to mock him, they would suffer the consequences.
While he worked, he tried not to think about Baris requesting an update on the captive. He responded with vague assurances that he continued to interrogate Sarah Krasinski but had nothing of significance to report.
That was incorrect.
A network search of the Arcosian archives turned up a report on humans. A classified Reilen document, it was decades out of date, perhaps even a century. How it came to be in the archives, he would not speculate. His people had once been great traders of resources, information being the most valuable resource. Some noble ancestor believed that if Reilen considered the dossier on humans important enough to be classified, then it was important enough to be in the royal archives.
Vekele wanted to thank that unknown ancestor, as that report provided the bulk of all known information about Earth and its humans. Nothing in the report contradicted what Sarah had told him. Earth was primitive. Perhaps not as technologically backward as when Reilen surveyed the planet, but the report was outdated.
The most tantalizing bit of information came from Duras, a footnote in a report. Apparently, humans were genetically compatible. The Reilen report only hinted at this, but the Duras report contained an anecdote of a Khargal soldier stranded on Earth who took a human mate and had offspring.
Vekele did not want to share any of this information with Baris. Not yet.
Not until he understood why it affected him so, why it planted the seductive idea in his mind of taking Sarah Krasinski of Earth as his mate.
She had and lost a mate, she told him. Years had passed, but he heard the pain in her voice as she talked about her lost mate. There would be no room in her heart for another.
Entertaining such thoughts was the height of foolishness. Vekele had spoken true when he said that the king would select his mate. He expected a political match and nothing more.
The knife thunked against the cutting board with too much force, releasing a small amount of frustration.
Until he found Sarah in the ruins of Miria, he had accepted the necessity of a political mating. He was a prince. He had a duty to the king, the family, and the stability of the kingdom.
How could he refuse his king? After all, Baris would not ask Vekele to do something he himself was unwilling to do. His brother had been negotiating a peace treaty to unite two warring Shadowmark and Starshade families together in marriage. Did Baris have affection for his mate? Irrelevant.
As irrelevant as Vekele’s own wants and desires.
And he wanted with such intensity that it baffled him.
He wanted to savor every inch of her curves and explore theircompatibility. Her proportions were strange, shorter, and broader than the average Arcosian. Her hips were wide, ideal for gripping hard while he drove his cock into her. He wanted to see that: her red hair spilled across the bed, a moan on her lips, and ecstasy on her odd human face.
