A Royal Christmas in Space

Book 1: Chapter 3

Chapter 3 - M to the A to the S to the K

Pluckie knew as soon as her face collided with the solid, masculine chest, that she was in the presence of royalty. Prince Drak Revin was tall, dark and presumably very handsome. It was hard to tell with the combination helmet and mask he wore at all times.

His strong, kevlar encased arms wrapped around her waist and shoulders as he tried to steady the two of them, but it was no use. Pluckie's momentum knocked their bodies sideways. Drak was able to catch her and prevent her from tumbling to the floor, but he couldn't stop her from bumping into a marble pedestal.

They stood still, the Prince holding Pluckie almost perpendicular to the ground, and watched as the priceless vase on top the pedestal tipped and wobbled. For a moment it looked as though it had steadied itself and everything would be ok, but one last wobble sent the vase over the edge. It fell to the floor and smashed into a thousand worthless shards.

"Oh no!" she gasped as she stared up into the dark, mirrored visor that covered his eyes. "Is there any way to fix it?"

"No." There was an air of resignation in the Prince's mechanically filtered voice. "With all the advanced technology we have onboard, there's no way to fix a broken vase." He carefully placed her back on her feet and then shook the wrinkles out of his black, velvet cape.

"I'm so sorry," she said.

"What's done is done." He shrugged. "If it was anyone other than famous gladiator Plucky Smythe, I might fly into a murderous rage. Good thing I'm a big fan of yours, although I hardly recognize you without your gladiator helmet on."

"Yes. Helmets are good for hiding a person's true identity," Pluckie said, "About that, the true identity thing..." If she didn't come clean now, she might never get the chance.

"You haven't seen my personal secretary, Wheldon Beyette, have you?" the Prince asked. He didn't seem to care much that she'd been on the verge of a momentous confession. "If he lost my children again, I WILL fly into a murderous rage."

"No, no. He's with them," she quickly said. Wheldon was so pleasant and attractive; she didn't want him to get in any trouble. "I saw him earlier with the young prince and princess. They were..." She paused as she tried to think of something he might do with the children that wasn't against the law. They couldn't read or play or watch educational documentaries. "They were..." she said again, "...talking about ways to kill Ralfies."

"Ah." He nodded and casually rested his hand on the hilt of his laser-cutlass. "A wholesome pastime. I'll stop looking for him."

Pluckie felt like she should say something else, but she wasn't sure what. If she told him the truth about herself now, he'd fly into a murderous rage and she definitely didn't want to get murdered. But what could she talk about? She'd already lied about Wheldon, his children, and herself. The longer the two of them stood in the hallway, the more the lies between them took root and grew into an impenetrable barrier.

"So," Prince Drak said, finally breaking the awkward silence. "I'd better get going. Will I see you tonight in the formal dining room?"

"I don't think I've been invited."

He nodded. "Consider this an invitation."

Pluckie gazed up at the visor hiding the Prince's eyes. "Then I would be honored to accept." She tried not to imagine his eyes as soulful and intelligent. This was the man, afterall, whose tyrannical laws had condemned her family to misery. But she couldn't help herself. His impeccable posture and broad shoulders were the very image of majestic.