The Khellian King

“Clive could ruin the lives of anyone he effects,” Paldraik swirled his mimosa and leaned back in his chair. He sipped the orange drink and suppressed a burp before glancing at his mistress from under a prominent and hairless blue brow.

The woman he was speaking to, silently picked at her lush breakfast. She had wide, glittering eyes that glinted on her sky blue face. She was certainly more beautiful than Paldraik’s wife. “‘Why?’ You may ask,” he waved his hand and set the drink down before leaning forward now, over his large gut. He dabbed his mouth with the silken napkin and stood. Walking on his heels, his thumbs jutted into his pockets as he moved over to the mistress. “It’s in his nature. I’ve always known it.”

“Is he dangerous?” even her voice was fair. The middle-aged father smacked his lips before wagging his head and striding towards the large windows. Sunlight fell in through them, glittering over the glass table and dishware. Even in the eyes of the mistress, it sparkled. “Not in the way one would expect.” was the quiet reply. The woman tilted her head and set her fork down before standing. Her silk sleeves brushing her thin wrists as she did and the sun glimmered on her rounded, shimmering scalp-crests. They swooped back from her forehead and gathered at the crown of her head. She looked very regal for the woman who was sleeping with the Prime Minister.

“And that is why he must stay here, on Tae-Goun?” she draped her arms around the man’s shoulders as she came up behind him. He let her coo over him as he watched the crystal city thoughtfully. You would think this was everything a man would need to feel complete; Any woman he wanted, a peaceful city along with wealth to last more than a lifetime. But it was truly trivial when his own son refused the path he had been set.

“Yes,” replied Paldraik heavily.

The mistress moved in front of him smoothly, brushing her thumbs against his cheeks and offering him her most sultry gaze. “Set aside your worries, Sir. You have time before your first appointment. Let me ease your burdens.” Paldraik looked down at the beautiful woman who was basically begging for him. “I’m sorry my dear, I think I need a walk.” he stepped away from the lusting grasp and strode from the breakfast parlor, leaving the mistress alone at the window.

She lingered alone. A slender hand touching her soft cheek as her eyes looked not at the city, but at her own reflection in the glass. Tossed aside. How do you tell a married man you’re falling in love with him? You don’t.

“Always second best,” hissed Alamba. She pulled her manicured fingers into a disdainful fist and turned from the glass. Her breath was paralleled by the swish of her silks on the carpet. Her opaque, starry eyes, (which were native to the Khels), landed on Rubeka; Paldraik’s wife.

Rubeka was standing in the side doorway, the one that leads into the wing of bedchambers. She was fully dressed. A heavy headdress toppling from her head and to her shoulders-The headdress only worn by a woman married to a man of standing. Something Alamba would never dawn. The two women had a polite understanding. After all, it wasn’t like Rubeka and Paldraik ever had physical relations. Sex was a new revelation, (a new trend really. It had been introduced to the somber society by the younger generation who had returned from travels with notions of love and romance.) Rubeka had no interest in indulging in pointless and distracting acts of recreation, but her husband had been curious. That’s when Alamba was brought to the palace. Rukeba helped her settle in, but the two never formed a bond of any kind. Rubeka was snobbish and old fashioned, while Alamba was naive and selfish. If it wasn’t for palace protocol, the two would have chosen to never speak. But it was the tradition for the older woman of status to help mature the younger lady.

Usually, Rubeka looked nonplussed to see Alamba for their mandatory morning together. The two women would sit each on the farthest end of the glass table. They would meekly discuss their plans for the day and drink their tea. After the hour was up, a servant would usher Alamba out to let the great lady eat alone. But this morning was completely different. All of it; the air, the feeling, and a slight stirring in Alamba’s chest. It was all altered by a change between the older woman’s brows. Fear. Rubeka didn’t say anything at first, but she gestured for Alamba to sit nearer this morning.

Calmly crossing the floor, Alamba took the seat just to the right of the head of the table. The two gathering their skirts under them before sitting. A servant hurried in and replaced all of Paldraik’s food with Rubeka’s fresh breakfast. Alamba waved away the offer of food, her heart was beating too fast to eat. The young woman waited anxiously as Rubeka lifted the tea to her lips and drank slowly. She seemed to savor it as a rueful look made itself at home on her face. The teacup clinked against the saucer and at last the woman spoke.

She lifted the napkin to her mouth. “Paldraik has had me poisoned,” she said calmly. Alamba stared in shock at the tea while Rubeka made herself busy by folding the napkin. Alamba stammered, “But-but you’ve just,” she pointed weakly at the teapot. “I don’t understand, Ma’am.” Rubeka held up a hand. “It’s about time, I’ve been ailing for years now. And Paldraik has wanted complete control of the government for decades, he knew I was the last one who wanted...” the woman gasped and suddenly grabbed at the table, sending dishes and cups clattering to the floor in disarray. Alamba left her seat and flew to Rubeka’s side. The fair woman was clutching her chest with one arm and propping herself up with another. “Who wanted what, Ma’am?” whispered Alamba through terrified eyes. Rubeka coughed up bile. It landed with a thick splat on the floor and Alamba edged away from it, eyeing it in disgust.

Rubeka gripped one of Alamba’s arms; the woman was trembling terribly. “I want Clive to be free. I want him… I need him to become strong, so he…” The woman slumped to the floor, landing in Alamba’s graceful arms. Alamba felt tears pricking at her eyes and blinked them back, “So he can what..?” “So he can kill Paldraik.”

Alamba’s mouth hung open as the First Lady whispered treason in the breakfast hall. Minutes dragged on like hours as the noose hung heavier about Alamba’s neck. Rubeka choked out each detail of Paldraik’s schemes. This truth could kill her. Rubeka used her last breath, “You must help Clive escape...Alamba. Paldraik wants him dead...” After all… It just killed the Lady of Tae-Goun.

Alamba sat there for a moment, or was it a day? She thought she loved Paldraik. Yesterday, this would have been everything she wanted; Rubeka out of the way and Paldraik truly her own. But now she had watched someone die in her arms, she found out a terrible truth about the man she once loved, and her planet was in danger.

There was a knock at the main door and a call from the servant who had brought Rubeka food, “My Lady? Are you alright? We heard some dishes fall!” Alamba’s mind raced; should she run? Should she stay? Quickly, she decided that if she ran she would look guilty. So, she brought back the tears from earlier and allowed them the freedom to roam down her cheeks. Channeling her panic, she summoned a sobbing cry, “Hurry! It’s the Lady! She’s collapsed!” The grand doors were burst open and as he ran in, the servant called for guards and a doctor. He found the two women tangled in their silks, the concubine in hysterics and the First Lady dead in her arms. “Oh have mercy… what will Paldraik say?” shook the man as he wrung his hands in his garbs. He suddenly turned back to Alamba, who was cradling Rubeka and rocking back and forth, giving her performance her all. “You must tell Master Ophlaid of what has happened.” Alamba looked up and sniffed. “Why me?” she asked tearfully. “Well, it’s not your place to be in contact with the dead, to begin,” started the servant, helping Alamba to her feet and away from Rubeka’s body. “And it’s obvious you were close with the Lady,” he added. Alamba felt a pang of true heartbreak. Part of her really wished she had been able to befriend the woman, but she knew it was too late. If she really wanted to make it up, she would have to do as Rubeka instructed; and this was her perfect chance.

“You’re right.” Alamba took a calming breath and smoothed her gown. “I’ll go to him at once.” Turning as elegantly as she could, she replayed Rubeka’s last words; “Paldraik wants him dead...” she tried not to break into a run until she was safely in the private wings corridor.

The wing was a big change from the family breakfast hall, it was dimly lit and mostly warm-toned blues and greys. She couldn’t help but shake when she heard the medic and guards arrive on the scene. Would they detect the poison? And then what would they think? Alamba halted as a horrible truth had been realized; she was being framed. It all made sense, Paldraik’s distance this morning, her situation compared to Rubeka’s. It was not hard to believe that a jealous mistress would kill her lover’s wife. It was the perfect set up. She nearly vomited when one of the guards in the other rooms shouted and an alarm sounded throughout the palace. One word reverberated in Alamba’s mind as she gathered her skirt and ran; ‘murder’.

The guard was searching for her now, she could hear them tracing her steps. They hadn’t spotted her yet, so she still had time. She ran up a small flight of lavish stairs and met a fogged glass door, the doorknob was a twisted gold design and a vertical gold plaque read, ‘Clive Ophlaid.’ Not bothering to knock, Alamba burst into the bedroom and shut the door behind her. A young man, about 20, was sitting at his little table before his breakfast plates out. He was much more handsome than his father, in that he was very tall, and broadly built and a youthful and kind face. He looked up with big, starry eyes when Alamba entered. He was not angry, just perplexed. “Whatever is the matter?” he asked, pausing with his cup in hand. Alamba realized the same teapot that Rubeka had drunk from. She rushed to Clive, “I’m being framed,” she hissed through tears. “Paldraik has poisoned your mother, she died in my arms, Clive!” Alamba was shaking and wailing now and Clive had a horrified expression on. “She told me that he is plotting to take over-he wants to kill you next! Please, don’t eat anything on this table!” Clive set the drink down and got up. “You are sure?” he asked, his eyes were an emotion that Alamba couldn’t decipher. “I swear on my mother’s grave,” vowed Alamba reverently. “You don’t understand! Rubeka told me to help you escape! She wanted you to come back and kill Paldraik, but now they think I killed your mother! I’ve been framed!” the young woman jumped as there was a firm knock on Clive’s door. “Oh dear, God, they are going to kill me,” she whispered numbly.

“Wait-!” Clive began, but the door was wrenched open and four guards stormed into the bedroom, a lining their weapon’s sights with the trembling concubine. “I’m innocent!” she wailed. She moved towards Clive and the moment her fingers brushed his sleeve, she was shot dead at his feet. Clive’s eyes darkened. “What are you doing?” he roared at the men, falling to Alamba’s side. “She was innocent! You murderers! She was only trying to save me!” Clive rolled the woman onto her back and checked her pulse: Nothing. One of the guards spoke, “She murdered the Lady.” he said. Clive stood up, he was seething now. “She was framed,” he growled. “All due respect, Sir,” replied the guard. “How do you know?”

Clive turned and picked up his teacup. “Because I know my father,” he turned the cup over and dumped its aromatic contents onto the floor. With a hissing sound, it burnt the floor, leaving a smokey and unnatural smell in the bedroom. Clive felt his heart tighten up, he wasn’t surprised, but it’s always heartbreaking when you confirm every fear you have ever had about someone you had hoped to have known.

The guard, who was looking unsure of his hasty actions now, suddenly put his hands to his helmet and seemed to listen to something. After two of the guards removed Alamba’s body from the room, he raised his gun once again. “What do you think you are doing?” demanded Clive with indignance. “Clive Ophlaid, you have been branded as a traitor to the Prime Minister,” Clive’s eyes widened. “What-?” the guard cocked the gun, “Because of your crimes against Tae-Goun and her people, we have been ordered to execute you.” “What crimes?! Under whose orders?!”

“Under the orders of Paldraik Ophlaid, ruler of Tae-Goun.” “Please…” Clive backed towards the open balcony. “Don’t do this.” he quickly tapped a button on his belt. “Don’t do this!” The guard hesitated for a moment, “I’m sorry, Master Ophlaid.” he sounded genuine, but Clive had leaped off of the balcony before he could give it much thought. Down fell the man, landing smoothly on the balcony below, right outside of the elaborate study; His father sat inside, pouring over a book as if the stagnant smell of murder wasn’t seeping through the crystal palace. Clive reeled back as his arms and wrists ached with hate. His shoulder’s contact with the large glass door and it shattered. Paldraik jumped up as Clive stormed towards him, shaking the glass from his shoulders he drew up to his father and cocked his head. The older man shuffled back before his heel scuffed his table leg, his fingers moving behind him smoothly and pressed down on the silent security alert as he waited for his son to speak.

Clive looked his father’s face up and down, taking him in along with the last 20 years they had spent together. Clive was the house pride, his father’s everything, the sole heir of the Minister’s title. Paldraik had overseen each of Clive’s lessons, guiding him, encouraging him. A firm and caring hand resting on a young boys shoulder; that had been his role. Over the last few years he had been slipping, little things, teeny things. No one had paid them any mind, and now Rubeka and Alamba were dead. Little things. Clive puzzled over the strange man’s truth; Which was he? Corrupted? Or a liar? Paldraik’s finger moved from the alarm and Clive smiled madly. “Catch me if you can,” he whispered, those eyes burned like dying stars, reaching out for Paldraik; angry, hurt, and at last, they were free.

The hum of a ship came from outside the balcony. It was a beautiful creature, long and sleek with the sobriety of an old lord. It had been Clive’s gift three years ago and he had tended to it wonderfully. It called like it was an old friend, warm and knowing. With a clunk followed by a short hiss, the loading bay door slid open and the ramp extended to the rail of the balcony. Clive turned and ran, leaving his father behind as the guards burst into the study. Paldraik ordered his men to fire openly, but Clive’s boots were set on the ramp and he darted inside amongst the hail of bullets. His stomach sank down under the ship’s floor as it was piloted into the sky. Static startled him and he looked to his side as a voice broke through the din, “Clive, you there? Are you hurt? What the hell is going on?” There was a small intercom on the wall to Clive’s left, it’s button glowing a soft yellow in the dimly lit cargo hold. He pressed down and spoke, his voice sounding on the speaker that was higher up on the wall and he knew the rest of the ship quarters could hear him as well. “Good morning, Xoh,” began Clive with a sarcastic cheeriness. “I am uninjured but I have a lot to tell you.” He let go of the button to let Xoh reply, “Well, get up here, I need to know where we are going.” Holding down to reply, “Just head into the atmosphere, we’ll talk in a second, I’m going to change.”

His arm fell to his side and Clive stood in the moment, feeling the hum of the ship under his feet and the change in elevation in his ears. He chewed his lip until his mouth tasted like iron as the words he couldn’t stop swirled around his head and into his nose. They made house inside his cheeks and jaw and played tag behind his brain. He let himself mourn. It felt strange, Khell lived lives that were twice as long as the average span, death seemed distant to a young person, they had literally hundreds of years ahead of them. But no one ever took murder into account. Thieves. Thieves of life with no self-respect. Cold blooded snakes that crawled on gross, wet floors. Bastard beings who slept in dark, confined corners, licking their ego’s until they were matted and wet and dribble coated their chins. Greedy and gorging on material means until they were bulging with their lust and desire, spilling out. They chewed on the world until all the good was gone, the kind and innocent are eaten away by gigantic, grotesque, gory monsters. Fighting was honorable, killing the defenseless was unforgivable. Clive was shaking now, Rubeka’s face floating in his mind’s eye. She may not have been the kindest or the most sensitive, but she was still Clive’s mother. Alamba’s words came back to him, ‘Rubeka told me to help you escape!’ Clive shook himself out of his trance and walked towards the ship’s lift. He had no interest in returning to Tae-Goun, from that point on he was his own man. Paldraik could do as he pleased, he could take what he wanted, but he could not have Clive.