School Days
Part X
Different People, Different Circumstances
By KittyCaro
Disclaimer: Characters from the Adventures of Voltron and the New Adventures of Voltron are copyright 1984, 1985, 1986 and 1997 by WEP. Any and all new/original characters belong to the author.
Rating: PG-13 for adult themes, violence and bad language.
Author’s notes: This is an AU fic about Keith and Allura. This part was inspired by my maternal grandparents' courtship, and the books "Like Water For Chocolate" by Laura Esquivel and "La Cucina" by Lily Prior.
Lynne (A Reason For Giving) thank you for being my editor and Shannon (Just Allura) thanks for being the bridge between us these past few weeks :D
Buelo (boo-eh-low) could be defined as a baby-talk word for abuelo (grandfather)
C&C are welcomed.
Originally Published 02/06/2001 - Revised 03/07/2015
Rating: PG-13 for adult themes, violence and bad language.
Author’s notes: This is an AU fic about Keith and Allura. This part was inspired by my maternal grandparents' courtship, and the books "Like Water For Chocolate" by Laura Esquivel and "La Cucina" by Lily Prior.
Lynne (A Reason For Giving) thank you for being my editor and Shannon (Just Allura) thanks for being the bridge between us these past few weeks :D
Buelo (boo-eh-low) could be defined as a baby-talk word for abuelo (grandfather)
C&C are welcomed.
Originally Published 02/06/2001 - Revised 03/07/2015
Click on the following links to move along to that chapter.
PERSONAL.ALLURA.STAR DATE.2303.01.03.1
We were in the recreation room resting after a two-hour lion practice. Sven was still on planet Ebb, recuperating from leg surgery. Coran had paid him a quick visit yesterday and saw him moving with ease around his hospital room, his limp barely perceptible. His leg has been steadily improving over the past few days.
Allura sat down on the sectional beside Lance and Pidge, directly in front of me. A deep sigh trickled out of her, and for a moment she looked sad.
"Poor Sven, I feel so bad that he missed the New Year's party, but he couldn't leave the hospital after his surgery."
"At least we were able to transmit part of the celebrations to Ebb," Pidge volunteered.
Hunk, who was standing near the window, turned to us and said, "But it's like watching the ball drop from Times Square on television. It's more exciting to be there in person."
"Or spending it at Champs-Elysées dancing and drinking champagne," Lance said in a nasal voice. Then he sneezed.
"Bless you!" We exclaimed in unison.
"Thanks," he replied reaching for a tissue.
"That's some cold you've got there," Hunk said shaking his head.
Lance blew his nose loudly. He moved away from the window, and came to joined us, taking a seat next to me.
"Could be worse. Fortunately, Dr. Gorma gave me some tablets and I've been drinking lots of orange juice. But forget about me; think of something to welcome Sven."
He threw the tissue into the wastebasket and proceeded to feel his forehead for any signs of fever. It was his first illness in several years. Gorma had suggested he should rest for a few days, but Lance wouldn't allow a cold to put him out of commission. Nevertheless, he looked like a walking advertisement for a drugstore. His nose was red and his eyes were glazed.
After pondering for a few minutes, I said, "Sven told me on the videophone that he might be released the day after tomorrow. We could celebrate the Day of Kings."
Allura glanced at me, then, smiled. Could she be remembering that January 6th we spent in San Diego eight years ago?
We had just returned from Christmas break and the sisters from St. Mary's Academy had prepared Roscas de Reyes for the students. I hadn't planned on attending the festivities of the Penguins, but when I saw Allura entering the cathedral with our classmates, I decided to stay and have some fun at their expense.
"The Rosca de Reyes is a semi-sweet circular yeast bread with dried fruit decorations and sprinkled sugar on top. Hidden inside there will be one or two, depending on the size of the wreath and the group partaking of it, little ceramic dolls which represent the Baby Jesus," I explained.
Pidge chuckled softly. "One year, Keith's mom invited us to her home for Twelfth Night bread and hot chocolate, and Lance got the Baby Jesus."
Lance frowned and he sat up straight. "That's not true! Keith got the figurine-" And he punctuated that statement by covering his face with his arm and letting out a tremendous sneeze that echoed around the room.
Pidge burst out laughing. "Yes, but I saw you sticking the doll into his bread when he was on the phone with Jeff," he replied triumphantly offering him the box of tissues from the coffee table.
Lance shot him a deadly look. "Rapporteur," (tattle-tale) he sniffed, grabbing a fresh tissue.
"Anyway," I said as Allura giggled over the amusing anecdote. "The person who gets the piece of bread with the doll must be the godparent of the Baby Jesus in ‘El Día de la Candelaria' (Day of Purification) on February 2nd . On that day, the Nativity Scene is put away in a party is given by the person who got the Baby Jesus. He or she will be responsible for making the christening gown for Him. And they generally serve tamales and hot chocolate."
Hunk sighed. "Tamales- corn bread filled with meats in a sauce wrapped in cornhusks. You made them of pork meat with chile. They were delicious."
"Thanks, I was just following the family recipe."
Allura turned and faced me, a slight smile on her face. "The family recipe?" she asked, propping her chin in her hands and devoting her attention to me. "Oh, I want to hear more about this." Her golden eyebrows puckered with curiosity.
The guys laughed in the background. I ran my hand through my hair and groaned softly. Talk about messing with masculine certitude. She was the only female besides mom who made fun of me.
But like she said once, ‘I have to, commander. You would be insufferable if I didn't.'
"Well, I…"
Hunk slapped me on the back so hard that I almost fell over. "Princess, our Chief is too modest," he said. "He's a great cook. When we were in the academy, we tried to steer away from the cafeteria as much as possible, and we used to take turns with the cooking at home. He would make Mexican dishes, like carne asada, enchiladas verdes, chicken mole and menudo rojo." (Beef tripe with white hominy and California chili powder)
Lance nodded in agreement. "I learned to eat those spicy foods with Keith and his family," he admitted. He then grinned mischievously at me. "He used to prepare menudo for us quite often, because it tasted so good after a night of partying and hard drinking. Isn't that right, Hunk?"
"Yes, and it always included a lecture about the benefits of sobriety," he replied, obviously enjoying himself.
I glared at Hunk for a few moments. "Let's stick to the subject at hand," I interposed pleasantly enough, but it was clearly an order. "I'll bake the sweetbread. I hope that Nanny doesn't mind if I invade her kitchen for a few hours."
"I know how you can get permission," Lance offered with a lazy smile.
"How?" I asked, swallowing my trepidation.
"By asking the Princess to help you," he replied, pinning his eyes on her. Her smile vanished immediately and the shade of her cheeks blended perfectly with the color scheme of her jumpsuit. She looked from Lance to Pidge to Hunk.
"Me?" The word came out in a squeak.
Damned Lance! I could see the devil behind his smile, and I knew there was no way he could let this opportunity pass without sticking it to me.
"That's okay," I blurted out, feeling the blood rushing to my cheeks. "I'm sure the Princess has other matters to attend."
"Keith," Lance chuckled. "Always the good guy. But it helps to have someone reading the recipe with you, especially when that someone is so beautiful and talented."
Pidge smiled broadly at her. "Besides, I don't think Sven would mind," he ventured. He seemed to believe they were an item. Hell! I couldn't blame him; more so after seeing their passionate kiss in the hallway on Christmas night.
If I had not walked blindly into the trap he had set, I'm pretty sure he would have made a move on her. And I thought I only had to worry about Rudolph the red-nosed Space Explorer!
"And no one will bother you," Hunk noted teasingly. "Because the royal staff except for the guards will be attending the Twelfth Night Festival at Lyon. Coran just gave them permission."
Allura put her hand to her hair, tugging gently at her bun. I knew she did that whenever she was nervous or wasn't sure what to say. Then her bright blue eyes settled on me.
"All right. I'll ask Nanny to let you use her kitchen and I'll help you with the baking," she admitted resignedly.
I fought the urge to smile at her performance. One minute she was assertive, and innocent the next. We had perfected our little act these past few months.
"T-thank you, Princess."
Allura then turned to Hunk and Pidge. "What about you?"
"Sorry, Princess," Pidge replied with a note of amusement in his voice. "But we're taking Annie and Sophie to the movies. They're showing an old Terran movie called 'It's a Wonderful Life', and we already bought the tickets."
Hunk nodded. "And then we're going to the festival."
Lance rose from his seat. "Then it's just the two of you for the baking. I wish I could offer my expertise, but I don't want to pass you my germs. I think I'll follow Gorma's advice after all. I want to be good as new for the festival." His smile was so annoyingly sweet it could have flavored half the soda in the capital.
But I loved the idea of spending some time with her. I need to plan this *very* carefully.
Save… close.
We were in the recreation room resting after a two-hour lion practice. Sven was still on planet Ebb, recuperating from leg surgery. Coran had paid him a quick visit yesterday and saw him moving with ease around his hospital room, his limp barely perceptible. His leg has been steadily improving over the past few days.
Allura sat down on the sectional beside Lance and Pidge, directly in front of me. A deep sigh trickled out of her, and for a moment she looked sad.
"Poor Sven, I feel so bad that he missed the New Year's party, but he couldn't leave the hospital after his surgery."
"At least we were able to transmit part of the celebrations to Ebb," Pidge volunteered.
Hunk, who was standing near the window, turned to us and said, "But it's like watching the ball drop from Times Square on television. It's more exciting to be there in person."
"Or spending it at Champs-Elysées dancing and drinking champagne," Lance said in a nasal voice. Then he sneezed.
"Bless you!" We exclaimed in unison.
"Thanks," he replied reaching for a tissue.
"That's some cold you've got there," Hunk said shaking his head.
Lance blew his nose loudly. He moved away from the window, and came to joined us, taking a seat next to me.
"Could be worse. Fortunately, Dr. Gorma gave me some tablets and I've been drinking lots of orange juice. But forget about me; think of something to welcome Sven."
He threw the tissue into the wastebasket and proceeded to feel his forehead for any signs of fever. It was his first illness in several years. Gorma had suggested he should rest for a few days, but Lance wouldn't allow a cold to put him out of commission. Nevertheless, he looked like a walking advertisement for a drugstore. His nose was red and his eyes were glazed.
After pondering for a few minutes, I said, "Sven told me on the videophone that he might be released the day after tomorrow. We could celebrate the Day of Kings."
Allura glanced at me, then, smiled. Could she be remembering that January 6th we spent in San Diego eight years ago?
We had just returned from Christmas break and the sisters from St. Mary's Academy had prepared Roscas de Reyes for the students. I hadn't planned on attending the festivities of the Penguins, but when I saw Allura entering the cathedral with our classmates, I decided to stay and have some fun at their expense.
"The Rosca de Reyes is a semi-sweet circular yeast bread with dried fruit decorations and sprinkled sugar on top. Hidden inside there will be one or two, depending on the size of the wreath and the group partaking of it, little ceramic dolls which represent the Baby Jesus," I explained.
Pidge chuckled softly. "One year, Keith's mom invited us to her home for Twelfth Night bread and hot chocolate, and Lance got the Baby Jesus."
Lance frowned and he sat up straight. "That's not true! Keith got the figurine-" And he punctuated that statement by covering his face with his arm and letting out a tremendous sneeze that echoed around the room.
Pidge burst out laughing. "Yes, but I saw you sticking the doll into his bread when he was on the phone with Jeff," he replied triumphantly offering him the box of tissues from the coffee table.
Lance shot him a deadly look. "Rapporteur," (tattle-tale) he sniffed, grabbing a fresh tissue.
"Anyway," I said as Allura giggled over the amusing anecdote. "The person who gets the piece of bread with the doll must be the godparent of the Baby Jesus in ‘El Día de la Candelaria' (Day of Purification) on February 2nd . On that day, the Nativity Scene is put away in a party is given by the person who got the Baby Jesus. He or she will be responsible for making the christening gown for Him. And they generally serve tamales and hot chocolate."
Hunk sighed. "Tamales- corn bread filled with meats in a sauce wrapped in cornhusks. You made them of pork meat with chile. They were delicious."
"Thanks, I was just following the family recipe."
Allura turned and faced me, a slight smile on her face. "The family recipe?" she asked, propping her chin in her hands and devoting her attention to me. "Oh, I want to hear more about this." Her golden eyebrows puckered with curiosity.
The guys laughed in the background. I ran my hand through my hair and groaned softly. Talk about messing with masculine certitude. She was the only female besides mom who made fun of me.
But like she said once, ‘I have to, commander. You would be insufferable if I didn't.'
"Well, I…"
Hunk slapped me on the back so hard that I almost fell over. "Princess, our Chief is too modest," he said. "He's a great cook. When we were in the academy, we tried to steer away from the cafeteria as much as possible, and we used to take turns with the cooking at home. He would make Mexican dishes, like carne asada, enchiladas verdes, chicken mole and menudo rojo." (Beef tripe with white hominy and California chili powder)
Lance nodded in agreement. "I learned to eat those spicy foods with Keith and his family," he admitted. He then grinned mischievously at me. "He used to prepare menudo for us quite often, because it tasted so good after a night of partying and hard drinking. Isn't that right, Hunk?"
"Yes, and it always included a lecture about the benefits of sobriety," he replied, obviously enjoying himself.
I glared at Hunk for a few moments. "Let's stick to the subject at hand," I interposed pleasantly enough, but it was clearly an order. "I'll bake the sweetbread. I hope that Nanny doesn't mind if I invade her kitchen for a few hours."
"I know how you can get permission," Lance offered with a lazy smile.
"How?" I asked, swallowing my trepidation.
"By asking the Princess to help you," he replied, pinning his eyes on her. Her smile vanished immediately and the shade of her cheeks blended perfectly with the color scheme of her jumpsuit. She looked from Lance to Pidge to Hunk.
"Me?" The word came out in a squeak.
Damned Lance! I could see the devil behind his smile, and I knew there was no way he could let this opportunity pass without sticking it to me.
"That's okay," I blurted out, feeling the blood rushing to my cheeks. "I'm sure the Princess has other matters to attend."
"Keith," Lance chuckled. "Always the good guy. But it helps to have someone reading the recipe with you, especially when that someone is so beautiful and talented."
Pidge smiled broadly at her. "Besides, I don't think Sven would mind," he ventured. He seemed to believe they were an item. Hell! I couldn't blame him; more so after seeing their passionate kiss in the hallway on Christmas night.
If I had not walked blindly into the trap he had set, I'm pretty sure he would have made a move on her. And I thought I only had to worry about Rudolph the red-nosed Space Explorer!
"And no one will bother you," Hunk noted teasingly. "Because the royal staff except for the guards will be attending the Twelfth Night Festival at Lyon. Coran just gave them permission."
Allura put her hand to her hair, tugging gently at her bun. I knew she did that whenever she was nervous or wasn't sure what to say. Then her bright blue eyes settled on me.
"All right. I'll ask Nanny to let you use her kitchen and I'll help you with the baking," she admitted resignedly.
I fought the urge to smile at her performance. One minute she was assertive, and innocent the next. We had perfected our little act these past few months.
"T-thank you, Princess."
Allura then turned to Hunk and Pidge. "What about you?"
"Sorry, Princess," Pidge replied with a note of amusement in his voice. "But we're taking Annie and Sophie to the movies. They're showing an old Terran movie called 'It's a Wonderful Life', and we already bought the tickets."
Hunk nodded. "And then we're going to the festival."
Lance rose from his seat. "Then it's just the two of you for the baking. I wish I could offer my expertise, but I don't want to pass you my germs. I think I'll follow Gorma's advice after all. I want to be good as new for the festival." His smile was so annoyingly sweet it could have flavored half the soda in the capital.
But I loved the idea of spending some time with her. I need to plan this *very* carefully.
Save… close.
January 5th, 2303
Dear Diary:
The snow finally stopped. It had not been a hard storm, just a long one. But the bad weather didn't hamper the celebrations of Twelfth Night at the capital. Keith and I arrived just when they were about to light the Christmas tree on City Hall. Then we went to the amusement park for the festival, where music and street theater filled the air with magic. You could hear classical music by the Symphony Orchestra, and rock from Smuk (Beautiful), a local Arusian band.
And of course there was food! Food has always been an important part of the Christmas celebrations on Arus. They were selling sausages, ham, duck, and goose served with potatoes, gravy and cooked red cabbage.
For the sweet tooth, there were vanilla wreaths, brown cookies with cinnamon, klejner, which are cakes cooked in oil or fat, and chocolates, made of nuts, nougat, dried fruit, brandy and rum. The ones with brandy were delicious, but I only had two because Nanny took the bag away from me, saying that I could get drunk.
I was so embarrassed! The guys just laughed at me, even Keith!
But I couldn't stay angry with him, after all the fun we had baking the wreath. It proved to be a *very* enlightening experience.
I was in the kitchen reading a recipe for the sweetbread from a magazine Mrs. Harrison had sent me while waiting for Keith, who had been called to the control room. Nanny and the cook were planning tomorrow's dinner and the rest of the staff was finishing chores so they could go to the festivities at the capital.
Beatrice, the youngest of the maids came over to them and said, "Ma'am, we're finished with the cleaning."
Nanny nodded. "Very well, you may go."
"Thank you," she answered happily.
"Have a great time!" I said to the group.
"Thank you, Your Highness," they replied smiling.
Nanny stood across the counter and said, "Master Coran invited me to accompany him to Lyon. Are you sure you don't want to come with us?"
I leaned back in the chair and replied, "No, thank you. Keith and I will go later, after baking the wreath."
She removed her apron and bonnet and placed it in the top drawer of the counter. "Princess, give the recipe to the cook. The Commander and you shouldn't be bothering with the baking-"
I held up one hand to stop her. "Nanny, we want to do it for Sven." I stood up and went to the cupboard and brought out the plastic containers of flour and sugar and a packet of yeast. Then I went to the fridge to get milk, eggs and butter.
"Well, if you're a going to help him you might as well put on an apron," she grumbled.
Minutes later…
I heard the door open just as Nanny was helping me put on an apron when Keith walked in carrying a big cardboard box. His dark glance flickered over to me and then to Nanny.
"Good evening, ladies."
"Good evening, Commander. What do you have in that box?" Nanny asked curiously.
After placing it on the counter, he replied, "A few weeks ago, my mother sent a copy of her recipe book and a few sundries."
I pushed the magazine aside. "That's great, because the wreath in this magazine doesn't look too appetizing."
I slowly walked over to him as he opened up the box. A hardcover book was nestled in white tissue paper. I held up the book, trailing my fingers over the exquisite piece of work in red leather with the words "Recetario Familiar (Family Recipe Book)" engraved in gold. Upon opening the book, I noticed a handwritten inscription that read, "Para A, con todo mi amor, K." (To A, with all my love, K)
I found his gift blissfully romantic and my eyes turned misty. "Keith, it's beautiful."
"I'm glad you like it, Princess," he replied huskily, his brown eyes soft, yet intense.
Our mutual silence only added to the tension. Keith was making no move, and I sought to cover my nervousness with a request. "It's in Spanish, could we read the recipe just to be sure we have all the ingredients?"
"Uh. . .sure," he said, as tongue-tied as ever. We sat down and talked quietly, discussing the recipe in both languages. I was able to draw him out a little; he became enthusiastic and articulate as he began to speak about the tradition of the wreath, and I could feel Nanny's intense gaze upon us.
"Commander, it seems that you know a lot about Mexican customs and cuisine. Why is that?"
Keith glanced up from the recipe book and replied, "Because my grandparents were from México."
"Really?"
He nodded. "Yes, my grandparents were Alejandro Torres and Patricia Robles. He came from the northwestern state of Durango and her family was originally from the north central state of Zacatecas, but they went to live to Tijuana after the Civil War of 2231.Their families always followed tradition and customs. They considered family to be very important and the mother was the most respected member of the household. But the father was the undisputed head of the household. And children were brought up to be very polite, especially to their elders. They not only respected the old people, but also felt fiercely proud to have a grandmother or grandfather."
"Do you hear that, Allura?" Nanny asked. "Children should respect their elders and listen to their advice."
"But I do," I said quickly. "Most of the time."
His features softened as he reminisced. "When I was a kid, I spent a lot of time in their home. I used to sit on my Grandfather's lap and listen to his adventures when he was in the service, while Grandmother baked my favorite desserts. She was an excellent cook and she passed all her cooking secrets and recipes to my mother, who then wrote them all down," he said pointing at the recipe book.
Nanny nodded appreciatively at him. "I hope you don't disappoint me with your kitchen skills."
"I hope so too."
Nanny ruffled her stubby fingers through his hair and said, "Watch out for my kitchen, young man. If anything happens, I'm holding you responsible." She looked at him with a stern eye, and he actually blushed.
She never wavered from her mistrust, and I discovered an odd comfort in her consistency.
"You would," I gasped.
"I would," she confirmed. "I want this kitchen clean when I return." Then she bowed to me and left.
Frowning, Keith strained to listen to her footsteps fading away.
"Keith, she's just-"
"Shh." He stood still another minute. Then, he started toward the counter. He glanced at his watch. I had grown used to having him constantly scouting for peril.
"Are you all right?" I asked quietly.
"Yes." He paused again, and then walked toward the door. "Pretend you're looking for something in the cabinets," he instructed. "And say nothing."
Mystified, I nodded. I wanted to speak, to question him, but I knew he must be up to something. I then poked around the cabinets and located a measuring cup and a baking sheet. He looked at his watch once again.
"Five, four, three, two, one, zero," he whispered.
"What?"
He then glanced at the closed-circuit camera installed on top of the door. "I made some adjustments to the surveillance system, so that at exactly 1600 hours, yesterday's recording of the activity in the kitchen would appear in the screens of the security room."
"You didn't?" I asked, sounding incredulous.
He grinned at me conspiratorially evoking a burst of giggles from me. "The guards won't see what we're going to do." He had an improper look in his eyes and my heart began pounding faster as I imagined what he had planned for us.
More later…
Dear Diary:
The snow finally stopped. It had not been a hard storm, just a long one. But the bad weather didn't hamper the celebrations of Twelfth Night at the capital. Keith and I arrived just when they were about to light the Christmas tree on City Hall. Then we went to the amusement park for the festival, where music and street theater filled the air with magic. You could hear classical music by the Symphony Orchestra, and rock from Smuk (Beautiful), a local Arusian band.
And of course there was food! Food has always been an important part of the Christmas celebrations on Arus. They were selling sausages, ham, duck, and goose served with potatoes, gravy and cooked red cabbage.
For the sweet tooth, there were vanilla wreaths, brown cookies with cinnamon, klejner, which are cakes cooked in oil or fat, and chocolates, made of nuts, nougat, dried fruit, brandy and rum. The ones with brandy were delicious, but I only had two because Nanny took the bag away from me, saying that I could get drunk.
I was so embarrassed! The guys just laughed at me, even Keith!
But I couldn't stay angry with him, after all the fun we had baking the wreath. It proved to be a *very* enlightening experience.
I was in the kitchen reading a recipe for the sweetbread from a magazine Mrs. Harrison had sent me while waiting for Keith, who had been called to the control room. Nanny and the cook were planning tomorrow's dinner and the rest of the staff was finishing chores so they could go to the festivities at the capital.
Beatrice, the youngest of the maids came over to them and said, "Ma'am, we're finished with the cleaning."
Nanny nodded. "Very well, you may go."
"Thank you," she answered happily.
"Have a great time!" I said to the group.
"Thank you, Your Highness," they replied smiling.
Nanny stood across the counter and said, "Master Coran invited me to accompany him to Lyon. Are you sure you don't want to come with us?"
I leaned back in the chair and replied, "No, thank you. Keith and I will go later, after baking the wreath."
She removed her apron and bonnet and placed it in the top drawer of the counter. "Princess, give the recipe to the cook. The Commander and you shouldn't be bothering with the baking-"
I held up one hand to stop her. "Nanny, we want to do it for Sven." I stood up and went to the cupboard and brought out the plastic containers of flour and sugar and a packet of yeast. Then I went to the fridge to get milk, eggs and butter.
"Well, if you're a going to help him you might as well put on an apron," she grumbled.
Minutes later…
I heard the door open just as Nanny was helping me put on an apron when Keith walked in carrying a big cardboard box. His dark glance flickered over to me and then to Nanny.
"Good evening, ladies."
"Good evening, Commander. What do you have in that box?" Nanny asked curiously.
After placing it on the counter, he replied, "A few weeks ago, my mother sent a copy of her recipe book and a few sundries."
I pushed the magazine aside. "That's great, because the wreath in this magazine doesn't look too appetizing."
I slowly walked over to him as he opened up the box. A hardcover book was nestled in white tissue paper. I held up the book, trailing my fingers over the exquisite piece of work in red leather with the words "Recetario Familiar (Family Recipe Book)" engraved in gold. Upon opening the book, I noticed a handwritten inscription that read, "Para A, con todo mi amor, K." (To A, with all my love, K)
I found his gift blissfully romantic and my eyes turned misty. "Keith, it's beautiful."
"I'm glad you like it, Princess," he replied huskily, his brown eyes soft, yet intense.
Our mutual silence only added to the tension. Keith was making no move, and I sought to cover my nervousness with a request. "It's in Spanish, could we read the recipe just to be sure we have all the ingredients?"
"Uh. . .sure," he said, as tongue-tied as ever. We sat down and talked quietly, discussing the recipe in both languages. I was able to draw him out a little; he became enthusiastic and articulate as he began to speak about the tradition of the wreath, and I could feel Nanny's intense gaze upon us.
"Commander, it seems that you know a lot about Mexican customs and cuisine. Why is that?"
Keith glanced up from the recipe book and replied, "Because my grandparents were from México."
"Really?"
He nodded. "Yes, my grandparents were Alejandro Torres and Patricia Robles. He came from the northwestern state of Durango and her family was originally from the north central state of Zacatecas, but they went to live to Tijuana after the Civil War of 2231.Their families always followed tradition and customs. They considered family to be very important and the mother was the most respected member of the household. But the father was the undisputed head of the household. And children were brought up to be very polite, especially to their elders. They not only respected the old people, but also felt fiercely proud to have a grandmother or grandfather."
"Do you hear that, Allura?" Nanny asked. "Children should respect their elders and listen to their advice."
"But I do," I said quickly. "Most of the time."
His features softened as he reminisced. "When I was a kid, I spent a lot of time in their home. I used to sit on my Grandfather's lap and listen to his adventures when he was in the service, while Grandmother baked my favorite desserts. She was an excellent cook and she passed all her cooking secrets and recipes to my mother, who then wrote them all down," he said pointing at the recipe book.
Nanny nodded appreciatively at him. "I hope you don't disappoint me with your kitchen skills."
"I hope so too."
Nanny ruffled her stubby fingers through his hair and said, "Watch out for my kitchen, young man. If anything happens, I'm holding you responsible." She looked at him with a stern eye, and he actually blushed.
She never wavered from her mistrust, and I discovered an odd comfort in her consistency.
"You would," I gasped.
"I would," she confirmed. "I want this kitchen clean when I return." Then she bowed to me and left.
Frowning, Keith strained to listen to her footsteps fading away.
"Keith, she's just-"
"Shh." He stood still another minute. Then, he started toward the counter. He glanced at his watch. I had grown used to having him constantly scouting for peril.
"Are you all right?" I asked quietly.
"Yes." He paused again, and then walked toward the door. "Pretend you're looking for something in the cabinets," he instructed. "And say nothing."
Mystified, I nodded. I wanted to speak, to question him, but I knew he must be up to something. I then poked around the cabinets and located a measuring cup and a baking sheet. He looked at his watch once again.
"Five, four, three, two, one, zero," he whispered.
"What?"
He then glanced at the closed-circuit camera installed on top of the door. "I made some adjustments to the surveillance system, so that at exactly 1600 hours, yesterday's recording of the activity in the kitchen would appear in the screens of the security room."
"You didn't?" I asked, sounding incredulous.
He grinned at me conspiratorially evoking a burst of giggles from me. "The guards won't see what we're going to do." He had an improper look in his eyes and my heart began pounding faster as I imagined what he had planned for us.
More later…
Keith assumed a business posture and rolled up his sleeves. "Are you ready for you cooking lesson, Princess?" he asked, looking back over his shoulder as she helped him put on an apron.
"Of course," she replied sweetly.
He poured the flour on the table. He then made a hole in the center and added yeast, sugar, melted butter, milk, salt, cinnamon, aniseed, raisins and vanilla. He told Allura that his mother didn't bother to cream the yeast, knowing that it was fresh. But you could do it if you wanted to. He mixed the ingredients with his hands, until he formed a cohesive mass.
"It should be sticky, elastic and shiny," he said smiling broadly at her. "It only takes five minutes to get this consistency."
She looked on as he kneaded the dough into a ball. Tonight, she was seeing a different side of the man she loved, and she was pleasantly impressed.
"Please, tell me more about your grandparents," she asked softly.
"Well, they had a very interesting courtship. He had just graduated from the university with a degree in agricultural engineering when the civil war broke out and he had to join the army. After the war, he left his hometown and went to Tijuana looking for a job."
"After weeks of searching, he finally found a position on a ranch that belonged to Ramón and Margarita Robles. They had a daughter, Patricia. She was a beautiful seventeen-year old with black hair and dark brown eyes. She was studying her last year of high school. My great-grandfather introduced them at a family reunion. Grandpa fell in love with her immediately, but she didn't feel the same way, as a matter of fact, she was afraid of him. He was twenty-four years old, a former soldier with who-knows-what bad habits."
"What was he like, physically I mean?"
"He was as tall as me. With black hair, tanned skin and muscular build. He had green eyes and an easy smile. He always wore a mustache. He said that it make him look distinguished." He paused and chuckled softly. "But years later, I found out he wore it to hide a scar he had over his upper lip, from a cut he got in a bar fight."
"It seems that fighting runs in the family," she said teasingly.
Keith quirked an eyebrow at her. "Just for that I'm not going to finish my story."
She stared pouting at him. "Oh, Supreme Commander, please forgive my impertinence."
He smiled, slowly shaking his head. "Grandfather would send her flowers and chocolates and she would return them. He would volunteer to pick her up from school and she would insist on walking back home alone or asking her friends for a ride. Poor buelo (Abuelo-grandfather) became desperate after a few months. One day, he decided to follow buela from school. He wanted to talk to her. Tell her that his intentions were good. And luckily for him, he got that chance."
Keith then proceeded to describe the scene between his grandparents.
Patricia tried to run as fast as she could but Alejandro was getting nearer every minute. When she saw her ranch, she decided to take a shortcut through the cornfields. To do so she would have to jump a wired fence. In her haste, her dress got caught in the fence making lose her balance and she instinctively grabbed the wiring, wounding herself.
Alejandro caught up with her. Nervously she stood up a little straighter. The way he stared at her seemed to be some kind of wordless form of communication. Worse, she thought she understood.
"W-what are you going to do?" she whispered nervously. She wished that Alejandro were a normal-sized man. This excess of brawn and height seemed an extravagant array of muscle and bone, especially for her because she was petite.
"About your height," Keith remarked.
Alejandro knelt, took her hand away from the spikes and said tenderly, "I want to see your wound."
"Really, it's not necessary." She tried to recover her hand from his large, invasive fingers, but he didn't let go.
"Please, Patricia, I can do it. I have battleground experience."
And images of field amputations floated through her mind. She glanced at her injury and wished she hadn't. The cut crossed her hand and it stung. He took out a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed firmly over the wound. He then placed her hand on his thigh. His other hand approached her face.
She backed up against the fence, but there was no evading his fingers as they caressed her cheek, and she didn't know if she was being threatened or pampered. "Patricia." His deep voice was so soothing. "You're going to be all right, it's a superficial wound." His green eyes glimmered as he stared into her face. She wanted to look away. She was coward, but having this older man interested in her was so exciting.
"Please, Alejandro…"
"Yes?" He didn't move. He waited on her command.
Placing her hand over his, she asked, "I don't want my parents to find out how I cut myself. Could you take me to the doctor?"
He smiled brightly at her. "Yes, Patricia. I'll take care of you."
The way he looked at her, the possession inherent in his touch, the authority in his voice, all made the truth clear to her. He really loved her. He frightened her, yet at the same time a warm feeling moved within her. His strength, his boldness, his protectiveness brought forth a corresponding feminine softness in her.
~Just the same way I feel about Keith,~ Allura thought hazily.
"Do you trust me, Patricia?"
"I do," she answered. When Alejandro chuckled, deep and overly pleased, she realized how much that had sounded like a wedding bow. "Uh, I mean, of course I do, or I would have hit you with a stone by now."
He relinquished his hold on her and stood. "Shall we go?" he asked reverently, offering his hand. Placing her hand on his, she replied smiling shyly at him, "Yes, Alejandro."
"And that incident ended in loving marriage which lasted close to thirty years," Keith concluded.
"What a beautiful story," Allura sighed.
He nodded. "May I have some butter?" he asked matter-of-factly.
Allura rolled her eyes at him. Sometimes he could be so unromantic he set her teeth on edge. She passed him the tub of butter and he greased the dough, covered it with a towel and placed it near the warm stove.
"How long will it take to double in size?"
"It usually takes two and half hours, but with this special yeast it will only take half an hour."
"In the meantime I'll cut the candied fruit into strips," she offered. She walked over to the fridge and took out a jar of maraschino cherries, sugared figs, and sticks of crystallized pear, orange and blueberries.
"Of course," she replied sweetly.
He poured the flour on the table. He then made a hole in the center and added yeast, sugar, melted butter, milk, salt, cinnamon, aniseed, raisins and vanilla. He told Allura that his mother didn't bother to cream the yeast, knowing that it was fresh. But you could do it if you wanted to. He mixed the ingredients with his hands, until he formed a cohesive mass.
"It should be sticky, elastic and shiny," he said smiling broadly at her. "It only takes five minutes to get this consistency."
She looked on as he kneaded the dough into a ball. Tonight, she was seeing a different side of the man she loved, and she was pleasantly impressed.
"Please, tell me more about your grandparents," she asked softly.
"Well, they had a very interesting courtship. He had just graduated from the university with a degree in agricultural engineering when the civil war broke out and he had to join the army. After the war, he left his hometown and went to Tijuana looking for a job."
"After weeks of searching, he finally found a position on a ranch that belonged to Ramón and Margarita Robles. They had a daughter, Patricia. She was a beautiful seventeen-year old with black hair and dark brown eyes. She was studying her last year of high school. My great-grandfather introduced them at a family reunion. Grandpa fell in love with her immediately, but she didn't feel the same way, as a matter of fact, she was afraid of him. He was twenty-four years old, a former soldier with who-knows-what bad habits."
"What was he like, physically I mean?"
"He was as tall as me. With black hair, tanned skin and muscular build. He had green eyes and an easy smile. He always wore a mustache. He said that it make him look distinguished." He paused and chuckled softly. "But years later, I found out he wore it to hide a scar he had over his upper lip, from a cut he got in a bar fight."
"It seems that fighting runs in the family," she said teasingly.
Keith quirked an eyebrow at her. "Just for that I'm not going to finish my story."
She stared pouting at him. "Oh, Supreme Commander, please forgive my impertinence."
He smiled, slowly shaking his head. "Grandfather would send her flowers and chocolates and she would return them. He would volunteer to pick her up from school and she would insist on walking back home alone or asking her friends for a ride. Poor buelo (Abuelo-grandfather) became desperate after a few months. One day, he decided to follow buela from school. He wanted to talk to her. Tell her that his intentions were good. And luckily for him, he got that chance."
Keith then proceeded to describe the scene between his grandparents.
Patricia tried to run as fast as she could but Alejandro was getting nearer every minute. When she saw her ranch, she decided to take a shortcut through the cornfields. To do so she would have to jump a wired fence. In her haste, her dress got caught in the fence making lose her balance and she instinctively grabbed the wiring, wounding herself.
Alejandro caught up with her. Nervously she stood up a little straighter. The way he stared at her seemed to be some kind of wordless form of communication. Worse, she thought she understood.
"W-what are you going to do?" she whispered nervously. She wished that Alejandro were a normal-sized man. This excess of brawn and height seemed an extravagant array of muscle and bone, especially for her because she was petite.
"About your height," Keith remarked.
Alejandro knelt, took her hand away from the spikes and said tenderly, "I want to see your wound."
"Really, it's not necessary." She tried to recover her hand from his large, invasive fingers, but he didn't let go.
"Please, Patricia, I can do it. I have battleground experience."
And images of field amputations floated through her mind. She glanced at her injury and wished she hadn't. The cut crossed her hand and it stung. He took out a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed firmly over the wound. He then placed her hand on his thigh. His other hand approached her face.
She backed up against the fence, but there was no evading his fingers as they caressed her cheek, and she didn't know if she was being threatened or pampered. "Patricia." His deep voice was so soothing. "You're going to be all right, it's a superficial wound." His green eyes glimmered as he stared into her face. She wanted to look away. She was coward, but having this older man interested in her was so exciting.
"Please, Alejandro…"
"Yes?" He didn't move. He waited on her command.
Placing her hand over his, she asked, "I don't want my parents to find out how I cut myself. Could you take me to the doctor?"
He smiled brightly at her. "Yes, Patricia. I'll take care of you."
The way he looked at her, the possession inherent in his touch, the authority in his voice, all made the truth clear to her. He really loved her. He frightened her, yet at the same time a warm feeling moved within her. His strength, his boldness, his protectiveness brought forth a corresponding feminine softness in her.
~Just the same way I feel about Keith,~ Allura thought hazily.
"Do you trust me, Patricia?"
"I do," she answered. When Alejandro chuckled, deep and overly pleased, she realized how much that had sounded like a wedding bow. "Uh, I mean, of course I do, or I would have hit you with a stone by now."
He relinquished his hold on her and stood. "Shall we go?" he asked reverently, offering his hand. Placing her hand on his, she replied smiling shyly at him, "Yes, Alejandro."
"And that incident ended in loving marriage which lasted close to thirty years," Keith concluded.
"What a beautiful story," Allura sighed.
He nodded. "May I have some butter?" he asked matter-of-factly.
Allura rolled her eyes at him. Sometimes he could be so unromantic he set her teeth on edge. She passed him the tub of butter and he greased the dough, covered it with a towel and placed it near the warm stove.
"How long will it take to double in size?"
"It usually takes two and half hours, but with this special yeast it will only take half an hour."
"In the meantime I'll cut the candied fruit into strips," she offered. She walked over to the fridge and took out a jar of maraschino cherries, sugared figs, and sticks of crystallized pear, orange and blueberries.
"Signorina, soon you will see that the arts of amore e cucina compliment one another perfectly." L'Inglese from Lily Prior's "La Cucina"
Half an hour later…
Allura placed the dough on the table and began kneading it vigorously. Sweat beaded down her forehead and her cheeks turned pink. She continued pounding at the dough for a long time, until her arms began to ache.
"Let me help you," Keith offered, walking over and slipping his arms around her and drawing her back against him. She could feel his warm breath on her cheek. His citrus scent overpowering her and making her weak in the knees.
Their fingers met in the dough. His movements were firm and reassuring, and a sudden image flashed through her mind of him touching her like that and she felt a flame course through her whole body.
"This is how is done," he murmured against her skin, then he laughed softly when she squealed, pressing her round bottom against his groin.
"You ought to be a cook; you have a positive talent for the work."
In reply, he leaned over and whispered in her ear, "I have a lot of talents you haven't discovered, including a few that require an intimate demonstration. Are you interested, my Princess?"
She shook her head and murmured, "No," but the denial was an outright lie. When Keith's breath had fanned her neck, his mouth momentarily touching her earlobe, it had been impossible to think of anything except the ‘intimate talents' he had teasingly mentioned.
"Princess, soon you will see that love and cooking complement each other perfectly."
"That's why you like to cook," she stated, closing her eyes and biting her lower lip. He buried his face in the back of her neck, making a small, growling noise. "Yes, and I hope we continue with these lessons in the near future."
The room seemed to grow warmer every second. "Uh. . . Keith. . . do you remember how we… celebrated Holy King's Day back at St. Mary's?" she asked raggedly, purposely changing the subject, wanting to distract him in order to end the dizzying sensations his hard body was causing in hers.
A heavy sigh escaped his lips. He knew he had to stop, but it was with great effort that his arms fell away from her. She staggered over to the sink to wash her hands.
He continued kneading the dough, banging it down on the floured tabletop, to make it soft and pliable. "If you want to know the truth, I never attended those gatherings. But I returned sooner because I ran out of money."
She leaned against the counter as she dried her hands with a towel. "We were in the cathedral when you showed up, and it didn't take a genius to realize you had been celebrating on the way. Mother Superior ordered you to leave the service and you laughed at her, saying that you weren't a hypocrite like the rest, that you knew how to have a good time. And you even invited her to loosen up."
He chuckled softly. "Did I say all that?"
"Yes, I could not believe my ears!" she gasped. "And then when you turned on your heel and headed for the door, you suddenly stopped and smiled right at me."
He grinned. "I did, because you looked adorable with that beautiful mouth forming a small O of surprise."
Her eyes were alight as the memory transformed her features. He watched entranced.
"After mass, the teachers and the students went to the dining hall. Sisters Winnifreda and Perpetua began to serve hot punch and sweetbread. But someone had spiked the punch, and the crowd started to get tipsy. By the time the sisters realized what had happened, the punch bowl was almost empty. Some of the girls threw up in the ladies' room and the boys destroyed the decorations. They even brought down the Christmas tree. It was a complete mess!"
Keith wanted so badly to touch her, and in frustration he banged the dough once again.
"I wish I could have seen that, but I had to drink the evidence."
She blinked. "The evidence?"
He stopped kneading. "Did you really think I was going to miss the opportunity to cause havoc in their celebration?"
He noted her confusion as her mind cast back over his words. Then her sapphire eyes turned into little slits. "You! You were the one who spiked the punch!"
"Yes, and I used my father's best cognac," he replied proudly.
She giggled. She couldn't help it. "Keith Alexander, you're terrible!" she chortled.
He smiled, for he loved the sound of her laughter. "By the way, did you drink some of it?"
"Just one cup." She took in a bracing breath and smiled. "Because it tasted kind of funny."
He made a hole in the center with his fist and stretched the dough out to form an even circle. He allowed plenty of space in the center for the dough to double in size without closing up the center space once again. He then placed it on a greased baking tray.
Reaching for the plastic bags of figurines and fava beans from the cardboard box, she asked, "How many do you want?"
"Let's make it fair. Two Baby Jesus, a fava bean and a baby's rattle." He inserted the figurines. She then decorated the wreath with the strips of candied fruit, figs and cherries.
"Okay, we should leave the rosca once more to fluff up again. And then brush it with the beaten egg and sprinkle over with sugar," he said, taking off his apron.
"And then bake it for 40 minutes at 350°F in a preheated oven until is golden," she added.
"Right."
She leaned over and brushed a dusting of flour from his face. "Maybe we should begin to clean up."
He looked down at her. A smile was pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Okay, but I'll need an incentive."
She drew back. "Incentive?"
"A kiss," he replied, wickedly.
She didn't respond at first. Then she merely repeated his words. "A kiss?"
"Yes."
She took a tentative step forward, and then stalled. "Now?"
He crooked a finger at her. "Come, Allura."
Another step. He could barely keep himself from snatching her to him.
"I'll get the eggs for the glazing-"
He held out his hand, covered with dough. She stared at it, and then slowly placed her dainty hand in his. It looked so small in his wide palm. He closed his fingers around it. Then he tugged, causing her to gasp. He took her chin between his thumb and index finger and held her fast as he dipped his head, brushing her lips with his. Fleeting the first time, slower the second, and then lingering on the third pass.
His mouth released hers. Her eyes flew open and stared into his. And then, her heavy dark lashes fluttered down and she stood very still. Lips parted, her breath fanning against his own mouth, waiting for him to kiss her again. And he gladly complied. This time he pressed his hand to the small of her back and brought her more fully against him. The feel of her hips brushing his, nearly knocked the breath out of him.
Mouth to mouth, he joined with her and his whole body flared to life in a feeling that was both satisfying and agonizing.
A spasm of desire burned through her and with a soft groan she began to respond. Her fingers tangled themselves in his hair. Even though her motions were unpracticed, they sent his perceptions reeling. He *knew* that she was enjoying *the incentive* every bit as much as he was.
He rained kisses across her nose, her eyelids, and her cheekbones. That she didn't reject him heightened his excitement. He pressed himself against her and she could feel something hard through his pants. It almost hurt as he pressed it against her.
"Keith…" she whispered.
"Hmm?"
"The dough."
"What?"
"The dough is rising," she stammered, breathing heavily.
Lifting his mouth from hers, he murmured, "Am I hurting you?"
She giggled softly. "I'm talking about the dough. . . in the baking sheet," she said pointing at the tray on the table.
He flushed at her words and immediately drew back. She regarded him in wonder and then her eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and shock when she noticed his arousal. She had no sense of the painfully cramped erection that was straining inside his pants as a result of their kissing.
"Oh." Her voice had suddenly gotten very small.
Keith's hands instinctively covered his groin and he clenched his teeth. "Sorry, I just got carried away." He swallowed and shut his eyes, taking a long, deep breath that came out in a rush.
He paused for a few moments. "This wreath is ready to bake."
Her cheeks were warm. She then looked away self-consciously. "Y-yes, I'll turn on the oven," she said, wiping the sweat of her brow with the back of her hand.
Half an hour later…
Allura placed the dough on the table and began kneading it vigorously. Sweat beaded down her forehead and her cheeks turned pink. She continued pounding at the dough for a long time, until her arms began to ache.
"Let me help you," Keith offered, walking over and slipping his arms around her and drawing her back against him. She could feel his warm breath on her cheek. His citrus scent overpowering her and making her weak in the knees.
Their fingers met in the dough. His movements were firm and reassuring, and a sudden image flashed through her mind of him touching her like that and she felt a flame course through her whole body.
"This is how is done," he murmured against her skin, then he laughed softly when she squealed, pressing her round bottom against his groin.
"You ought to be a cook; you have a positive talent for the work."
In reply, he leaned over and whispered in her ear, "I have a lot of talents you haven't discovered, including a few that require an intimate demonstration. Are you interested, my Princess?"
She shook her head and murmured, "No," but the denial was an outright lie. When Keith's breath had fanned her neck, his mouth momentarily touching her earlobe, it had been impossible to think of anything except the ‘intimate talents' he had teasingly mentioned.
"Princess, soon you will see that love and cooking complement each other perfectly."
"That's why you like to cook," she stated, closing her eyes and biting her lower lip. He buried his face in the back of her neck, making a small, growling noise. "Yes, and I hope we continue with these lessons in the near future."
The room seemed to grow warmer every second. "Uh. . . Keith. . . do you remember how we… celebrated Holy King's Day back at St. Mary's?" she asked raggedly, purposely changing the subject, wanting to distract him in order to end the dizzying sensations his hard body was causing in hers.
A heavy sigh escaped his lips. He knew he had to stop, but it was with great effort that his arms fell away from her. She staggered over to the sink to wash her hands.
He continued kneading the dough, banging it down on the floured tabletop, to make it soft and pliable. "If you want to know the truth, I never attended those gatherings. But I returned sooner because I ran out of money."
She leaned against the counter as she dried her hands with a towel. "We were in the cathedral when you showed up, and it didn't take a genius to realize you had been celebrating on the way. Mother Superior ordered you to leave the service and you laughed at her, saying that you weren't a hypocrite like the rest, that you knew how to have a good time. And you even invited her to loosen up."
He chuckled softly. "Did I say all that?"
"Yes, I could not believe my ears!" she gasped. "And then when you turned on your heel and headed for the door, you suddenly stopped and smiled right at me."
He grinned. "I did, because you looked adorable with that beautiful mouth forming a small O of surprise."
Her eyes were alight as the memory transformed her features. He watched entranced.
"After mass, the teachers and the students went to the dining hall. Sisters Winnifreda and Perpetua began to serve hot punch and sweetbread. But someone had spiked the punch, and the crowd started to get tipsy. By the time the sisters realized what had happened, the punch bowl was almost empty. Some of the girls threw up in the ladies' room and the boys destroyed the decorations. They even brought down the Christmas tree. It was a complete mess!"
Keith wanted so badly to touch her, and in frustration he banged the dough once again.
"I wish I could have seen that, but I had to drink the evidence."
She blinked. "The evidence?"
He stopped kneading. "Did you really think I was going to miss the opportunity to cause havoc in their celebration?"
He noted her confusion as her mind cast back over his words. Then her sapphire eyes turned into little slits. "You! You were the one who spiked the punch!"
"Yes, and I used my father's best cognac," he replied proudly.
She giggled. She couldn't help it. "Keith Alexander, you're terrible!" she chortled.
He smiled, for he loved the sound of her laughter. "By the way, did you drink some of it?"
"Just one cup." She took in a bracing breath and smiled. "Because it tasted kind of funny."
He made a hole in the center with his fist and stretched the dough out to form an even circle. He allowed plenty of space in the center for the dough to double in size without closing up the center space once again. He then placed it on a greased baking tray.
Reaching for the plastic bags of figurines and fava beans from the cardboard box, she asked, "How many do you want?"
"Let's make it fair. Two Baby Jesus, a fava bean and a baby's rattle." He inserted the figurines. She then decorated the wreath with the strips of candied fruit, figs and cherries.
"Okay, we should leave the rosca once more to fluff up again. And then brush it with the beaten egg and sprinkle over with sugar," he said, taking off his apron.
"And then bake it for 40 minutes at 350°F in a preheated oven until is golden," she added.
"Right."
She leaned over and brushed a dusting of flour from his face. "Maybe we should begin to clean up."
He looked down at her. A smile was pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Okay, but I'll need an incentive."
She drew back. "Incentive?"
"A kiss," he replied, wickedly.
She didn't respond at first. Then she merely repeated his words. "A kiss?"
"Yes."
She took a tentative step forward, and then stalled. "Now?"
He crooked a finger at her. "Come, Allura."
Another step. He could barely keep himself from snatching her to him.
"I'll get the eggs for the glazing-"
He held out his hand, covered with dough. She stared at it, and then slowly placed her dainty hand in his. It looked so small in his wide palm. He closed his fingers around it. Then he tugged, causing her to gasp. He took her chin between his thumb and index finger and held her fast as he dipped his head, brushing her lips with his. Fleeting the first time, slower the second, and then lingering on the third pass.
His mouth released hers. Her eyes flew open and stared into his. And then, her heavy dark lashes fluttered down and she stood very still. Lips parted, her breath fanning against his own mouth, waiting for him to kiss her again. And he gladly complied. This time he pressed his hand to the small of her back and brought her more fully against him. The feel of her hips brushing his, nearly knocked the breath out of him.
Mouth to mouth, he joined with her and his whole body flared to life in a feeling that was both satisfying and agonizing.
A spasm of desire burned through her and with a soft groan she began to respond. Her fingers tangled themselves in his hair. Even though her motions were unpracticed, they sent his perceptions reeling. He *knew* that she was enjoying *the incentive* every bit as much as he was.
He rained kisses across her nose, her eyelids, and her cheekbones. That she didn't reject him heightened his excitement. He pressed himself against her and she could feel something hard through his pants. It almost hurt as he pressed it against her.
"Keith…" she whispered.
"Hmm?"
"The dough."
"What?"
"The dough is rising," she stammered, breathing heavily.
Lifting his mouth from hers, he murmured, "Am I hurting you?"
She giggled softly. "I'm talking about the dough. . . in the baking sheet," she said pointing at the tray on the table.
He flushed at her words and immediately drew back. She regarded him in wonder and then her eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and shock when she noticed his arousal. She had no sense of the painfully cramped erection that was straining inside his pants as a result of their kissing.
"Oh." Her voice had suddenly gotten very small.
Keith's hands instinctively covered his groin and he clenched his teeth. "Sorry, I just got carried away." He swallowed and shut his eyes, taking a long, deep breath that came out in a rush.
He paused for a few moments. "This wreath is ready to bake."
Her cheeks were warm. She then looked away self-consciously. "Y-yes, I'll turn on the oven," she said, wiping the sweat of her brow with the back of her hand.
January 6th, 2303
Keith and Allura burst into the kitchen, where Nanny awaited them, an apron about her plump figure. "There you are Commander; the Princess told me that you vill prepare the hot chocolate to accompany the Wise Men's wreath."
"That's correct." He walked over to the pantry and took out a yellow package with a picture of a smiling white-haired grandmother. "My mother sent me this chocolate on Christmas."
Allura opened the package and took out a disk. The aroma of chocolate and cinnamon reached her nose and she smiled appreciatively. "It smells wonderful. Keith, could you show us how to prepare Mexican hot chocolate in the authentic manner?"
He smiled down at her. "Of course, Princess. I'll turn on the stove."
"And I'll get the milk from the fridge," she offered.
Keith realized that Nanny caught him gazing at the retreating back of Allura and cleared his throat nervously.
"By the way, chocolate beverages have been prized in México for well over eight hundred years. The beverage was enjoyed as a cold drink in the courts of the Aztec rulers. It was spiked with chiles, herbs, and occasionally honey."
The Governess gave him a disbelieving look. "Well, I hope the chocolate you are going to serve us doesn't have chile."
Keith and Allura chuckled softly. "Ma'am, most of the chocolate produced today in México is still used for hot chocolate. The chocolate itself is sold in grainy-textured disks made from dark roasted cacao beans that have been heated and ground with sugar, cinnamon, almonds, and vanilla."
Nanny turned to Allura. "He's a walking encyclopedia, isn't he?"
The Princess placed the gallon of milk on the counter and smiled at her. "Yes, he reads a lot," she said admiringly.
Keith added about 1/4 cup of water and the chocolate disk on the pot and placed it on the stove to boil. When the chocolate began to melt, he emptied the gallon of milk.
He reached into the cardboard box he had left a day earlier and took out a carved wooden beater with a series of disks on the bottom. He placed it into the hot chocolate mixture and spun it between his palms to whip up a chocolaty froth.
"I have never seen that utensil," Nanny observed.
"It's called *molinillo*, but you can use a small whisk and apply the same technique," he suggested. "Or the blender, if you're in a hurry."
"Nanny," Allura ventured. "Go to the dining room and wait for us, while Keith and I finish the chocolate, okay?"
She nodded. "But don't take too long. We have to prepare dinner." Then she left the kitchen, closing the door behind her.
Keith served Allura a cup of the hot brew. "Please tell me if it needs more sugar."
She climbed onto a stool by the counter and took a quick sip. "It's perfect," was the smooth reply. Then taking in the self-satisfied expression on his face, she risked adding, "The only thing missing are the marshmallows."
He grinned. "Got them right here," he said, reaching for a bag of marshmallows from the box.
She wrapped her hands around the cup until they were nice and toasty. "Come here," she commanded in that princess-like tone he adored. He immediately sat next to her. They gazed at each other for a few moments, forgetting that the surveillance camera was recording every move they were making.
She reached over and cupped the back of his neck. The warmness of her hand set off a chain reaction in his body, and his eyes turned darker, stormy.
"That feels wonderful."
"It does?" she asked breathlessly.
He bent his raven head close to hers, and said low, "There will come a day, Allura, when I'll make love to you."
She smiled at him, and he believed there was something seductive in her smile. Something he had never seen before.
Allura loved him so much. He had been patient and kind to her, and most of all he had respected her. She knew she was in control, but she felt her body responding to the pleasure he offered. She was aware those kissing games would eventually lead to more and her heart began to thump with anticipation. ~Soon my love, soon,~ she thought, fighting the urge to throw him onto the floor and kiss him senseless.
He closed his eyes for a long moment, and then opening them he looked directly at her. "Let's go the dining room," he replied softly, turning away from her, but the reality was that if he continued, he would lose control and carry her into his room and make love to her.
Was she ready? The one thing he feared above all was that he would hurt her, or cause her to hate him. He wanted her to be the *one* to decide when it was the right time.
Keith and Allura burst into the kitchen, where Nanny awaited them, an apron about her plump figure. "There you are Commander; the Princess told me that you vill prepare the hot chocolate to accompany the Wise Men's wreath."
"That's correct." He walked over to the pantry and took out a yellow package with a picture of a smiling white-haired grandmother. "My mother sent me this chocolate on Christmas."
Allura opened the package and took out a disk. The aroma of chocolate and cinnamon reached her nose and she smiled appreciatively. "It smells wonderful. Keith, could you show us how to prepare Mexican hot chocolate in the authentic manner?"
He smiled down at her. "Of course, Princess. I'll turn on the stove."
"And I'll get the milk from the fridge," she offered.
Keith realized that Nanny caught him gazing at the retreating back of Allura and cleared his throat nervously.
"By the way, chocolate beverages have been prized in México for well over eight hundred years. The beverage was enjoyed as a cold drink in the courts of the Aztec rulers. It was spiked with chiles, herbs, and occasionally honey."
The Governess gave him a disbelieving look. "Well, I hope the chocolate you are going to serve us doesn't have chile."
Keith and Allura chuckled softly. "Ma'am, most of the chocolate produced today in México is still used for hot chocolate. The chocolate itself is sold in grainy-textured disks made from dark roasted cacao beans that have been heated and ground with sugar, cinnamon, almonds, and vanilla."
Nanny turned to Allura. "He's a walking encyclopedia, isn't he?"
The Princess placed the gallon of milk on the counter and smiled at her. "Yes, he reads a lot," she said admiringly.
Keith added about 1/4 cup of water and the chocolate disk on the pot and placed it on the stove to boil. When the chocolate began to melt, he emptied the gallon of milk.
He reached into the cardboard box he had left a day earlier and took out a carved wooden beater with a series of disks on the bottom. He placed it into the hot chocolate mixture and spun it between his palms to whip up a chocolaty froth.
"I have never seen that utensil," Nanny observed.
"It's called *molinillo*, but you can use a small whisk and apply the same technique," he suggested. "Or the blender, if you're in a hurry."
"Nanny," Allura ventured. "Go to the dining room and wait for us, while Keith and I finish the chocolate, okay?"
She nodded. "But don't take too long. We have to prepare dinner." Then she left the kitchen, closing the door behind her.
Keith served Allura a cup of the hot brew. "Please tell me if it needs more sugar."
She climbed onto a stool by the counter and took a quick sip. "It's perfect," was the smooth reply. Then taking in the self-satisfied expression on his face, she risked adding, "The only thing missing are the marshmallows."
He grinned. "Got them right here," he said, reaching for a bag of marshmallows from the box.
She wrapped her hands around the cup until they were nice and toasty. "Come here," she commanded in that princess-like tone he adored. He immediately sat next to her. They gazed at each other for a few moments, forgetting that the surveillance camera was recording every move they were making.
She reached over and cupped the back of his neck. The warmness of her hand set off a chain reaction in his body, and his eyes turned darker, stormy.
"That feels wonderful."
"It does?" she asked breathlessly.
He bent his raven head close to hers, and said low, "There will come a day, Allura, when I'll make love to you."
She smiled at him, and he believed there was something seductive in her smile. Something he had never seen before.
Allura loved him so much. He had been patient and kind to her, and most of all he had respected her. She knew she was in control, but she felt her body responding to the pleasure he offered. She was aware those kissing games would eventually lead to more and her heart began to thump with anticipation. ~Soon my love, soon,~ she thought, fighting the urge to throw him onto the floor and kiss him senseless.
He closed his eyes for a long moment, and then opening them he looked directly at her. "Let's go the dining room," he replied softly, turning away from her, but the reality was that if he continued, he would lose control and carry her into his room and make love to her.
Was she ready? The one thing he feared above all was that he would hurt her, or cause her to hate him. He wanted her to be the *one* to decide when it was the right time.
The rest of the Voltron Force entered the dining room and began to take their places as Keith and Allura were coming out of the kitchen. He was carrying the sweetbread and she a tray with a pitcher of chocolate and eight white ceramic cups engraved with the crest of the Royal House.
"Have you heard from Sven?" Keith asked Pidge, placing the tray on the center of the table.
"Nope. I have tried to communicate with the spaceport and the hospital numerous times. I asked the guard on duty to keep us posted."
Hunk's nose twitched at the fragrant smells coming from the bread. "You have really outdone yourself this time, Chief."
Lance's studied the wreath for a few moments. "You included the colors of the Lions."
"It was the Princess' idea," Keith said, glancing at her.
Lance gazed at her and smiled. "The decoration is perfect."
"Thank you," she replied softly.
Reaching for a knife, Pidge asked, "Okay, who's going to cut the first slice?"
"We must wait for Sven," Allura chided him gently.
"Don't worry Princess, we'll leave him the slice with the Baby Jesus," Lance said winking at her.
"Don't feel so safe," Keith intervened. "Someone else may find a fava bean in the dough, and he or she will have to help the party-giver by bringing the drinks. Or a baby's rattle, and then he or she will be in charge of the music."
"And we haven't told you how many figurines are hidden," she noted amusedly.
"Come on, Pidge," Hunk interjected. "I'm pretty sure that in a matter a minutes, Sven will be come through that door and then will cut the wreath."
"In the meantime, you can start thinking what you're going to serve us on February 2nd," Lance taunted.
Pidge grudgingly placed the knife back on the table. "All right, we'll wait."
Coran chuckled softly. "Lieutenant Beaumont, could you tell us more about this tradition of the Twelfth Night Bread?"
Lance smiled at him. "Of course. The earliest mention of this sweetbread dates back to the Middle Ages. In France, this event was celebrated to christianize the pagan custom of ‘Choosing the King of the Feast', where people would gather on the table to share a crown-shaped bread, with a hidden fava bean, a symbol of the escape from the prosecution of King Herod. Nowadays, the bean has been substituted by a representation of the Baby Jesus. This custom was brought to Spain by soldiers stationed in Flanders and became popular during the reign of King Phillip the Fifth. Then the Spaniards took the tradition to the New World."
"Now is a multicultural event. The rosca is served along with tamales, made of corn which was the pre-Hispanic food per excellence and hot chocolate," Keith said. "The Christmas season continues in México through Epiphany, which is called ‘Día de los Santos Reyes.' Echoing the arrival in Bethlehem of the Wise Men bearing gifts for the Baby Jesus, children through out México anxiously await waking up on the 6th to find toys and gifts left by the Magi. In some regions it is still customary to leave out their shoes where treasures maybe deposited by the visiting Wise Men."
"Just like we do back in France, but we would wait for Pére Nöel on December 25th," Lance noted.
"Well, I guess what matters is that we're celebrating the birth of our Savior," Nanny said.
"Keith had the best of both worlds," Pidge said. "He celebrated American and Mexican holidays. And the Mexican Christmas season is extended to February 2nd."
"When I was growing up, my parents and I would go to my grandparents' ranch in Tijuana on January 6th, and my grandmother would served us tamales along with hot chocolate. I couldn't eat, though, I was too excited."
"I'm sure that you were wishing for time to fly quickly so you could open your presents," Allura said.
Keith nodded curtly. "Yes, unfortunately that tradition ended for me too soon," he replied grimly.
There was a brief moment of uncomfortable silence, and Pidge decided to break it. "And what about you Princess, how do you celebrate The Night of the Holy Kings in Arus?" he asked curiously.
She smiled warmly at him. "For us, January 6th is the time to light the Christmas tree for the last time, eat whatever is left of sweets and if you have any fireworks left from New Year's Eve you fire them as well."
Lance lazed back in his chair and grinned rather wickedly. "We might have a box of fireworks hidden somewhere."
"I'll get them after we eat the bread," Pidge offered.
"The next day, all the Christmas decorations are taken down and put away, the tree is ‘undecorated', put outside and maybe chopped to firewood," she went on.
"And we return to our old routine," Nanny concluded.
Hunk sighed. "The holidays pass by so fast," he said thoughtfully.
Everyone agreed silently with him. These special days made them forget that the forces of Doom could strike any minute.
"Master Coran?"
The Royal Advisor looked up. One of the guards was standing on the threshold, his trembling hand clutching a small slip of paper. Coran read the expression on his face. Something was very wrong, and the guard didn't want to say it in front of the Princess and Nanny. He had seen that expression before- on the faces of men trying to spare their women from terrible things. He steeled himself to cope with what lay ahead.
"Gunnar, come forward," he called, and the young man promptly complied. Coran held out his hand for the paper. A pallid cast appeared on his skin and his eyes grew wider as he read the message.
"This morning, at 0536 Alliance Central Time, Planet Ebb was attacked by a Doom fleet. There are about sixty thousand dead and as many as fifteen thousand missing. They took as many as twenty thousand civilians as hostages and it's presumed they were taken to planet Doom-"
The rest of the words were lost as Keith and his teammates bolted to their feet and demanded, "What about Sven?!"
Coran continued reading. "They only mention that among the missing there are Alliance officials."
"We must go to Ebb and investigate," Keith said. "To the Lions!"
"And I'll try to contact Ebb," Coran offered.
Nanny was left alone in the room and she gazed at the forgotten bread. Her hands had begun to shake at the impossibility of the situation. She was afraid that if she gave in to tears, she wouldn't be able to turn them off. And it happened just as she had feared. A hot liquid rose in her chest, and her eyes spilled.
She took a moment to get her emotions under control. There was still hope that the young man had escaped unharmed. She prayed fervently that Allura and the boys would find him.
"Have you heard from Sven?" Keith asked Pidge, placing the tray on the center of the table.
"Nope. I have tried to communicate with the spaceport and the hospital numerous times. I asked the guard on duty to keep us posted."
Hunk's nose twitched at the fragrant smells coming from the bread. "You have really outdone yourself this time, Chief."
Lance's studied the wreath for a few moments. "You included the colors of the Lions."
"It was the Princess' idea," Keith said, glancing at her.
Lance gazed at her and smiled. "The decoration is perfect."
"Thank you," she replied softly.
Reaching for a knife, Pidge asked, "Okay, who's going to cut the first slice?"
"We must wait for Sven," Allura chided him gently.
"Don't worry Princess, we'll leave him the slice with the Baby Jesus," Lance said winking at her.
"Don't feel so safe," Keith intervened. "Someone else may find a fava bean in the dough, and he or she will have to help the party-giver by bringing the drinks. Or a baby's rattle, and then he or she will be in charge of the music."
"And we haven't told you how many figurines are hidden," she noted amusedly.
"Come on, Pidge," Hunk interjected. "I'm pretty sure that in a matter a minutes, Sven will be come through that door and then will cut the wreath."
"In the meantime, you can start thinking what you're going to serve us on February 2nd," Lance taunted.
Pidge grudgingly placed the knife back on the table. "All right, we'll wait."
Coran chuckled softly. "Lieutenant Beaumont, could you tell us more about this tradition of the Twelfth Night Bread?"
Lance smiled at him. "Of course. The earliest mention of this sweetbread dates back to the Middle Ages. In France, this event was celebrated to christianize the pagan custom of ‘Choosing the King of the Feast', where people would gather on the table to share a crown-shaped bread, with a hidden fava bean, a symbol of the escape from the prosecution of King Herod. Nowadays, the bean has been substituted by a representation of the Baby Jesus. This custom was brought to Spain by soldiers stationed in Flanders and became popular during the reign of King Phillip the Fifth. Then the Spaniards took the tradition to the New World."
"Now is a multicultural event. The rosca is served along with tamales, made of corn which was the pre-Hispanic food per excellence and hot chocolate," Keith said. "The Christmas season continues in México through Epiphany, which is called ‘Día de los Santos Reyes.' Echoing the arrival in Bethlehem of the Wise Men bearing gifts for the Baby Jesus, children through out México anxiously await waking up on the 6th to find toys and gifts left by the Magi. In some regions it is still customary to leave out their shoes where treasures maybe deposited by the visiting Wise Men."
"Just like we do back in France, but we would wait for Pére Nöel on December 25th," Lance noted.
"Well, I guess what matters is that we're celebrating the birth of our Savior," Nanny said.
"Keith had the best of both worlds," Pidge said. "He celebrated American and Mexican holidays. And the Mexican Christmas season is extended to February 2nd."
"When I was growing up, my parents and I would go to my grandparents' ranch in Tijuana on January 6th, and my grandmother would served us tamales along with hot chocolate. I couldn't eat, though, I was too excited."
"I'm sure that you were wishing for time to fly quickly so you could open your presents," Allura said.
Keith nodded curtly. "Yes, unfortunately that tradition ended for me too soon," he replied grimly.
There was a brief moment of uncomfortable silence, and Pidge decided to break it. "And what about you Princess, how do you celebrate The Night of the Holy Kings in Arus?" he asked curiously.
She smiled warmly at him. "For us, January 6th is the time to light the Christmas tree for the last time, eat whatever is left of sweets and if you have any fireworks left from New Year's Eve you fire them as well."
Lance lazed back in his chair and grinned rather wickedly. "We might have a box of fireworks hidden somewhere."
"I'll get them after we eat the bread," Pidge offered.
"The next day, all the Christmas decorations are taken down and put away, the tree is ‘undecorated', put outside and maybe chopped to firewood," she went on.
"And we return to our old routine," Nanny concluded.
Hunk sighed. "The holidays pass by so fast," he said thoughtfully.
Everyone agreed silently with him. These special days made them forget that the forces of Doom could strike any minute.
"Master Coran?"
The Royal Advisor looked up. One of the guards was standing on the threshold, his trembling hand clutching a small slip of paper. Coran read the expression on his face. Something was very wrong, and the guard didn't want to say it in front of the Princess and Nanny. He had seen that expression before- on the faces of men trying to spare their women from terrible things. He steeled himself to cope with what lay ahead.
"Gunnar, come forward," he called, and the young man promptly complied. Coran held out his hand for the paper. A pallid cast appeared on his skin and his eyes grew wider as he read the message.
"This morning, at 0536 Alliance Central Time, Planet Ebb was attacked by a Doom fleet. There are about sixty thousand dead and as many as fifteen thousand missing. They took as many as twenty thousand civilians as hostages and it's presumed they were taken to planet Doom-"
The rest of the words were lost as Keith and his teammates bolted to their feet and demanded, "What about Sven?!"
Coran continued reading. "They only mention that among the missing there are Alliance officials."
"We must go to Ebb and investigate," Keith said. "To the Lions!"
"And I'll try to contact Ebb," Coran offered.
Nanny was left alone in the room and she gazed at the forgotten bread. Her hands had begun to shake at the impossibility of the situation. She was afraid that if she gave in to tears, she wouldn't be able to turn them off. And it happened just as she had feared. A hot liquid rose in her chest, and her eyes spilled.
She took a moment to get her emotions under control. There was still hope that the young man had escaped unharmed. She prayed fervently that Allura and the boys would find him.
CAPTAIN'S LOG…STAR DATE…2303.01.08.1
Galaxy Garrison is investigating the disaster on Planet Ebb to determine what measures will be taken against the Doom Empire.
The Voltron Force, with the help of investigators combed the floors of St. James hospital and the surrounding buildings, searching inch by inch for traces of human remains to help identify victims of the attack. Hundreds of rescue workers battled against fatigue and exhaustion to pull bodies from the hospital, working through the third straight night trying to recover as many as possible.
Strong winds were predicted for later today, which could slow efforts to find more bodies at the already painstaking task of identifying the badly burned remains.
Experts from the Alliance Central Identification Laboratory had begun collecting evidence in hopes of finding DNA samples that match with the bodies. They don't yet know how many people perished in the attack and how many were taken as slaves. They had believed at least 63,156 people died then lowered that number on Wednesday to 59,802. Even then, they added the caveat that perhaps 10,000 more victims might yet be under the rubble.
"The intensity of the fire that engulfed the hospital and the nearby buildings, left the bodies so badly charred that they could not be recognized," Alliance chief forensic pathologist Ann Karin Brik reported. "Lists of victims were mostly complete by Monday, primarily by identifying those left unaccounted from among civilians and hospital personnel. But the identification could take up to two weeks. Ultimately we hope to account for every missing person. We'll do everything we possibly can to bring them home."
Those missing and presumed dead include nine Alliance officials, among them my First Officer and pilot of Blue Lion, Lieutenant Commander Sven Asbjörnsen.
Save… close.
Galaxy Garrison is investigating the disaster on Planet Ebb to determine what measures will be taken against the Doom Empire.
The Voltron Force, with the help of investigators combed the floors of St. James hospital and the surrounding buildings, searching inch by inch for traces of human remains to help identify victims of the attack. Hundreds of rescue workers battled against fatigue and exhaustion to pull bodies from the hospital, working through the third straight night trying to recover as many as possible.
Strong winds were predicted for later today, which could slow efforts to find more bodies at the already painstaking task of identifying the badly burned remains.
Experts from the Alliance Central Identification Laboratory had begun collecting evidence in hopes of finding DNA samples that match with the bodies. They don't yet know how many people perished in the attack and how many were taken as slaves. They had believed at least 63,156 people died then lowered that number on Wednesday to 59,802. Even then, they added the caveat that perhaps 10,000 more victims might yet be under the rubble.
"The intensity of the fire that engulfed the hospital and the nearby buildings, left the bodies so badly charred that they could not be recognized," Alliance chief forensic pathologist Ann Karin Brik reported. "Lists of victims were mostly complete by Monday, primarily by identifying those left unaccounted from among civilians and hospital personnel. But the identification could take up to two weeks. Ultimately we hope to account for every missing person. We'll do everything we possibly can to bring them home."
Those missing and presumed dead include nine Alliance officials, among them my First Officer and pilot of Blue Lion, Lieutenant Commander Sven Asbjörnsen.
Save… close.
Friday, January 23rd, 2303
On Monday morning, Keith and his teammates entered the conference room where Allura and Coran waited for news from the Alliance forensic office.
She looked up, her lovely face serious. "Do you have the results?"
"Yes," Keith replied.
Her face grew paler that it normally was. She took in his defeated expression and had no need for verbal verification. Their friend, their accomplice, the brave pilot of Blue Lion, was dead. She slid into his arms and sobbed on his shoulder, soaking his red flight suit.
"I'm sorry, Princess," he murmured hoarsely.
When she was calm enough to listen, Keith explained that Sven was getting ready to be released from the hospital when the Doom Fleet appeared. There was no warning and no reason for it.
"They found his military identification tags among the hospital ruins," he said somberly.
"The Garrison is planning a memorial service at Ebb," Coran announced.
"We'll have one here on Arus," Allura intervened. "Do you think the Garrison could bring Sven's parents?"
Keith rose from his seat. "I'll ask my stepfather to make the arrangements."
Nanny's sobs had subsided to shuddering whimpers by the time Rear-Admiral Harrison took the call. Keith's tone was devoid of emotion as he relayed the news of Ebb's attack, only becoming husky as he added the details of Sven's death. Allura felt as though she was standing some distance away observing her own attempt to console the brave man standing on the console next to her. In fact she was more numb than shocked or grieved at that moment.
In spite of Sven's optimism on his quick and safe return, some part of her anticipated his demise. She had tried to dismiss the sense of foreboding she had felt when she saw his ship leaving for Ebb. She had told herself she was being panicky and pessimistic, but as it turned out, she was only being realistic.
There was a brief silence before the Alliance official turned to her. "Your Highness?" His gentle query broke into Allura's reverie.
"Yes, Admiral?"
"I'll inform Sven's parents in person and offer to take them to Arus."
"Thank you," she choked, finally bursting into tears. Nanny led Allura into her bedchamber and went to fetch a black dress while Allura went to the bathroom to wash her face and brush her hair. She noticed dark smudges under her eyes; the red in her eyes, a result of all the tears she had shed, made her irises look a brilliant blue. She released her golden hair from its bun- the hairdo was practical but was making her headache worse. Allura thought she looked dreadful- pale and pinched and puffy-eyed.
She felt a compulsive need to think about the future. How will she face Sven's parents? Will she be allowed to return as pilot of Blue Lion? How many more precious lives will this senseless war snatch away?
On Monday morning, Keith and his teammates entered the conference room where Allura and Coran waited for news from the Alliance forensic office.
She looked up, her lovely face serious. "Do you have the results?"
"Yes," Keith replied.
Her face grew paler that it normally was. She took in his defeated expression and had no need for verbal verification. Their friend, their accomplice, the brave pilot of Blue Lion, was dead. She slid into his arms and sobbed on his shoulder, soaking his red flight suit.
"I'm sorry, Princess," he murmured hoarsely.
When she was calm enough to listen, Keith explained that Sven was getting ready to be released from the hospital when the Doom Fleet appeared. There was no warning and no reason for it.
"They found his military identification tags among the hospital ruins," he said somberly.
"The Garrison is planning a memorial service at Ebb," Coran announced.
"We'll have one here on Arus," Allura intervened. "Do you think the Garrison could bring Sven's parents?"
Keith rose from his seat. "I'll ask my stepfather to make the arrangements."
Nanny's sobs had subsided to shuddering whimpers by the time Rear-Admiral Harrison took the call. Keith's tone was devoid of emotion as he relayed the news of Ebb's attack, only becoming husky as he added the details of Sven's death. Allura felt as though she was standing some distance away observing her own attempt to console the brave man standing on the console next to her. In fact she was more numb than shocked or grieved at that moment.
In spite of Sven's optimism on his quick and safe return, some part of her anticipated his demise. She had tried to dismiss the sense of foreboding she had felt when she saw his ship leaving for Ebb. She had told herself she was being panicky and pessimistic, but as it turned out, she was only being realistic.
There was a brief silence before the Alliance official turned to her. "Your Highness?" His gentle query broke into Allura's reverie.
"Yes, Admiral?"
"I'll inform Sven's parents in person and offer to take them to Arus."
"Thank you," she choked, finally bursting into tears. Nanny led Allura into her bedchamber and went to fetch a black dress while Allura went to the bathroom to wash her face and brush her hair. She noticed dark smudges under her eyes; the red in her eyes, a result of all the tears she had shed, made her irises look a brilliant blue. She released her golden hair from its bun- the hairdo was practical but was making her headache worse. Allura thought she looked dreadful- pale and pinched and puffy-eyed.
She felt a compulsive need to think about the future. How will she face Sven's parents? Will she be allowed to return as pilot of Blue Lion? How many more precious lives will this senseless war snatch away?
Sunday, January 25th, 2303
Princess Allura was in charge of the funeral arrangements. She wanted to spare Sven's parents the anguish of dealing with such painful details. She decided against a military service in favor of a simple church service and ceremony to be conducted by their priest.
Keith joined Allura, Coran and the rest in the rec room, where they were watching television coverage of the attack. Eventually Nanny fixed a meal, but no one ate very much. From time to time the videophone rang- Alliance officials and friends had heard the news and wanted to know if they could help. Coran took the calls.
Commander Jeff Chaucer, the leader of the Vehicle Voltron Force had arrived a few hours ago. "Your Highness, the rest of the Force sends their regards. They're sorry they couldn't come."
"That's all right, we understand," Allura said quietly.
Lance rose from his chair. "Pardon." He blundered out of the room, shoving blindly past Jeff.
"What's going on?" he asked alarmed.
"He's taking Sven's death the hardest," Keith replied, looking after Lance's departing figure with understanding in his gaze.
"I'm going to talk to him," the Princess stated.
Lance ran into the observation room. He quickly turned to the tall windows that looked out over the Castle Lake as the sunlight gleamed over it, breathing the air in gulps and fighting down the emotion that obviously threatened to overwhelm him. He seemed unaware he had being followed.
"Sven," he said softly. "Forgive me. I should have been the one on Ebb, not you."
A soft scrape sounded in the doorway, and he found himself whirling to see who had arrived, his brow furrowing with pain.
He slumped to the floor, clutching his knees to his chest. "Mon Dieu, ces't très difficile," he whispered. (My God, this is too hard)
Sobs shook his body as he placed his hands over his face. Allura was used to seeing a strong Lance for his friends and for her. To see him sobbing like that was more than she could stand.
"No, no," she said, collecting herself and going to his side. "It's okay. You shouldn't keep things bottled up," she soothed, smoothing back his hair from his temple.
His hazel eyes were heavily ringed, and his cold had given him a slightly reddened nose.
Lance shook his head and gave an odd laugh. "Sorry," he said, sounding strangled. "Give me a minute."
"Take all the time you need." While he worked at composing himself, she said, "Maybe you should get some rest."
He shook his head. "I'll be all right, don't worry." He seemed very emotional, despite his obvious effort to hold his feelings in check. "Let's go back with the others."
"Okay." She hauled Lance to his feet and slid her arms around him. The sensations her embrace evoked were strange. Bewildered by the barrage of conflicting emotions that swept him, Lance automatically let his arms enfold Allura's soft body, feeling infinitely grateful by her concern.
Princess Allura was in charge of the funeral arrangements. She wanted to spare Sven's parents the anguish of dealing with such painful details. She decided against a military service in favor of a simple church service and ceremony to be conducted by their priest.
Keith joined Allura, Coran and the rest in the rec room, where they were watching television coverage of the attack. Eventually Nanny fixed a meal, but no one ate very much. From time to time the videophone rang- Alliance officials and friends had heard the news and wanted to know if they could help. Coran took the calls.
Commander Jeff Chaucer, the leader of the Vehicle Voltron Force had arrived a few hours ago. "Your Highness, the rest of the Force sends their regards. They're sorry they couldn't come."
"That's all right, we understand," Allura said quietly.
Lance rose from his chair. "Pardon." He blundered out of the room, shoving blindly past Jeff.
"What's going on?" he asked alarmed.
"He's taking Sven's death the hardest," Keith replied, looking after Lance's departing figure with understanding in his gaze.
"I'm going to talk to him," the Princess stated.
Lance ran into the observation room. He quickly turned to the tall windows that looked out over the Castle Lake as the sunlight gleamed over it, breathing the air in gulps and fighting down the emotion that obviously threatened to overwhelm him. He seemed unaware he had being followed.
"Sven," he said softly. "Forgive me. I should have been the one on Ebb, not you."
A soft scrape sounded in the doorway, and he found himself whirling to see who had arrived, his brow furrowing with pain.
He slumped to the floor, clutching his knees to his chest. "Mon Dieu, ces't très difficile," he whispered. (My God, this is too hard)
Sobs shook his body as he placed his hands over his face. Allura was used to seeing a strong Lance for his friends and for her. To see him sobbing like that was more than she could stand.
"No, no," she said, collecting herself and going to his side. "It's okay. You shouldn't keep things bottled up," she soothed, smoothing back his hair from his temple.
His hazel eyes were heavily ringed, and his cold had given him a slightly reddened nose.
Lance shook his head and gave an odd laugh. "Sorry," he said, sounding strangled. "Give me a minute."
"Take all the time you need." While he worked at composing himself, she said, "Maybe you should get some rest."
He shook his head. "I'll be all right, don't worry." He seemed very emotional, despite his obvious effort to hold his feelings in check. "Let's go back with the others."
"Okay." She hauled Lance to his feet and slid her arms around him. The sensations her embrace evoked were strange. Bewildered by the barrage of conflicting emotions that swept him, Lance automatically let his arms enfold Allura's soft body, feeling infinitely grateful by her concern.
Monday, January 26th, 2303
Allura, Coran and the Voltron Force greeted Sven's parents and Rear-Admiral Michael Harrison in the main hangar.
Kari Asbjörnsen, a tall, slender woman in her late-forties with blond hair and baby-blue eyes, held out her hands to Allura. She took her hands and pressed them to her heart a moment, struggling to find the right words to describe her loss. "I was devastated," she said. "I'm still devastated, but I know my son died fulfilling his duty. I'm very proud of him."
She then stood back to allow her husband Olaf to come forward. His gray-streaked hair and handsome features reminded Allura of an older version of Sven; the usual reassuring statement was absent from his face. His normally infectious smile was wan and forced. He thanked the Princess for taking care of their son in their absence and for being his friend.
"Your son was very brave, and did well in the face of adversity," Allura stated. Olaf's eyes, as dark blue as those of his only son, grew visibly misty.
"Thank you, Your Highness," he replied softly.
Since being notified of Sven's death, his grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins have been mourning at the Oslo home where the young lieutenant had lived with his parents before going to military school in Paris.
They were a closely-knit family, and they spoke at same time, clamoring to explain through smiles and tears how Sven affected their lives. The oldest of eight grandchildren, he shared a special relationship with his aunts and uncles because they were closer in age. And because he was the firstborn grandchild, he was the most doted upon.
"We thought he was going to be a teacher like us," Olaf reminisced. "But when he turned four, he announced to the family that he would become a space explorer so he could visit the stars."
"He was a determined person. Anything he wanted, he got," Kari stated.
Father Jarl arrived a short time later to offer what comfort he could to the Asbjörnsens. The Voltron Force sat stoically through most of the service, which was held at the cathedral. Sven's portrait, which had been a Christmas gift from the Princess, was placed in an easel next to the pew. Kari leaned close gripping her husband's hand for courage when she saw it.
All eyes grew moist when they listened to tributes from the priest and Rear-Admiral Harrison.
"Death doesn't exist. If you lose a loved one, don't despair, with the knowledge that he hasn't died. Don't disappoint your friend by running away from the battle. Don't pretend to be superior to God; accept what He has decided in His wisdom, and you will find comfort," Father Jarl said.
But that was easier said than done.
"Lieutenant Asbjörnsen proved his bravery, self-discipline, self-confidence, and his love and devotion to his work, colleagues and friends," Harrison said. In a soft monotone, he went on to thank many of them by name.
He concluded his talk with a few words about the young Space Explorer, saying that if the Alliance had more officers like him, lasting peace would reign thorough out the universe. At the mention of this, Kari began to cry, and Allura placed an arm around her shoulders.
Professor Asbjörnsen rose from his seat to address the mourners. "You have favored us with your company to bid farewell to our Sven." The huskiness of his voice contrasted with the rigid control he exercised over his features. "To see all of you, who always supported him and gave him your warm friendship, I'm sure that would have made him very happy. Thank you."
As Olaf returned to his seat next to Kari, Allura thought she saw his hand dart to the corner of his right eye to brush away a single tear. She knew from whom Sven had inherited his bravery.
"Are you sure you can do it?" Lance whispered to Keith. He nodded curtly and walked over to the pew and gazed at the congregation. He couldn't find his voice for a moment.
"I must confess that I had a hard time looking for the right words to describe my First Officer. But late last night those words finally came to me."
He then glanced at the portrait. "Sven, Norway beat Sweden 3-2 in overtime at the World Cup's qualification round. I owe you fifty krones," he said solemnly.
The teary-eyed congregation laughed softly, and Keith joined them. Everyone knew that Sven would enjoy that kind of levity under the circumstances.
He then turned serious. "Sven once asked me what I thought was the greatest gift that we've been given. I guessed everything. The ability to think, the ability to create, the ability to move."
He paused, collecting his thoughts. "Sven just sat there smiling and finally he said to me, ‘Memory, Keith. Memory is the greatest gift we have been given.' "
Keith shrugged his shoulders. "Of course I disagreed with him then, but today, I couldn't agree with him more. Take away my ability to reason. Take away my ability to create. Take away my ability to fight for what I believe for. But if I could keep *just* one gift, it would be the gift of memory, so that I could remember my dear friend and the good times we had, for the rest of my life."
Allura reached for her handkerchief, dabbing at tears which could no longer be suppressed. Lance gazed upwards to blink away the tears. Hunk bit his lip to keep from crying out his frustration. Pidge took off his dark-rimmed glasses and wiped his tears.
"His fierce loyalty, his bravery, his compassion, his honesty, his kindness and above all, his peculiar sense humor," Keith went on, his voice becoming emotional. Allura and Keith's eyes met for a fleeting moment and they shared a knowing smile. They were *really* going to miss his sense humor.
Keith drew in a deep breath. "So today, we say goodbye to Sven. And until my soul rests, I know that not a day will pass by when he's not with me and with all of you."
He walked in front of the portrait and gave it a final military salute.
While Arus mourned the loss of the brave Space Explorer, in a distant planet, a very different scene was taking place…
A girl with auburn hair dressed in a yellow tunic entered a large, bright room decorated with murals and mosaics. Going to a wooden chest, she opened it and lifted out a dark blue chiton, and a brown-haired girl wearing a pink sheath went over to the closet and took out a pair of sandals of fine twined leather.
A young woman was looking at her reflection in the mirror. She was extravagantly beautiful. Her hair was like golden thistledown touched by the sunlight. Her eyes were a deep blue, and her skin was as pure as cream. Her cheeks touched with just the faintest hint of rose. She was wearing a classically simple Roman-style knee-length tunic in white.
The girl with auburn hair walked over to her and slipped the drape over her head. Next she adjusted her garment and fastened it at the shoulders with golden broaches. She stepped back and nodded appreciatively.
"Milady, this chiton is exquisite," she sighed.
"You're right, Helena," her mistress said in a purring, husky voice letting her fingers touch the soft silk fabric.
"And It makes your lovely eyes even lovelier," she added. She then glanced back and said, "Octavia, help Her Highness put on her sandals."
Octavia knelt before her mistress and did as she was bid. She looked to her friend, and Helena nodded with a smile.
"And now let's choose the jewelry," Helena said opening the jewelry chest. "What would you like to wear, Milady?"
"The sapphire pendant-" she began when they heard a commotion from the doorway.
"But Your Highness-" a female voice trailed off.
"I must see my sister. Let me pass!" A male voice snapped.
A tall young man with reddish hair and a sprinkling of freckles across his nose and cheeks stalked into the room. He was wearing a knee-length tunic made of linen, with narrow golden strips and wide sleeves. He had on red sandals with straps which rounded the leg to mid-calf.
"Romelle!"
The young woman glanced back and smiled brightly at him.
"Bandor, what is it?"
"Avok's ship will be arriving in ten minutes, let's go and greet him!"
"What about father?"
He walked over to her and grabbed her hand. "He will meet us later. He's speaking with his advisors. Let's go!"
Minutes later. . .
Romelle and Bandor were on the hangar when H.M.S. Polydeuces carrying Avok arrived. A group of soldiers garbed in yellow tunics and shiny helmets and carrying swords and shields engraved with the crest of the royal house stood solemnly at the foot of the ramp. Banners bearing a phoenix with outstretched wings waved in the breeze.
A guard stepped out of the ship. "His Majesty, Prince Avok of Pollux," he announced and promptly stepped aside.
The Prince stepped forward and saluted in triumph. He was wearing a knee-length white tunic with short sleeves and sandals similar to his brother's. He had spatha, a short sword hanging on his belt. He skipped down the ramp, smiling and waving right and left. He stopped at the front of the ramp when someone stepped directly in front of him.
"Welcome back, my dear brother," Romelle said, kissing him on both cheeks and hugging him warmly. He returned the embrace and then kissed her on the forehead. "It's so good to see you, Romelle." Then he drew back and smiled at Bandor. "And how's my little brother?" he asked, grasping the younger man's outstretched hand.
He frowned. "Hey- don't call me that. I'm almost as tall as you," he snapped.
His brother laughed heartily. "Yes, give or take a few inches," he said ruffling the teenager's hair.
Romelle looked lovingly at her brothers, so similar in face and hair. Avok then glanced at her. "Where's father?" he asked.
"He's in a meeting with his advisors. He will be joining us for lunch."
He draped an arm about her shoulders and looked into her eyes. "In the meantime, I want you to give me all the latest gossip from court."
"All right."
Their younger brother ran pass them shouting, "Come on, we can't waste time!"
Allura, Coran and the Voltron Force greeted Sven's parents and Rear-Admiral Michael Harrison in the main hangar.
Kari Asbjörnsen, a tall, slender woman in her late-forties with blond hair and baby-blue eyes, held out her hands to Allura. She took her hands and pressed them to her heart a moment, struggling to find the right words to describe her loss. "I was devastated," she said. "I'm still devastated, but I know my son died fulfilling his duty. I'm very proud of him."
She then stood back to allow her husband Olaf to come forward. His gray-streaked hair and handsome features reminded Allura of an older version of Sven; the usual reassuring statement was absent from his face. His normally infectious smile was wan and forced. He thanked the Princess for taking care of their son in their absence and for being his friend.
"Your son was very brave, and did well in the face of adversity," Allura stated. Olaf's eyes, as dark blue as those of his only son, grew visibly misty.
"Thank you, Your Highness," he replied softly.
Since being notified of Sven's death, his grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins have been mourning at the Oslo home where the young lieutenant had lived with his parents before going to military school in Paris.
They were a closely-knit family, and they spoke at same time, clamoring to explain through smiles and tears how Sven affected their lives. The oldest of eight grandchildren, he shared a special relationship with his aunts and uncles because they were closer in age. And because he was the firstborn grandchild, he was the most doted upon.
"We thought he was going to be a teacher like us," Olaf reminisced. "But when he turned four, he announced to the family that he would become a space explorer so he could visit the stars."
"He was a determined person. Anything he wanted, he got," Kari stated.
Father Jarl arrived a short time later to offer what comfort he could to the Asbjörnsens. The Voltron Force sat stoically through most of the service, which was held at the cathedral. Sven's portrait, which had been a Christmas gift from the Princess, was placed in an easel next to the pew. Kari leaned close gripping her husband's hand for courage when she saw it.
All eyes grew moist when they listened to tributes from the priest and Rear-Admiral Harrison.
"Death doesn't exist. If you lose a loved one, don't despair, with the knowledge that he hasn't died. Don't disappoint your friend by running away from the battle. Don't pretend to be superior to God; accept what He has decided in His wisdom, and you will find comfort," Father Jarl said.
But that was easier said than done.
"Lieutenant Asbjörnsen proved his bravery, self-discipline, self-confidence, and his love and devotion to his work, colleagues and friends," Harrison said. In a soft monotone, he went on to thank many of them by name.
He concluded his talk with a few words about the young Space Explorer, saying that if the Alliance had more officers like him, lasting peace would reign thorough out the universe. At the mention of this, Kari began to cry, and Allura placed an arm around her shoulders.
Professor Asbjörnsen rose from his seat to address the mourners. "You have favored us with your company to bid farewell to our Sven." The huskiness of his voice contrasted with the rigid control he exercised over his features. "To see all of you, who always supported him and gave him your warm friendship, I'm sure that would have made him very happy. Thank you."
As Olaf returned to his seat next to Kari, Allura thought she saw his hand dart to the corner of his right eye to brush away a single tear. She knew from whom Sven had inherited his bravery.
"Are you sure you can do it?" Lance whispered to Keith. He nodded curtly and walked over to the pew and gazed at the congregation. He couldn't find his voice for a moment.
"I must confess that I had a hard time looking for the right words to describe my First Officer. But late last night those words finally came to me."
He then glanced at the portrait. "Sven, Norway beat Sweden 3-2 in overtime at the World Cup's qualification round. I owe you fifty krones," he said solemnly.
The teary-eyed congregation laughed softly, and Keith joined them. Everyone knew that Sven would enjoy that kind of levity under the circumstances.
He then turned serious. "Sven once asked me what I thought was the greatest gift that we've been given. I guessed everything. The ability to think, the ability to create, the ability to move."
He paused, collecting his thoughts. "Sven just sat there smiling and finally he said to me, ‘Memory, Keith. Memory is the greatest gift we have been given.' "
Keith shrugged his shoulders. "Of course I disagreed with him then, but today, I couldn't agree with him more. Take away my ability to reason. Take away my ability to create. Take away my ability to fight for what I believe for. But if I could keep *just* one gift, it would be the gift of memory, so that I could remember my dear friend and the good times we had, for the rest of my life."
Allura reached for her handkerchief, dabbing at tears which could no longer be suppressed. Lance gazed upwards to blink away the tears. Hunk bit his lip to keep from crying out his frustration. Pidge took off his dark-rimmed glasses and wiped his tears.
"His fierce loyalty, his bravery, his compassion, his honesty, his kindness and above all, his peculiar sense humor," Keith went on, his voice becoming emotional. Allura and Keith's eyes met for a fleeting moment and they shared a knowing smile. They were *really* going to miss his sense humor.
Keith drew in a deep breath. "So today, we say goodbye to Sven. And until my soul rests, I know that not a day will pass by when he's not with me and with all of you."
He walked in front of the portrait and gave it a final military salute.
While Arus mourned the loss of the brave Space Explorer, in a distant planet, a very different scene was taking place…
A girl with auburn hair dressed in a yellow tunic entered a large, bright room decorated with murals and mosaics. Going to a wooden chest, she opened it and lifted out a dark blue chiton, and a brown-haired girl wearing a pink sheath went over to the closet and took out a pair of sandals of fine twined leather.
A young woman was looking at her reflection in the mirror. She was extravagantly beautiful. Her hair was like golden thistledown touched by the sunlight. Her eyes were a deep blue, and her skin was as pure as cream. Her cheeks touched with just the faintest hint of rose. She was wearing a classically simple Roman-style knee-length tunic in white.
The girl with auburn hair walked over to her and slipped the drape over her head. Next she adjusted her garment and fastened it at the shoulders with golden broaches. She stepped back and nodded appreciatively.
"Milady, this chiton is exquisite," she sighed.
"You're right, Helena," her mistress said in a purring, husky voice letting her fingers touch the soft silk fabric.
"And It makes your lovely eyes even lovelier," she added. She then glanced back and said, "Octavia, help Her Highness put on her sandals."
Octavia knelt before her mistress and did as she was bid. She looked to her friend, and Helena nodded with a smile.
"And now let's choose the jewelry," Helena said opening the jewelry chest. "What would you like to wear, Milady?"
"The sapphire pendant-" she began when they heard a commotion from the doorway.
"But Your Highness-" a female voice trailed off.
"I must see my sister. Let me pass!" A male voice snapped.
A tall young man with reddish hair and a sprinkling of freckles across his nose and cheeks stalked into the room. He was wearing a knee-length tunic made of linen, with narrow golden strips and wide sleeves. He had on red sandals with straps which rounded the leg to mid-calf.
"Romelle!"
The young woman glanced back and smiled brightly at him.
"Bandor, what is it?"
"Avok's ship will be arriving in ten minutes, let's go and greet him!"
"What about father?"
He walked over to her and grabbed her hand. "He will meet us later. He's speaking with his advisors. Let's go!"
Minutes later. . .
Romelle and Bandor were on the hangar when H.M.S. Polydeuces carrying Avok arrived. A group of soldiers garbed in yellow tunics and shiny helmets and carrying swords and shields engraved with the crest of the royal house stood solemnly at the foot of the ramp. Banners bearing a phoenix with outstretched wings waved in the breeze.
A guard stepped out of the ship. "His Majesty, Prince Avok of Pollux," he announced and promptly stepped aside.
The Prince stepped forward and saluted in triumph. He was wearing a knee-length white tunic with short sleeves and sandals similar to his brother's. He had spatha, a short sword hanging on his belt. He skipped down the ramp, smiling and waving right and left. He stopped at the front of the ramp when someone stepped directly in front of him.
"Welcome back, my dear brother," Romelle said, kissing him on both cheeks and hugging him warmly. He returned the embrace and then kissed her on the forehead. "It's so good to see you, Romelle." Then he drew back and smiled at Bandor. "And how's my little brother?" he asked, grasping the younger man's outstretched hand.
He frowned. "Hey- don't call me that. I'm almost as tall as you," he snapped.
His brother laughed heartily. "Yes, give or take a few inches," he said ruffling the teenager's hair.
Romelle looked lovingly at her brothers, so similar in face and hair. Avok then glanced at her. "Where's father?" he asked.
"He's in a meeting with his advisors. He will be joining us for lunch."
He draped an arm about her shoulders and looked into her eyes. "In the meantime, I want you to give me all the latest gossip from court."
"All right."
Their younger brother ran pass them shouting, "Come on, we can't waste time!"
The Polluxian royal family was enjoying their meal at the solarium, among flowerbeds in a beautiful array of reds, oranges, yellows, pinks and lavender blues. The green shades of foliage were mirrored in the windows. The servants came in and out of the room carrying trays of delicious food and wine.
The Princess looked to her father, King Cova through lowered lashes. He was a study in gray, with his full-gray beard, his thick gray hair and weathered skin. He was more handsome at sixty than he had been at thirty when he had sat for the portrait that hung in the throne room.
She then gazed at her older brother. She tried to see him through the eyes of an outsider. Several times she had caught her ladies in waiting and other princesses talking about him. Most of them had crushes on him. Avok was several inches taller than Bandor, with equally reddish hair, freckles and eyes a darker shade of brown. He had broad shoulders and powerful arms and legs. He possessed a lean waist and strong chest. Being a prince and given his position in the military, not to mention his devastating good looks, Avok was target of every nubile princess in that part of the galaxy, a fact which greatly amused their little brother.
He had made a point of seeing them at least five or six times a year since taking command of the Polluxian army at his father's request. He had matured during these five years, and at twenty-six carried an aura of rugged male power that was formidable.
After taking a sip of red wine, Avok said, "Father, you asked me to return from my campaign because you have something very important to tell us. What is it?"
Cova raised his chin. "Son, we need to avenge the humiliation our ancestors suffered years ago at the hands of the Lyons from Arus. That's why I have asked for an audience with King Zarkon of the Doom Empire. He has not been able to conquer Arus with his fleet and his robeasts, but I have a proposal that he won't be able to refuse."
"And that is?" Avok inquired.
The King gave him a stern look. "You will volunteer to become a robeast with the help of Hagar, Zarkon's sorceress, so you can destroy Voltron."
Avok's thick eyebrows shot up in surprise and he sat back in his chair. "I had not considered that possibility."
Bandor grinned broadly at his father. "Avok, a robeast?" He asked amazed. "That's great! I'm sure he will beat that stupid robot in a matter of minutes."
Romelle spared the teenager a brief heated glance and then turn to Cova. "But Father, isn't that dangerous?"
He reached over to pat her hand. "Yes, my dear child, but I know that your brother will come out triumphant. Do not fear," he said with a deep, reassuring voice.
"Father, when you and Avok go to planet Doom, can Romelle and I tag along? We've never been to that part of the galaxy."
Avok frowned slightly. "I think is better if you two stay here."
The younger prince glanced at his father with pleading eyes. Cova chuckled softly. "You may come," he conceded.
"Thanks!" He exclaimed smiling smugly at his older brother who sent him a sharp glance.
The beautiful Princess could tell Avok disagreed with their father's decision, but thankfully, he held his tongue.
She saw him lift his green goblet of wine to his mouth. She sensed a dark undercurrent between them, but could not make sense of it. She excused herself and pushed back her chair, smiling faintly at the male servant who cleared away her goblet and plate.
The Princess looked to her father, King Cova through lowered lashes. He was a study in gray, with his full-gray beard, his thick gray hair and weathered skin. He was more handsome at sixty than he had been at thirty when he had sat for the portrait that hung in the throne room.
She then gazed at her older brother. She tried to see him through the eyes of an outsider. Several times she had caught her ladies in waiting and other princesses talking about him. Most of them had crushes on him. Avok was several inches taller than Bandor, with equally reddish hair, freckles and eyes a darker shade of brown. He had broad shoulders and powerful arms and legs. He possessed a lean waist and strong chest. Being a prince and given his position in the military, not to mention his devastating good looks, Avok was target of every nubile princess in that part of the galaxy, a fact which greatly amused their little brother.
He had made a point of seeing them at least five or six times a year since taking command of the Polluxian army at his father's request. He had matured during these five years, and at twenty-six carried an aura of rugged male power that was formidable.
After taking a sip of red wine, Avok said, "Father, you asked me to return from my campaign because you have something very important to tell us. What is it?"
Cova raised his chin. "Son, we need to avenge the humiliation our ancestors suffered years ago at the hands of the Lyons from Arus. That's why I have asked for an audience with King Zarkon of the Doom Empire. He has not been able to conquer Arus with his fleet and his robeasts, but I have a proposal that he won't be able to refuse."
"And that is?" Avok inquired.
The King gave him a stern look. "You will volunteer to become a robeast with the help of Hagar, Zarkon's sorceress, so you can destroy Voltron."
Avok's thick eyebrows shot up in surprise and he sat back in his chair. "I had not considered that possibility."
Bandor grinned broadly at his father. "Avok, a robeast?" He asked amazed. "That's great! I'm sure he will beat that stupid robot in a matter of minutes."
Romelle spared the teenager a brief heated glance and then turn to Cova. "But Father, isn't that dangerous?"
He reached over to pat her hand. "Yes, my dear child, but I know that your brother will come out triumphant. Do not fear," he said with a deep, reassuring voice.
"Father, when you and Avok go to planet Doom, can Romelle and I tag along? We've never been to that part of the galaxy."
Avok frowned slightly. "I think is better if you two stay here."
The younger prince glanced at his father with pleading eyes. Cova chuckled softly. "You may come," he conceded.
"Thanks!" He exclaimed smiling smugly at his older brother who sent him a sharp glance.
The beautiful Princess could tell Avok disagreed with their father's decision, but thankfully, he held his tongue.
She saw him lift his green goblet of wine to his mouth. She sensed a dark undercurrent between them, but could not make sense of it. She excused herself and pushed back her chair, smiling faintly at the male servant who cleared away her goblet and plate.
Romelle walked toward the back of the castle, where the sounds of the soldiers' barracks faded into the distance, and she heard the twittering of birds. After strolling for several minutes she eased herself down onto the soft grass.
She thanked God that Bandor had a brother like Avok he could look up to. Not that Cova didn't love his son; she knew he'd given his life for any one of his children if need be. But since her mother's death, he had withdrawn from his sons and daughter, physically and emotionally. The man who had showered his family with loving affection now seemed to believe that providing materially for them was enough. Romelle missed the man he'd been before her mother, Queen Onivei died.
Fun loving and kind, with strong opinions about everything and who didn't mind sharing them with anyone who would listen.
With Onivei at his side, Cova had forgotten about his revenge against his distant family from planet Arus and turned into a man of unbounded faith. Nothing worried or frightened him. He might put on a mighty show for his subjects now, standing tall, bellowing orders with the sure clear voice of a man in charge. But alone in the castle, where no one could witness his grief and misery- except his only daughter- Cova's voice trembled with doom and gloom.
She sighed deeply. If only her father would look around him, and see that he was surrounded by hundreds of things to be thankful for. He was healthy. His children loved him. Pollux had become prosperous under his rule. His subjects were devoted to him. What more could he ask for? Romelle wondered time and again. She loved her father dearly. But his behavior these past few years had been slowly chipping away at the respect and admiration she had felt for him while her mother was alive.
Most of all she pitied Bandor, for he needed a father who was a pillar of strength, who could give him security, comfort, a man he could imitate.
She had stepped into her mother's place quite willingly. To say it was difficult was beside the point. After all, Onivei hadn't chosen to leave them. And since her mother hadn't had a choice, why should she?
The Polluxian Princess spent her time in the castle learning everything about royal matters and looking after her little brother. She knew that if her father and Avok went to war, she would have to manage all of it. So it was wise to familiarize with all aspects of the castle, and not just those things that usually concerned a woman.
Although her physical beauty could be intimidating to the young men of the court, her warm, approachable manner encouraged invitations from them. Sometimes she accepted, but none of them made any deep impression on her to the point of wanting any deeper involvement. She was only twenty-two, but had long ago lost count of how many princes or nobles had proposed to her. Fortunately her father hadn't pressured her to enter a marriage of convenience. He seemed to respect her judgement.
"Melle?"
She glanced back at the sound of her nickname. It was her darling brother.
"Can I join you?"
She smiled up at him. "Of course." He sat down beside her.
"Bandor and I are going to the hippodrome tomorrow. Do you want to come with us?"
A breeze whipped a stray curl into her eyes and she tucked it behind her ear. "Sure. Are you going to participate in the race?"
He shook his head. "Not this time, Father wants me to prepare for my confrontation with Voltron. I'm going to place a bet. I think the red team has a good chance with their new charioteer, Maximus."
She plucked a blade of grass and sniffed it. "Why didn't you want us to go to planet Doom?" she asked out of the blue.
Avok's apparent good mood vanished at the mention of the trip. "Because I'm sure Lotor will be there. We have crossed paths a few times," he replied, his brow furrowing.
"I've never met him in person," she said softly. "I have seen pictures of him and read about his conquests, and I must admit that I'm a bit curious. . ."
He caught her hand. "Please, Romelle, promise me that you'll stay away from him."
She felt a surge of panic begin to overtake her. "Why?"
He groaned softly. He had heard of Lotor's lewd behavior with his female captives and wanted to spare his little sister of the grim details. "He isn't what he seems. But I'll take care of him and his father after I dispose of Voltron."
She winced. "Do you agree with father about defeating Arus? Don't you think he should forget about this revenge?"
He looked into her eyes. "Romelle, their ancestors brought shame to our family and they must pay. Maybe I don't agree with father's tactics, but we must do everything in our power to ensure our position in the galaxy."
She smiled and thought perhaps she was worrying too much, Avok was a great fighter for three main reasons: discipline, hard and efficient training and speed at which he learned new tactics. And if you added the element of magic, he would surely destroy Voltron with ease.
But unbeknownst to Romelle, Avok and the rest of the family, the consequences of that visit to planet Doom will prove to be profound, complicated and bittersweet.
The End.
02/06/2001
Revised 03/07/2015
She thanked God that Bandor had a brother like Avok he could look up to. Not that Cova didn't love his son; she knew he'd given his life for any one of his children if need be. But since her mother's death, he had withdrawn from his sons and daughter, physically and emotionally. The man who had showered his family with loving affection now seemed to believe that providing materially for them was enough. Romelle missed the man he'd been before her mother, Queen Onivei died.
Fun loving and kind, with strong opinions about everything and who didn't mind sharing them with anyone who would listen.
With Onivei at his side, Cova had forgotten about his revenge against his distant family from planet Arus and turned into a man of unbounded faith. Nothing worried or frightened him. He might put on a mighty show for his subjects now, standing tall, bellowing orders with the sure clear voice of a man in charge. But alone in the castle, where no one could witness his grief and misery- except his only daughter- Cova's voice trembled with doom and gloom.
She sighed deeply. If only her father would look around him, and see that he was surrounded by hundreds of things to be thankful for. He was healthy. His children loved him. Pollux had become prosperous under his rule. His subjects were devoted to him. What more could he ask for? Romelle wondered time and again. She loved her father dearly. But his behavior these past few years had been slowly chipping away at the respect and admiration she had felt for him while her mother was alive.
Most of all she pitied Bandor, for he needed a father who was a pillar of strength, who could give him security, comfort, a man he could imitate.
She had stepped into her mother's place quite willingly. To say it was difficult was beside the point. After all, Onivei hadn't chosen to leave them. And since her mother hadn't had a choice, why should she?
The Polluxian Princess spent her time in the castle learning everything about royal matters and looking after her little brother. She knew that if her father and Avok went to war, she would have to manage all of it. So it was wise to familiarize with all aspects of the castle, and not just those things that usually concerned a woman.
Although her physical beauty could be intimidating to the young men of the court, her warm, approachable manner encouraged invitations from them. Sometimes she accepted, but none of them made any deep impression on her to the point of wanting any deeper involvement. She was only twenty-two, but had long ago lost count of how many princes or nobles had proposed to her. Fortunately her father hadn't pressured her to enter a marriage of convenience. He seemed to respect her judgement.
"Melle?"
She glanced back at the sound of her nickname. It was her darling brother.
"Can I join you?"
She smiled up at him. "Of course." He sat down beside her.
"Bandor and I are going to the hippodrome tomorrow. Do you want to come with us?"
A breeze whipped a stray curl into her eyes and she tucked it behind her ear. "Sure. Are you going to participate in the race?"
He shook his head. "Not this time, Father wants me to prepare for my confrontation with Voltron. I'm going to place a bet. I think the red team has a good chance with their new charioteer, Maximus."
She plucked a blade of grass and sniffed it. "Why didn't you want us to go to planet Doom?" she asked out of the blue.
Avok's apparent good mood vanished at the mention of the trip. "Because I'm sure Lotor will be there. We have crossed paths a few times," he replied, his brow furrowing.
"I've never met him in person," she said softly. "I have seen pictures of him and read about his conquests, and I must admit that I'm a bit curious. . ."
He caught her hand. "Please, Romelle, promise me that you'll stay away from him."
She felt a surge of panic begin to overtake her. "Why?"
He groaned softly. He had heard of Lotor's lewd behavior with his female captives and wanted to spare his little sister of the grim details. "He isn't what he seems. But I'll take care of him and his father after I dispose of Voltron."
She winced. "Do you agree with father about defeating Arus? Don't you think he should forget about this revenge?"
He looked into her eyes. "Romelle, their ancestors brought shame to our family and they must pay. Maybe I don't agree with father's tactics, but we must do everything in our power to ensure our position in the galaxy."
She smiled and thought perhaps she was worrying too much, Avok was a great fighter for three main reasons: discipline, hard and efficient training and speed at which he learned new tactics. And if you added the element of magic, he would surely destroy Voltron with ease.
But unbeknownst to Romelle, Avok and the rest of the family, the consequences of that visit to planet Doom will prove to be profound, complicated and bittersweet.
The End.
02/06/2001
Revised 03/07/2015
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