THE NEW ARRIVALS - DAY SIX

“Dexter…?” I give a hopeful look as he enters the sitting room. His response is a long stare and a helpless shrug. I feel my heart sink.

“But - but the plan. You were supposed to have a plan! What do I do now?”

His voice is grim when he speaks. “You do what you have to, Alan.”

“Can’t you think of something? Anything? I have the Scotch, look!” I hold up the bottle for him to see. He smiles a little and shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, man. Looks like I’m dead, and you’re King. Give me a decent headstone over my grave, will you?”

“I won’t be able to. Mine will be right beside yours.”

He claps a hand on my shoulder and gives me a sad smile before he goes. I frown at the bottle of Scotch in my hands. I bought this for nothing. Damn it. Well, if I have to go through with this, I might as well put it to use. I need the bravado.

I unscrew the cap and raise the bottle to my lips.

“Hey, Lance!” Desiree gives me a cheerful wave and nods her head toward an empty chair at her table. I flash her a quick smile, wave and keep on going. Sorry, doll, that’s the breaks. I already have my intended date in mind, especially now since it appears she won’t be with her originally planned escort.

I cast a quick look around the room to locate her. Shannon is seated at the table assigned to her and her buddies and their dates. The chair meant for her escort is empty. I make a point of crossing the room to claim the chair. Lynne and Caro look confused but not surprised. Dunkirk and Hunk give me odd looks, but neither of them say anything.

This was supposed to be a nice little get-together, the end result of Allura’s plan to wheedle a poem out of Keith. Now it’s just a long, held breath before the disaster to come. Keith didn’t show, and I doubt he will later, either.

Allura is noticeably tense as she reads off the winning entries. My writing is named among the honorable mentions. Shannon gives me a smile and reaches over to squeeze my hand. That alone makes the effort worthwhile.

Then Allura goes on to read the third place entry. It belongs to Hunk and Dunkirk, of all people. But it is a neat little rhyme, filled with comparisons of a girl to different sweets and candies. Dunkirk gives Lynne a wink and she smiles back at him.

Second place is an interesting little piece about someone who quietly admires another from a distance. The writer is anonymous. Everyone starts whispering and looking around at each other. I spot Pidge looking straight at Shannon from where he sits on the other side of the room. He catches me staring at him and he quickly turns away. All of a sudden I realize that the author is no longer unknown. I glance Shannon’s way. She and Caro are debating on whether or not Keith wrote it for Allura. I decide to keep my little secret to myself.

Dexter gets first place, with a poem titled ‘Cat’s Play’. Tasia is looking him over like she could eat him with a spoon. Dexter smiles back at her, and she runs a hand along the sleeve of his tuxedo jacket. That man is going to get laid before the evening is out. Then I remember that Dexter said Keith coached him through the writing of that poem. So in a way, Keith won the contest after all. But somehow I don’t think it would cheer Allura up if I told her that.

With the contest now over, the socializing phase begins. But tension is still high. Allura looks grim as she takes a seat at Dexter and Tasia’s table. She keeps looking at the empty chair beside her and frowning. And so far, Alan hasn’t come along to occupy it.

Coran and Nanny show up, dressed in formal attire. They take seats at a table close to the one Allura is sitting at. They immediately notice the empty chair beside her and begin to whisper back and forth. Hunk leans my way.

“Wonder where Alan got to,” he whispers.

“Maybe we’re lucky and he jumped off the castle roof,” I reply.

Dunkirk shifts in his seat to turn and glare at me. Lynne rests a hand over his and he sneers at me as he looks away again. I feel no need to apologize for the remark. His buddy is marrying the girl who was meant for my buddy. I’m not going to be sorry for anything I do or say from this point on.

Not long after our exchange, the man in question appears at the entrance to the room. He has a bottle in his hand and a blissfully stupid grin on his face. He spreads his arms wide and says, ’Honey, I’m home!’ in a loud voice.

The chamber musicians stop dead with their playing. Everyone turns to look. Alan staggers across the room and up to the table where Allura is. He pauses to thrust the bottle at Dexter, then he falls to one knee before the princess. She regards him with dismay as he fumbles with the ring box, produces the ring, takes up her hand and puts it in place on her finger. The room is so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

“Withish ring I do thee wed,” Alan mutters, then he falls over. Coran immediately springs to his feet. He looks angry as all hell.

“No, no, damn it, no!” He bellows and storms out of the room. Nanny rushes after him. The room erupts into pandemonium. Lynne abruptly breaks into laughter. We all stare at her like she’s gone nuts. She beams at us.

“The wedding is off,” she announces with a smile. “Alan’s proposal wasn’t legitimate.”

“What d’ye mean?” Dunkirk asks.

“A royal proposal cannot be made under the influence of alcohol or any type of mind-altering substance, be it legal or illegal, or it is considered null and void.”

“Ye donna say,” Dunkirk says and casts a look Alan’s way. He’s still out cold on the floor. “Is that for real?”

Lynne nods. “Yes, it most certainly is. The tactic was used many times in the Arusian past by parents who wanted to get their sons and daughters married off to people of prominence. And when a common tailor used the trick on Prince Eldred of Tannisvar to get his daughter wed to him, the law was passed not long afterward.”

“An’ that law is still legit?”

“Most definitely. That rule comes from the same group of laws that Coran took advantage of to arrange the princess’s marriage in the first place.”

“So if he disregarded the no-influence rule to make the proposal legal, he’d also have to disregard the rule for the arranged marriage, and it would still be cancelled out,” Caro says.

“That’s it exactly, hon.”

Dunkirk grins. “Well, I’ll be damned. Allow me t’ go an’ break th’ news. I want t’ have a look at whatever he was drinkin’ anyhow.” He leaves the table and heads that way. Lynne is still smiling. I can’t help but laugh as well.

“The boy is out cold, Dexter.” Tasia makes another attempt to shake Alan awake. He doesn’t budge. I angle the bottle of Scotch he gave me toward the light. Nearly half of it is gone.

“Give it up, Tasia. He’s down for the count.”

Dunkirk arrives at the table with a huge smile on his face. “Hullo, Captain.” He nods at the Scotch I’m holding. “What’s that ye’ve got there?”

“The bottle that saved the day.”

“Oh, so ye already knew about th’ rule, aye?”

“The princess just enlightened us. And here, this is supposed to be yours anyhow.” I hand him the bottle. He looks it over.

“Lagavulin sixteen-year-old single malt,” he says with surprise in his voice. “What’s th’ occasion, Captain?”

“I felt obliged to replace the bottle that got broken. I’m sorry Alan dipped into it first. That was completely unexpected.”

Dunkirk arches an eyebrow. “Broken? Me bottle’s nae broken, Dexter.”

“It isn’t…?”

“Why no, it’s safe an’ sound in me room. Tasia an’ Galen were just teasin’ ye.”

“Teasing? Tasia…” I look around at her. She gives me a cheesy grin and a little wave.

“Yo baby, wassup?”

I frown at her. “The bottle wasn’t broken…?”

“Dunny’s right, it was just a joke. Ain’t that something?”

“Oh, it’s something all right. Trust me.” I stand up and start around the table toward her. She scoots out of her chair and ducks around Dunkirk.

“What are you getting so uptight about? It was just a joke.”

“A joke? I sold my soul twice over to get that bottle! And all for a joke? C’mere, you…”

She evades my grasp and bolts for the door. I ask Dunkirk to look after Alan and excuse myself from the princess before giving chase.

The sun is setting with it’s usual fiery brilliance, nestling into a space between two mountains and slowly sinking from sight. Keith is standing at the window, dressed in his tuxedo, staring out at the blazing sky. He glances my way as I get near.

“Princess,” he says softly. “I take it the deed is done now, yes?”

I smile at him. “There is no deed. Alan’s proposal didn’t stick, because he made it while he was drunk.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. Coran was furious. He stormed out of the room.”

“Aww,” he replies with a smirk. “That breaks my heart.”

“Mine too. You missed out on all the fun. Things lightened up considerably once that was all over and done with. I think Hunk and Caro were smooching all evening. It was cute. And Tasia is in trouble with Dexter because I think she had Dexter convinced that he’d broken Dunkirk’s bottle of Scotch when he really hadn’t. And Lance claimed Shannon as his for the evening, which is no surprise…”

“What happened to Alan?”

“Dunkirk carried him back to his room. Poor fellow, he’s going to wake up with an awful hangover, I think…”

“How much did he drink?”

“I’m not sure. A lot is all I know.”

“Hmm.” He returns his attention back out the window. I fold my hands in front of me.

“Lance told me that you helped Dexter write his poem. Is that true?”

“Yeah, I helped a little. Why?”

“He won first prize for it. Does that bother you?”

“No, not really. Dexter already had the concept in mind. All I did was help him polish it a little.”

“I would have liked to hear what you would have written on your own.”

He smirks. “So I’ve heard. Lance gave me the lowdown on the whole poetry scheme days ago.” He looks around at me. “That’s quite some determination to get a poem from me.”

I feel my cheeks grow warm. “Well, if you weren’t so stubborn about it, I wouldn’t have to resort to being underhanded. All I wanted was for you to write something, anything. I didn’t think that was too much to ask.”

“So you want a poem…” he muses. “All right, fine. Give me just a moment, here.”

I nod and fall silent. He stares out at the sunset, his profile bathed in orange glow. Then he takes a breath, begins to speak, and the words are wonderful.

It takes a moment before I realize he's finished. He glances at me from the corner of his eye. For a long time I'm at a complete loss for words.

“You made that up…just now?”

“Just now.”

“Oh Keith, that's such a talent you have, creating something so beautiful at a moment's notice.”

He shakes his head. “Talent has nothing to do with it. If something truly inspires you, the poem will write itself.”

“Really.” I take another look toward the rapidly darkening sky. “It was a splendid sunset this time, wasn't it?”

Keith looks down at his hands. “I wasn’t referring to the sunset, actually.” He turns fully to me then, the emotion in his dark eyes burning as intensely as the sky around him. I find myself at a loss for words a second time as he draws near and rests his hands on my shoulders. The next moment, I’m in his arms and he is bringing his face close to mine. Is he going to kiss me? My goodness, I think he is…!

A sudden outburst of surprise erupts from behind us. Lance and Shannon are frozen in place in the middle of the hallway, gawking at us both.

“Whoopsie…” Lance says with an embarrassed grin, rubbing at the back of his head. “Sorry for the interruption. You kids carry on.”

Shannon has already begun to backtrack and retreat around the corner. She sticks a hand out to snag Lance by his jacket and yank him back with her. But it’s already too late. Keith has backed off and made distance between us. The moment is gone as surely as the sunset is. I can tell by the expression on his face.

“Well, umm…” he says finally. “Work to do tomorrow. Good evening, princess.”

“Good evening, Keith.”

He dips his head to me once and leaves. I take it upon myself to recite every rude word Tasia said the other day as I head for my own room.

To The New Arrivals: Day 5

To The New Arrivals: Day 7