Nanny For The Alien General by Athena Storm

One

Keilon

“Emex, look over here.”

The boy steadfastly faces in the opposite direction.

His insubordination would not be tolerated were he one of my troops.

But he is not my solider. He is my son.

“No, Emex. Over here. It’s really quite something.” I nudge him gently, bending over my large frame (being over seven feet isn’t always the perk everyone believes it to be) to better direct his small face.

The vista to our left is breathtaking. Trees in the waning days of their glorious fall colors, gripping on to their russet and golden leaves as long as they can before winter’s grip seizes them away. The air is crisp and cool, with a small bite to it.

Lapping gently at the feet of the trees on the shoreline is the western most edge of the lake on which we currently sail. Fogfrost Lake. Up until a few moments ago, I never knew it existed. Were it not for my stubborn children, I’d be enjoying it very much right now.

Basically, it’s my favorite weather and the view does not disappoint. But try telling that to my recalcitrant son who has decided that he will do the opposite of what I want. Whether it’s out of spite or for some other reason is beyond me.

But then again, most of what my children do is beyond me.

You barely know them. Why are you surprised? My inner voice is so reliable when it comes to telling me just how thick-headed I can be sometimes.

Sighing, I decide to take a break from convincing my three-year old to look out of the window. He is hell bent on staring into the comfortable but predictable interior of the sailing vessel we ride upon.

Turning to my daughter, I hope for a better outcome.

I may as well have wished for the lake to freeze over in an instant.

She is slouched in her chair and a strange sound is coming from her throat. It takes me a few seconds to realize that the sound she is making is a whine of some kind.

“Booooorrrrred, Daddy. When home? When home?” She accompanies her little demands with bangs of her fist upon the bench seat.

“Soon, Belanna, soon. But look out the window. It’s very pretty!” I say, in my cheeriest voice. But I hear the fakery in it and even I’m not convinced. Though they may be tiny (only three and four years old), I know they are adept at smelling out a fake.

I may be almost a perfect stranger to them, but that I do know.

“Nooooo. Cold. Want home.”

She crosses her arms and stares defiantly ahead, determined not to enjoy the view.

I had overestimated the ability of toddlers to pay attention to things and to have any sort of temperature control. The weather, for me, is just perfect, but, I realize with a lick of embarrassment, perhaps it’s not entirely suitable for them. And I utterly failed to dress them accordingly.

They’ll be fine. Just meet them where they are.

I sigh again and try to just be present with them. Starting with Belanna.

The small pout of her blue-green mouth reminds me so much of her mother. And though the sight of it doesn’t give me a heart-pang, per se, I am aware that they are growing up without a mother-figure of any kind. For that reason, I feel a twinge of sadness. And guilt.

The slope of Belanna’s forehead, the pride in which she holds her chin upwards is so like her mother Jemna, it is startling.

I never yearned for that face, or the reserved pride and grace that accompanied it. My marriage to Jemna was a political necessity and brought well connected families together, as it should have. But there was no love there.

Respect, yes. Love, most certainly not.

And though our union produced two heirs to the Lake Kingdom throne, it was not one of passion or intoxicating romance.

But no child should live without a mother.

Hence, this field trip today. I really thought that, by making more of an effort, I could connect with my children. Jemna’s death, a year after Emex was born, shocked us all and pushed me further into my work. And though I mourned her as the mother of my children, I found that, within mere weeks after her death, the details of her face were difficult to recall. It was only in moments such as these, in the faces of my children, that her features were refreshed in my mind.

Has it really been two years since she left us? How fast it all goes. And how much I’ve neglected them.

Naively, I believed that by drowning myself in the daily running of a busy kingdom, I could ignore the problems closest to me. The ones I couldn’t begin to fathom to solve. There is much to concern myself with, as more and more my kingly duties required that I act as a General to the troops of not just my kingdom, but that of an alliance of Kiphian nations as well.

The war between the Ataxians and the Alliance threatens to consume the galaxy, and the nations of Kiphia must work to keep our world out of it. Too many of our own are already venturing out of the League to their territories to fight in foreign wars. It takes all my energy to keep my kingdom running.

What do I know about children? What do I know about talking to them?

My naiveté was on full display again, apparently, as this disastrous outing was proving. Sure, I could be King of the Lakes to all my loyal subjects. But to these two small Kiphian children, I was simply a dolt they didn’t know.

Throwing my hands up in frustration, I leave the toddlers to their whining and obstinate.

At least the surroundings are beautiful. And largely untouched.

Squelching the castigating voice within me that wonders why I have never even heard of this lake before, I convince myself that even the King of the Lakes needs to be surprised every now and again.

Truth is, I never would have known this lake had existed were it not for the recommendation of the leader of the Ribbon Lakes Territory. Teraed, who happens to be my cousin, was adamant that this was the lake to see. Fogfrost, though on the smaller side, is pristine and largely unscarred by the busy shipping lanes that the Lake Kingdom usually endure.

Vacations for the King are rare. I never would have found this secluded lake on my own. Reminding myself to send a thank you to Teraed when we return to the palace, I decide, one last time, to engage the children.

How could they possibly want to ignore the crystal clear waters, lilac-colored sky and majestic trees just outside their window?

In my best and heartiest voice, I turn back to face my children - these strangers that share most of my genetic material.

“Emex! Belanna! It’s so magical out there! Please just take a look for me? For Daddy? Can you do that?”

I bend over once more in an effort to really connect with them on their eye level.

Emex simply closes his eyes in response. Belanna shivers, draws up her arms even closer to her tiny little body and lets out a clear and convincing “Humph!”

There will be no convincing my children of anything today.