The Overlander is the strangest person Luxa has ever seen. His unmarred skin is the light brown of one whose family must have lived in the light for generations, just as hers is the pale white of one whose family has lived in the darkness for generations.
At first, she thinks his hair is only dark because it is cast in shadow. Yet it isn't. Like his skin, his hair bears witness to the fact that he has seen more light than darkness in his life (of all kinds), thick and curly and dark. It must be soft, she idly thinks, then remembers that he is the intruder and she is the queen.
His face is torn by confusion. Good, she thinks, let him be confused. Let him fear. He knows nothing of her world, so he ought to be afraid. Vikus would call the look on his face the softness of youth, smiling wistfully, but Luxa knows better. A soft child will inevitably be broken — that is the way of the world. She will spare no leniency on him.
Then he looks straight into her eyes.
And he doesn't waver.
Because he knows what she's doing.
And he will not let himself be intimidated by her.
Luxa resists the urge to stamp her foot like a small, soft child.
But she will never do that again. There is no place in the world for such behavior from a queen.
So she holds his gaze, and dares him to do the same. It is a battle of wills, and she will win because he is an Overlander, and he has no idea how this world works, and—
A tiny girl barrels into her.
Luxa staggers.
And in front of the Overlander, no less!
"Ball?" asks the small girl, grinning widely as if she has not just spurned Luxa's chance of asserting her superiority.
Luxa must rectify this at once. The ball rests in her hand. "It is yours if you can take it," she says, willing her voice to be stoic.
The small girl tries to grab the ball from her fingers. "Ball?"
"You will have to be stronger or smarter than I am." She is quite proud of that line. That should show that boy that she is not one to be lenient!
The girl pokes her in the eye, and Luxa falls back. The ball falls from her hand.
"I guess she's smarter," the Overlander boy says, in a voice like everything about him: affable, and foreign, and unwavering!
He thinks he is better than her. He thinks that he knows better. He thinks, he thinks, he thinks—
Do not scream, Luxa, you are better than that.
So she grits her teeth and narrows her eyes. She has the higher ground — everyone here knows it, and soon, he will know too. "But not you. Or you would not say such things to a queen."
This ought to make him bow his head. This ought to make him admit that he is soft and foolish, and that he has no idea what world he has landed himself in.
He shrugs.
He—
He shrugs.
"No, if I'd know you were a queen, I'd probably have said something a lot cooler," he says.
This boy—!