Ai Love Therapy Ch. 03

"What would Ai do?" Irene asked, looking about the room and taking stock. She snorted and rolled her eyes. "Ai would find a gun or some other weapon, kill everyone in guerrilla warfare then spend the rest of the day masturbating." All things Irene couldn't do, because even with anger inside to melt stone she couldn't kill anyone, no matter how much they deserved it.

"Ok, new plan," Irene told herself, trotting to the massive wardrobe and throwing it open, looking through a collection of outfits straight from a fantasy cosplay convention. "How will I think my way out of here?"

The clothing choices were not ideal. Plenty fit, the biggest surprise, most made from a material Irene reasoned as a strange hybrid of quality silk and spandex that breathed like cotton. So while nothing looked like it would fit comfortably, most everything hugged her better than anything she had ever worn. And if she were dressing herself, she could spend days in that closet. However, she remained on a mission.

A long cloth band bound her boobs up as tight as she could wrap it, wanting to downplay any sexy while allowing more freedom of movement if she needed to run. This was covered by a loose drape style, burnt orange knitted top that hung down to her thighs, which she tightened with a wide black belt high on her waist. Faun fashion didn't have pants, skirts or panties, so the tunic was the closest she found for modesty.

"Definitely have a 90s fashion model vibe, but gotta say, looking good." And she did. While her height was the same, her slimmer waist mixed with her shoulders and hips gave her a nice hourglass profile, and her tits were subdued to a realistic range under the tunic. A golden brown pelt flowed down her legs and appeared more sweat pants than goat creature in the dim red lighting.

"Irene Weihen is gonna face the world like a boss," she announced, then immediately slunk quietly to the door and slowly eased it open, furtively searching around outside.

Maybe I can just walk out, Irene thought, making an effort to be more circumspect by plotting internally.

"Milady, good to see you dressed and ready for the feast."

Irene jumped and slipped on stone tile, clopping for balance while spinning about and discovering an elderly male faun in long black robes leading two burly guards holding spears.

The determined woman from Earth closed down her emotions immediately, seeking bland indifference. She had a plan, and with a degree in psychology she possessed the resources to wage mental warfare. Step one: Grey Rock Technique. In short and simple terms, become so boring to other people they stop asking questions or interacting entirely. Irene had other weapons to unleash on these satyrs, but Grey Rock might allow a bit of breathing room and time needed to put more complex machinations into play. So rather than replying, she stood there, staring.

Though the older faun clearly waited for a response, he only paused for an awkward minute before motioning with a sinewy hand in the other direction, past his guards and the way he came. "Prince Jeston is waiting for you."

Didn't take a case study to comprehend a strong arm intimidation tactic with the guards present. Irene walked a slow pace to give herself more time and a modicum of control, but either the palace wasn't large or her room was close to the dining hall. It was a straight shot into more of the tree forest rooms instead of the white stone of her room; everything grander and majestic, like stepping into a fantasy forest instead of an enclosed space. Gazing up, Irene noted how the trees bent high above in arches and intertwined to create a solid canopy of leaves, shaped branches crafted into chandeliers providing reddish light upon everything.

In the center of the room, a massive table grew out of the ground with similar Aspen wood as the walls, the center filled with enough food to feed Hogwarts. The problem, though, was the emptiness of the room. Only the Prince seated at one end and an waiting chair on his right side.

Great, not creepy at all, Irene thought, keeping her face blank and boring while walking to her seat, hardly noticing the older faun bowing and silently leaving with his goons in tow. Just me and the Prince, alone, with neither of us wearing pants.

"My Princess, please, have a seat." The Prince stood and...don't look down, keep steady eye contact...smiled while pulling out her chair and gestured to the banquet. "I wasn't sure what you enjoy eating, so I had the kitchens put out a little of everything."

Irene struggled to keep from staring, her face waring with a scowl at the extravagant food or reflexively grin because the Prince owned such an infectious smile. She remained in control and sat down without a word, looking down at her plate in silence while the Prince got back in his chair.

"Is the food to your liking?" he asked, looking over with concern. "The cooks are some of the best in Yrlmuh, trained in my home country of Aoir. If there is anything you desire, only name it."

I want to go home. "No," Irene replied instead, purposefully obtuse to start her next phase of Psychology Fu. The counter punch to Grey Rock was Info Grab, and it worked by giving simple, short binary answers followed by open ended questions, keeping the other person talking. She glanced up and picked leafy greens and chicken cold cuts for her plate because she was hungry, though she filed the name Yrlmuh away for future geography lessons.

Inside the next awkward minutes, they ate in silence. Irene tried keeping focus on her food and the plate, but when glancing surreptitiously towards the side, she noted Prince grew more and more worried. The food itself tasted ok, though lightly spiced, and except for sparse meats and fish, mostly Paleo style vegetables garnished with nuts. There were fluffy cakes and pastries calling out to her, but they were arranged further down the table and Irene wasn't getting up for sugary indulgences...yet.

As for a nearly-shirtless male specimen seated nearby, the entire time he clearly grew frustrated from silence. "This is all moving faster than I wanted," the Prince mumbled, pushing his plate away. "I don't know your name or the first thing about you. Or you me! I'm not entirely sure where you came from, other than from another world. By the Great Tree, did you have a family?"

Irene stopped, staring at the Prince in surprise, her emotions churned from the raw honesty and concern heard in his voice. It jostled her out of the planned game, but she stuck with the plan, ignoring his question entirely except for a sarcastic grin. "How did you manage to get me here?"

The Prince sighed, rubbing his eyes like a normal person. "It is complicated, and I don't understand it entirely myself. A magical summoning was the process. A random but, unfortunately, one way process."

"Are you sure about the one way part?" Irene asked with a hitch in her voice, though she caught herself and squinched her eyes briefly to regain control.

For a moment, the question surprised Jeston, but he wasn't stupid and answered with gravity expected from royalty. "Yes."

It shouldn't hurt as much as it did, but how was Irene supposed to know this end up like an isekai story Ai tried getting her to read? They brought her here, they should send her back! Anyway, Irene pushed that aside and focused on eating and keeping her face blank. "Fine. Any other details you can share about whatever?"

"I'm realizing now there is more dire implications towards you than was explained to me," he said with concern. For the first time, Irene also noticed his lip movements did not match the sounds coming out. It was subtle and barely noticeable, but Irene wondered how language magically operated while the Prince stood and paced around the table.

Irene opened her mouth to respond, stopped, then closed her mouth. The prince beat her to the punch, interrupting her internal momentum.

"Milady, I'm sorry this happened to you. I was told the ritual searched the cosmoi connected to our world of Evma - what you might think of as a nexus for metaphysicality - and select the perfect candidate for the needs of my people. In my mind and foolish assumption, that meant you free of other ties and obligations. Perhaps you desired to leave a life behind or sought adventure or I can't even think what! Obviously, with the evidence before me, that is hubris of the highest order and I don't have sufficient language to ask for your forgiveness."

Before Irene reacted by pulling away, he knelt before her and grasped her hand in both of his, pulling it against his bare chest. He felt so warm, yet she yanked her hand back violently and scraped her chair away at the sudden invasion of personal space, screaming incoherently at being touched by her kidnapper! It was too much, all of it, from the moment she arrived here, how could she expect to...to...

For a moment they were frozen there, staring at each other, Irene through unbidden tears, but the prince held up surrender hands and backed away, moving glacially slow the whole time. He kept moving back until nearly to his seat, though he remained standing.

"I am sorry," he whispered, the remorse of his voice drawing Irene in despite herself. "And if there is anything, anything, I, Jeston an'Raios, third son of King Kormark an'Raios of the sovereign throne of Aoir, can possibly do or provide for you, it is yours. This I swear on the Great Tree."

Hyperventilating, forcing herself to regain calm, Irene decided she needed directness. "What...what do you want with me?" Blush, she ended by crossing her legs, because she didn't want to Basic Instinct this guy again.

He sunk a bit, a haunted visage filling turquoise eyes. "My people are dying, and you are our only hope."

Despite everything, all the ups and downs, that last...not even two hours at this point...this caused Irene to lose it and break into laughter. Sardonic, harsh laughter, folding her arms and processing this new tidbit. "Of course I am," she sarcasmed, wishing she could punch something. "Transporting to another world can only mean I am the Chosen One."