Kidnapped By the Alien Prince by Tori Kellett

 

Chapter One

Zakaarir watched the flames almost dispassionately as the kindling took light. The sudden movement from Kaleth as he shrank back into his side spurned the only reaction he allowed himself, and he brushed shoulders with him. It took his son only a moment to regain the control he needed before he stepped away from him to watch Zakaarir’s har’fe—the female who should have been named his queen in five days—be sent to Ash’dar, her final resting place.

Zakaarir—First Prince Zakaarir’s eyes were dry. He had known this day would come from the very instant he had lain eyes on his future queen. She had been only eighteen cycles old to his twenty, and even though they had been promised since birth, she had urged him to find happiness elsewhere.

Because they both knew she was already dying.

“Vescht. He is here.”

Zak tried not to react to the disgust as his younger brother cursed. Only Azlaan would dare to refer to their king in those terms, and then only to his brothers.

“He would hardly stay away. He’s won.” The bitter words fell from Zak’s lips without thinking, and he glanced at Kaleth in consternation. The boy had dealt with enough sorrow in his short life. To hear defeat in his father’s voice would shame them both.

“He has called a High Assembly for immediately after.”

Zak almost didn’t care. Maylesh had tried so hard. Five daylights ago, he had gathered her into his arms for the first time in cycles, and she had whispered apologies, and he had allowed himself to cry because he knew she wasn’t apologizing for dying, just not making it alive to his thirtieth cycle so he could be named king and rid their land and people of the plague and suffering that his sire’s greed and madness had caused.

He had shushed her, smoothed his hand over her pale face, and urged she rest. She had breathed her last barely moments later.

Zakaarir fell silent as did everyone in attendance, save for the muffled sobbing of two of Maylesh’s attendants who loved her dearly. The flames reached high, and then their yellow changed color into silver. It was the last moment, when the silver flames took the essence of the dying into Ash’dar. He closed his eyes and whispered the words of peace for a fallen warrior. Maylesh might have not taken arms against their enemies, but her battle had been just as grueling and hard-fought.

“First Prince Zakaarir?”

He opened his eyes and allowed his anger to blaze in them. That he should be interrupted at such a moment was unforgivable. He stared down at Fashtaa, the sniveling sycophant of his father and the man took a hurried step back. Good. He felt Azlaan put a steadying hand on his shoulder, and Fashtaa drew himself up, seeming confident Zakaarir would no longer take his ceremonial blade and rid the world of his poison.

“His Highness has requested your presence at the Assembly.”

Zakaarir merely nodded. He knew what his father and the elders wanted to do. They would rid him of his title. Their oldest law was no prince could be named king without a queen, and the chances of that had also died with Maylesh.

His father would have another seven cycles to rule until Azlaan became of age, and if Azlaan could find a queen. If his twin had been here, Razorr could have also been named first prince, but even he was reaching the conclusion that after two lunar phases with no news, his brother was dead.

But Razorr had the same problem as he did. Thanks to the mistakes of his sire and elder sire, there were no more queens, no females at all above the ages of eight or nine, except the ones too old to impregnate. Little girls guarded jealously by their fathers. Men who had already lost their har’fes or mates knew they would only one day lose their daughters to the same crippling disease that had taken Maylesh.

He had trained his whole life for the role of first prince and was sorry that responsibility would be thrust upon Azlaan. Azlaan wanted nothing more than to be a healer, which meant two of them would have their dreams destroyed this day, but another seven cycles gave him the chance to mate with one of the current younger females. It was too late for Zak because once he passed the thirtieth anniversary of his birth, the title of First Prince could never be returned.

The Assembly was almost full but hushed immediately as Zakaarir, Azlaan, and Kaleth all stepped inside and right up to the bottom of the steps leading to the dais and the twin thrones—one of course empty as their matriche had died many cycles ago. Zakaarir’s only comfort was that his matriche had died in an accident and had not had to go through the same ravages Maylesh had endured. At the same time, they all bowed before straightening and remaining still. It was but a month earlier a guard had his throat slit on these very steps. His crime? Reaching out to offer assistance as his king stumbled. His sire, so incensed with a perceived embarrassment, slit the guard’s throat himself.

“The Assembly grieves for your loss.”

Zak didn’t reply. He knew what was about to happen, and he wouldn’t give his sire the satisfaction of looking disturbed.

“You are aware that because of your mate’s unfortunate death, you are now no longer eligible to become king.” He gestured to the floor, and Zakaarir knelt once more as his sire rose and walked down the steps. He paused for a moment as if wanting to add gravitas to the occasion. Zakaarir kept his eyes lowered. The only thing stopping him from taking his ceremonial sword to his sire was the young male of barely nine cycles who stood next to him. Kaleth needed him. He couldn’t lose his own sire when he had only just lost his matriche.

He kept his head bowed and felt his sire’s fingers scrape his hair as the circlet there was lifted. It was the mark of First Prince, and Zakaarir only wore it on formal occasions, like the ascension of his mate. That his sire had chosen that moment to inflict a final humiliation upon him wasn’t lost on any of them. Hate burned in Zak’s gut where grief had sat only moments ago.

His sire returned to the throne and waved a hand indicating Zak could stand. He was still a prince. That was indisputable. But he was no longer the First Prince.

“We are facing challenging times,” the king remarked pompously, as if they didn’t all know. “And as such, the Assembly has decided to act within the interests of its people, as is always its greatest aim, however much it may personally cause us regret. The whole of Ishtaan needs a firm and steady hand to guide us through this crisis and enable our wise ones to reverse the tragedy the Great War cost us.”

Zakaarir almost scoffed in audible disbelief. His elder sire had caused the war, and the king in front of him had made everything a thousand times worse. Not only by invading other peaceful worlds as his greed could never be assuaged, but by ultimately creating the fighting machines their warriors had become, and the downfall of their species that followed.

“In the interest of stability, then.” He paused, and a cold blade seemed to run uncaring down Zakaarir’s spine. “Kaleth, would you please step forward and join me.”

Kaleth glanced at Zak in shock, but even he knew he could never show disobedience to the king and mounted the steps on shaky legs. Zakaarir’s hands fisted in futile anger. What in all hells was the vescht up to now?

Kaleth reluctantly stood next to his elder sire as the king turned him to face the Assembly. “My third son, Azlaan, is undergoing the training I have commissioned to combat the problems our very survival as a race currently faces. It is vital he is free to carry on with this work, therefore the elders have approved my wish to name Kaleth as First Prince and—”

Zak didn’t hear any more because of the furious pounding in his ears. He took an involuntary step forward, and every one of his sire’s guards drew their weapons. Zak gazed at them incredulously. The silence in the Assembly was absolute. Zak understood finally how clever his sire was. Azlaan would be able to succeed in seven cycles, and there was a chance one of the young females would be of age by then for a mating, but Kaleth not for another twenty-one. Which gave his sire all the power he needed for the foreseeable future.

And there was nothing he could do.

His sire lifted Zak’s circlet and placed it carefully on Kaleth’s head. It slipped, and the king merely smiled. “I think we may have to get it resized.” The Assembly tittered appreciatively as if he had made a great joke. He waved at Kaleth. “We will spend some time together soon, but I understand you wish to remain in seclusion at this moment.”

Kaleth glanced at his sire, and Zak simply nodded. Kaleth stepped down off the dais and walked to him. He had to keep clasping the circlet as it was in danger of falling off. “With me,” Zakaarir instructed.

Zakaarir, Azlaan, and Kaleth turned and bowed together, but the king wasn’t even looking in their direction. Zakaarir strode from the high chamber and carried on past the courtyard until he was confident they were out of earshot.

“My prince.” Zak turned at the shout to see Elder Ptorean rushing to catch up. He paused.

“I did not agree—neither did Elder Corlean or Elder Reave—but he had a majority with the other three, plus his own vote.”

Zak nodded. Only in matters of law were the elders consulted. The rest of the decision-making was the king’s and his alone, but to rewrite the succession laws like this, his sire needed the elders’ agreement.

“Let me know if there is anything I can do.” Elder Ptorean squeezed Zak’s shoulder and walked back to the assembly hall. Zak watched the Ishtaan, who had been more of a sire to him than his own, walk away.

He turned and leaned on the terrace, watching the servants water the flower garden, an act disgusting in itself that the king wasted water on fripperies when the villagers had to carry theirs from the streams. If they weren’t all soon dry at this time of the seasons.

“S-sire?”

Zak turned at the heartrending whisper and pulled Kaleth into his arms. The boy clung on. Even Azlaan stepped back to give them some privacy and make sure they weren’t seen.

“I don’t want you to worry.”

Kaleth looked up, for once not trying to hide his tears. “But you should be—”

Zak placed his fingers over his son’s lips. It was treason. Any questioning of the king was a death sentence, and the only thing that was protecting Kaleth now was his age. The king probably expected the traditional seclusion, which could be anything up to a season. It was also another useful way of making sure the boy he had just made First Prince would be locked away.

“My prince?”

Zak looked up to see Tamara, the older servant who had helped Maylesh care for her baby on the days she was too weak to do so. He nodded gratefully. “Kaleth, go with Tamara. She will make sure you get something to eat.” He caught the glance of the female and knew without asking that Tamara wouldn’t leave Kaleth on his own. “I will be upstairs soon.” Kaleth put on a brave smile and left with Tamara just as Zak heard running footsteps again and turned just in time to see N’ameth plow straight into him. His younger brother clasped him tight.

“I tried to get back, but we ran into a Xelan asteroid shower and had to wait to cross the Dark.” N’ameth stepped back and brought his arm up deferentially and bowed his head. “First Prince Zakaarir, I am truly sorry to miss my sister’s ascension to Ash’dar.”

Zak returned his brother’s greeting with the same respect and lowered his voice. “Just prince, N’ameth.” N’ameth’s eyes widened as Zak and Azlaan filled him in on what had happened.

“I have news,” he said at last even more quietly. Zak nodded and gazed briefly in the direction Kaleth had gone, then gestured to the stairs. “Let us walk.”

As if by unseen agreement, all three brothers walked even farther from the palace, past the servants tending the grounds and toward the east gate. When he was sure they wouldn’t be overheard, Zak turned to his brother. “I didn’t expect you to be back so quickly.”

N’ameth’s eyes shadowed. “No sign of the Telmar.”

Zak blew out a long breath. “It was unlikely.” The Telmar was the cruiser Razorr commanded and had disappeared off all scanners within three minutes of finding an unstable passage. These did from time to time form in space and were said to allow travel to other galaxies, but the risk of the passage collapsing and allowing no return had prevented his sire from sanctioning any exploration. When Zakaarir had been the First Prince, he wasn’t allowed off planet as it was deemed to be too great a risk in their old and unreliable fleet of shuttles and space cruisers. Azlaan was training to be a healer, so N’ameth had been the brother that had flown his own cruiser to the edges of the territories they were sanctioned to travel in a search for his brother. The king couldn’t stop N’ameth from going, but he had prevented any other than N’ameth’s personal guard from accompanying him, saying Razorr had obviously perished and refusing to sanction any more funds to search.

“And you weren’t seen?” If the Alliance had seen N’ameth break the blockade and cross the Dark, he would have been blasted from the sky.

N’ameth shook his head, but his eyes lit up. “I found something.”

Zakaarir focused on N’ameth. His brother—now that it was safe to do so—was positively vibrating in excitement. “I found the passage.”

“What?”they both exclaimed, and N’ameth’s smile widened.

“What happened?” Zak asked suspiciously, because there had been three daylights where no one could communicate with N’ameth, and they were frantic until N’ameth made contact and said there had been a malfunction. Not surprising given the age of his cruiser, and even if Zak hadn’t believed it at the time, he had to wait until his brother returned to ask him. Communication could and would be overheard.

N’ameth smiled. “We went looking, of course.”

Zak wasn’t going to yell because much as he hated it, his brother was of age. Plus, he didn’t think the revelations were finished with yet. “And?” he hardly dared breathe.

“We found a class three galaxy with one inhabited planet, and they’re humanoid. They don’t even have long-range scanner abilities. Extremely primitive. Overcrowded population, barely managing with the natural resources they haven’t already decimated.”

“And?” he prompted again, because Zak knew he wasn’t done.

“They have females,” N’ameth whispered. “And our scans show at least a third of them are compatible.”

“Why only a third?” Azlaan asked immediately, the healer in him immediately interested.

“Their life span is much shorter than ours. Then those females have a very small window of time they are capable of nurturing a young before birth. We also narrowed the search.”

“What parameters did you set?” Azlaan demanded.

“Unmated. With no young and no elders. Those living alone.”

Azlaan huffed. “You mean no one to miss them.”

N’ameth nodded once, but Zakaarir narrowed his eyes. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t know if the passage would even be there if I was to attempt another try.”

“What. Did. You. Do?”

N’ameth swallowed. “I have six with me.”

“Six?” Azlaan nearly shrieked. “And they volunteered for this?”

N’ameth colored but shook his head. “No.”

“So you’re saying you have six females from another galaxy you have taken without their consent?” Azlaan asked in a horrified whisper. “They must be going insane.”

N’ameth winced. “When they wake, maybe.”

“They are drugged?” Azlaan said in horror. “How long? What dosage? Did you…” Zakaarir couldn’t say anything as his brother’s words faded out. He was utterly speechless. If the human females were anything like their own warriors used to be, they would wake hating the Ishtaans—rightfully so—and reject all mates, and this would have been a complete waste of time.

And worse, if the Alliance found out they had crossed the Dark, all that Zak had fought for in the last ten cycles would have been a waste of time. The Alliance would simply slaughter them all.