Princess for the Alien Commander by Tammy Walsh

Ikmale

King Leo Brant’seyes never left mine.

Glaring.

Angry.

Unflinching.

He showed none of the desperate sadness most might have worn at the tragic passing of his first and only son.

His heir.

He was furious and felt nothing but cold rage and desperate vengeance for the one he blamed most for his son now residing in the soil’s cruel and hungry grasp.

Me.

I’d sent messengers to explain what happened that night, had tried to arrange a meeting so I could make him see reason.

And I never saw my messengers again.

At least, not whole.

A grave looks a great deal shorter when its occupant’s head had been removed.

I stared at the ground to avoid his look of condemnation.

I was guilty in his eyes, no matter the overwhelming evidence to prove otherwise.

As the king, there was no greater authority for justice in the land, no hope I might get a fair and just hearing at his hands.

And when he sought to punish not just me but my entire people, I knew I had to make a stand.

Just as I must make a stand now.

I raised my eyes and met his.

They were as hard as iron and as sharp as a stiletto between the ribs.

But I did not look away.

To back down now was to show weakness in his and my people’s eyes.

I couldn’t allow that to happen.

Not when they were relying on me to lead them to peace.

It had been foolish for me to come here today, surrounded by the king’s soldiers.

They could unload upon me and my small party at any moment.

But I had to come.

It was the only way to get an audience with the king.

And God knew the extremes he might go to if his temper was left unchecked.

I came to show my respect to his fallen son and make one final attempt at peace.

Already, I could see it would be pointless.

The Prime Minister stood at the foot of the grave, his army of ministers fanned out behind him on black fold-up chairs.

Officially, they took neither side and considered only the welfare of the people.

Officially.

In reality, who knew what kind of political tricks they were up to?

The grand high cleric completed his reading and shut the Bible.

“Amen,” everyone but the king said.

The cleric darted a look between the king and me before turning and heading back to the church.

He looked relieved to be doing so.

A cool wind braved the no man’s land between us and ruffled the grass perched on the fringes of the grave.

As distant as two warring factions.

The king only glared.

I supposed I was going to have to be the one to break the silence.

“I came to pay my respects—”

King Brant turned his head to one side and spat.

His spittle was thick and clung stubbornly to the grave’s edge before langorously stretching to the ornate coffin below.

Bena, my right-hand kauah, ground his teeth and twisted his mouth to join his spit with that of the king’s.

I raised a hand and he stood down, though his expression was still lined with anger.

“I have made attempts to discuss the night that claimed your son many times,” I said calmly. “But you have never agreed to meet.”

“Why would I meet with the prince’s murderer?” King Brant said in his growling voice.

I could make the excuse that I hadn’t been there that night, that it wasn’t me that delivered the blow that caused the freak brain hemorrhage, but it was a weak response at best.

This moment called for strength.

“I accept responsibility for my men,” I said, “just as I expect you to accept responsibility for yours.”

“My men killed soldiers,” the king spat. “They defended themselves. What son did you lose in the skirmish?”

“None.”

“That’s right. Because you have no sons. And you will never have one by the time I’m through with you.”

The meeting was collapsing fast.

I needed to act quickly if I was to rescue it.

“My soldiers your men killed were sons. And some had sons of their own. They will grow up not knowing what it’s like to have a strong father.”

The king flicked a piece of lint from his knee.

That’s all the people were to him.

Lint that got in the way.

I kept a muzzle on my anger.

Now wasn’t the time to lose control.

“The men that killed your son have been punished,” I assured him.

“Are they still breathing?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then whatever weak punishment you’ve administered isn’t adequate. If you were to hand them to me, it would go some way in healing the rift that now exists between your people and mine.”

Who did he think he was kidding?

The rift had always existed between our two peoples.

Our kauah ancestors had lived on Fod, our native moon, since the Creator breathed life into us and our brother and sister species.

Humans came to colonize the moon and we had allowed them to stay.

It’d been an uneasy alliance ever since.

I turned my attention to the king’s offer.

Hand over the kauah responsible for his son’s death.

I wouldn’t even entertain the idea.

Even if I did as he asked, their lives wouldn’t be enough.

He would torture them until they begged for death and still his anger wouldn’t be abated.

“I don’t want your men,” King Brant said. “I want the man responsible for them. You. Hand yourself over to me and we’ll consider the matter closed.”

That meant certain death.

If it brought an end to this whole ordeal, I would have considered it a cheap solution to my problem.

But as I said, the king wouldn’t be satisfied.

And if I wasn’t there to protect my people from the king’s “justice,” he would rule over them with an iron fist and their lives would be worth nothing.

“Are your people’s lives worth your own?” the king said, attempting to rile me.

“Yes. But I won’t hand myself over to you. You know as well as I do it won’t end your thirst for revenge.”

“Spoken like a true coward.”

At my side, Bena growled and reached for his sword, and came across only his empty scabbard.

The king’s men had stripped us of our weapons at the church’s entrance.

King Brant got to his feet and turned to leave.

“Then we have nothing more to discuss.”

The Prime Minister rose too and stepped toward the king with his empty hands raised.

“My King, please. We must be level-headed and negotiate a way through this.”

King Brant paused but didn’t turn back to look at me.

It never ceased to amaze me the power men could have without wielding a weapon.

The Prime Minister controlled his words as well as any master swordsman.

“Both your people are struggling,” he said. “Without trade, they cannot get the food and minerals they need. We must bring an end to this standoff before it takes an even worse toll than it already has.”

I couldn’t make out the king’s face but I imagined it was thoughtful.

He was not a stupid man, at least not when he controlled his temper.

He wrestled with it now.

Finally, he came to a decision, raised his chin.

He still hadn’t turned to look at me.

“You have one hour to cross the river back to your territory,” he said. “Any longer, and I cannot vouch for your safety.”

King Brant marched across the holy ground back toward the church, his honor guard at his heels.

The largest contingent of his forces remained and watched us carefully.

They, I noticed, hadn’t been stripped of their weapons.

I shared a commiserating look with the Prime Minister, who spread his hands as if to say, “I tried,” before turning and marching away.

“If he says we have one hour…” Bena said.

“It means we have less than ten minutes,” I said. “I know.”

Bena seized his empty scabbard in his hand—large and muscular even for a kauah.

“Even with no sword, I could take out six of these human soldiers before they struck me down,” he said. “Fancy a wager?”

I snorted and shook my head.

He’d lost an eye, a foot, three fingers on one hand, and still he was the toughest kauah fighter I had.

“Six soldiers?” I said. “I wouldn’t let you die so cheaply, my friend.”

He grinned and his lower canines protruded from his overbitten jaw.

We turned and left the church grounds, the king’s men following us every step of the way.

King Brant should have known better than to spill blood in such a holy place, but that assumed he was a man of honor.

He wasn’t.

The threat of war had settled like dark clouds over the human and kauah cities alike for many centuries.

All it took was a spark to ignite the kindling.

That had been the prince’s death.

All it would take to roar and sweep across the moon was another inopportune event.

Just like the one heading directly for us.