Freed By the Alien Prince by Tori Kellett
Chapter Two
“Highness!”
N’ameth automatically jerked at the alarmed shout as the prisoner swung his chains and caught the side of his cheek. Barely registering that Xar’ta had gotten free, he ducked and brought his fist up to Xar’ta’s chin, he flew backward from the force of N’ameth’s punch and hit the wall. It wasn’t enough to stop him from scrambling back up for a second charge, but by then the guards all had their blasters trained on him.
“Who checked his bindings?” N’ameth snapped out, and the youngest custodian paled. N’ameth reined in his temper. He should have checked them himself. Xar’ta wiped the blood from his split lip and swore.
“Bash’teel! Even a trainee hits harder than you.”
N’ameth didn’t react to the taunt. And Xar’ta was wrong. He’d had a mother even if he didn’t remember her. They’d been at this for nearly a full lunar cycle and were getting nowhere. Xar’ta was becoming increasingly mouthy, and he didn’t know why. The prospect of either being executed or being locked up for the rest of his life didn’t seem to worry him, and he flatly refused to give them any information. After what he had been responsible for, they were all ready to proceed to punishment, but as Zak pointed out, Xar’ta couldn’t tell them anything if he was dead. They were at a stalemate. N’ameth had watched as an older guard had beaten him yesterday up to the point N’ameth had intervened. There was only so far N’ameth would go with a bound and defenseless man, even if he was scum. Zak had even offered to take the death penalty off the table, but Xar’ta had only laughed as he spat out blood.
But he refused to tell them where the bodies of the missing children were or the location of the new vein of Azteen crystals.
“I told you all I know. I just followed orders and answered to F—the king.”
N’ameth narrowed his eyes. “Who?”
“The king,” Xar’ta repeated sullenly.
“No, you were going to say another name.” His mind whirled, trying to come up with one of his sire’s guards whose name started with an F, and drew a blank. Xar’ta shrugged.
“Sometimes we got messages from Fashtaa. The king never bothered to come himself.”
N’ameth wasn’t surprised. Jump when his sire ordered, and he’d ask how high, but arrange a secret alliance with another planet? No way.
N’ameth left the holding cells, knowing they were running out of time. Xar’ta was blaming P’anchta and the dead king. They were also still trying to find out which planet from the Alliance had sided with their sire and attacked Ishtaan as a smokescreen to kidnap Callie. Thanks to the female Rachel, his sire wasn’t available to answer questions, although N’ameth was the first to admit he was glad his sire was dead, and also to acknowledge that Rachel had been correct when she shot him. No honorable warrior of Ishtaan would have been able to bring themselves to kill a king, even a traitorous one.
It didn’t help to answer any of their questions though, and he had a feeling whichever planet wanted the Azteen for themselves would try again before Ishtaan got too comfortable with their new allies, the N’olaans.
“My prince?” N’ameth turned as Lam’saak hurried toward him, then thumped his chest. “The fault—”
“Isn’t yours,” N’ameth finished for him. Since Lam’saak had been allowed to return to his home world of Ishtaan, the warrior had rushed around at breakneck speed, doing his best to help everyone. He had been the most useful with the miners from N’olaan, and because of that experience, he had also been able to question Xar’ta in more detail. The miners were often more comfortable offering information to him because growing up on N’olaan, he was more attuned to their customs and history. He had eased the transition with the Ishtaan miners, and so far, with few exceptions, it was working well.
“Go get changed.” He knew Lam’saak wanted to meet the females. Draks, every warrior did, and he dismissed the slight tightening of his chest.
She’s not interested.
She had made it clear, and he wished he hadn’t let his queen persuade him to attend the Assembly. Where was a Veerlash to fight when you needed one? He dabbed the cloth on his cheek, hoping to stop the bleeding and thankful that at least D’estaan had given him clean uniform pants so he needn’t bother going to his quarters before he went to the assembly rooms.
Or didn’t he? Maybe if he took his time, it would be all over before he got there.
N’ameth huffed. He didn’t even know why he was bothering; she barely looked at him. It seemed like every time he walked into a room where Sascha was present, she found some excuse to leave. He had hoped that she would forgive him for taking the females from Earth, but of course, she didn’t. The female Isobel wouldn’t talk to him either, and while he wasn’t exactly heartbroken over that, he wished with everything in him that Sascha didn’t hate him.
It was ironic that apart from Callie, the female Lexie was the one who seemed to seek him out, but he wasn’t interested. She was cute and pleasant, but she didn’t set his blood on fire with the thought of her naked and underneath him…or on top of him…or standing while he wrapped those gorgeous legs around his waist and she clung on… N’ameth shook his head to get the images out and took a moment to wait while the tightness in his pants eased.
Ten minutes later, he stood at the edge of the room and watched the procession of warriors as they lined up to officially meet the unmated Earth females.
“Why aren’t you over there?”
He jumped a mile and scowled at the female Rachel. “Why aren’t you?” Sascha, Lexie, Isobel, and Rachel were supposed to be meeting warriors who had all petitioned for that honor. Sascha, Isobel, and Lexie were all in silks. Rachel was in uniform. She’d even adapted the material to fashion a skintight shirt, and complete with boots, tied-back hair, and a weapons belt, she looked like she was out to scare off potential suitors rather than select one.
Rachel grinned, seeing his expression at the way she was dressed. “If they can’t take me for who I am, then I’m not interested.” And she sauntered toward the dais, where Callie was doing her best to corral her audience. He was surprised Isobel was there because she had already had one introductory meeting with the vice-regent of Vedur. Apparently, Callie had told Zak she wanted more than one string to her bow, which made no sense to N’ameth. He didn’t think Isobel was interested in weapons training, and besides which, her tongue was sharper than any Ishtaan arrow.
Lexie looked…interesting. To him she just looked really young, which was a little ironic as the two of them were the closest in age. She was attracting a lot of interest, but she just seemed unfinished to N’ameth.
He sighed. That wasn’t true. He just picked fault deliberately with everyone except the stunning creature who had captured his interest when he had transported them from their home world, but he hadn’t managed to have so much as a morning gava juice with since. Sascha, poised and elegant in M’apeth silks, drew the largest crowd as he knew she would.
“N’ameth!” Lexie nearly shrieked and ran over to him. He opened his arms simply to stop her from hurting herself, but she took it as an invitation and barreled right into them. He flushed and tried to untangle himself, which she didn’t seem to take personally, as she giggled excitedly. “You promised to take me on the shuttle.”
He winced internally but kept his face straight. “My regrets. The problem with the prisoners has taken precedent.” Her smile fell, but she nodded.
“Maybe later?”
He bowed his head because he couldn’t think of anything to say, and she whirled back around and hurried to take her place on the dais with the other females. His eyes immediately fell on Sascha, who barely glanced at him before turning away. He sighed. It was pointless.
“My prince?”
N’ameth turned to acknowledge Voren, but Voren seemed to be as entranced by the females as the rest of the men. Voren’s lips tightened as if to stop himself from making a comment and N’ameth followed his gaze, but Voren wasn’t staring at Sascha like he feared. All his attention was on Rachel.
“Voren, drop the title unless we are in a situation where you are under my command.” That was the practice he and his brothers adopted in private. Voren was as much a prince as he was, but as their half brother, he had never been acknowledged by their sire. Tamara, Voren’s matriche and his sire’s former Dula, had committed the ultimate sin on their world by becoming pregnant. Voren was the result and had been immediately banished. He had only returned to the palace at sixteen when Zak had found out about his existence and insisted he be brought there. Their sire had always refused to acknowledge him.
“The prisoner Krand has taken his own life.”
N’ameth turned in concern. “But I just left the cells. When, and how?”
“One of the guards was careless and turned his back,” Voren said angrily. “Krand overpowered him and took his blaster.”
“I’m assuming you will see to discipline and retraining?”
Voren shook his head. “Krand metered out his own form of discipline before he took his own life.”
N’ameth closed his eyes and sent a prayer of hope that the warrior would ascend to Ash’dar. Their numbers, already scarce, were becoming critical. They had gotten an influx of new recruits, but training took time. He wished more warriors from N’olaan had wanted to stay, but why would they? Ishtaan had nothing to offer them. “What about the others?” He knew Voren had been questioning his sire’s personal guards while he and Lam’saak dealt with Xar’ta.
“They seemed to have simply been following orders. They told us the caves were used as a base by the king but that Krand or Fashtaa were only present when he met whoever he was in league with.”
“We haven’t been able to discover how they communicated either,” N’ameth admitted, which he knew frustrated Zak no end.
“I have a suggestion.”
“Good, because I’m out of ideas.”
“One of the guards told me there is another who has ways of getting information without damaging the prisoner.”
N’ameth’s eyebrows rose. “Mind control?” They had tried what drugs they had, but Xar’ta had just become raving. The altered genome made their metabolism so fast, most drugs burned through their bodies too quickly to have any effect. Even strong sedatives barely lasted a few hours, but Xar’ta hadn’t reacted well. Frustrating, but it happened. He could beat Xar’ta daily, but he would be healed by the next daylight. If it hadn’t been for his attitude, N’ameth would have been convinced Xar’ta knew nothing. “I am willing to try anything. Do whatever you think will work.”
In fact, the only progress he had helped to make happen had been with the reopening of the Azteen mine. He had flown the miners from the N’olaan cruiser out to the mine himself and with Lam’saak’s help had supervised the new safety protocols. They needed to search for the second vein—if it even existed—but Zak had instructed him to keep the knowledge as quiet as possible while they felt out their new relationship with the N’olaans. It also meant they couldn’t go looking for it themselves though, but he agreed with his brother that they had other priorities at the moment. If they found the supposed second Azteen crystal vein, it would take many seasons before they could safely mine it.
“Has Fashtaa been found?”
Voren shook his head. “He wasn’t in the cave, and the king’s guards all say they hadn’t seen him since Callie was taken.”
“Xar’ta sometimes said he took messages to the mine on behalf of the king.”
Voren shrugged. “Which makes sense.”
“Do you think it possible he was more than a messenger boy?” He couldn’t keep the doubt from his voice.
Voren also seemed skeptical. “I doubt if he’s even alive.”
N’ameth nodded and dabbed at his cheek, but it had stopped bleeding. They were getting nowhere. Zak was being pulled in a million different directions as king. Azlaan had his work cut out in the healing ward and with trying to find a cure for the virus. He himself needed a better ship before he made another attempt to find his older brother Razorr.
“How’s it going at the mine?” Voren hesitated. “Did you find anything?”
N’ameth almost closed his eyes as nausea threatened. He was a warrior. He had seen death, but for death to come to young was heartbreaking. “We found three bodies, but there are two of the miners who are insisting this has been going on for some time, but they don’t know where.”
“Zimtash?”
N’ameth nodded. Zimtash had been the young male of seventeen cycles rescued from the cage in Xar’ta’s cabin. He had been raped, tortured, and half starved, all for Xar’ta’s and P’anchta’s amusement. N’ameth had wanted to take a blade to each of their throats for that alone, but Zak had had beaten him to it with P’anchta. He wasn’t sorry, but a quick death was far too good for Xar’ta. Xar’ta had broken immediately and had babbled ceaselessly about the mining operation, but as the daylights passed, he seemed to be getting more confident. If N’ameth didn’t know better, he would swear he was somehow getting messages in his cell. There had to be a reason his confidence was increasing. “Zimtash says young simply disappeared. He thinks some of them managed to escape, but escape to where? And with the Dry approaching, no young would live long on their own.”
“Are they done yet?”
Voren and N’ameth both shared a half-smile as Zak appeared behind them, doing his best to keep out of sight.
“No, I think Callie’s just getting started,” N’ameth sighed, watching Ptorean read the list of petitioning warriors.
“And according to the female Rachel, you threw Elder Ptorean under the bus,” Voren remarked. Zak frowned.
“What is a bus?”
Voren shrugged. “From what I can gather, some multiple-occupancy transport on Earth, but I didn’t care enough to ask why they would use such an inefficient method of killing people.”
Zak snorted. “You mean you wouldn’t give Rachel the satisfaction of knowing you didn’t understand what she meant.”
A half-smile graced Voren’s lips. “She drives me insane.”
“Are you sure about that?” Zak asked, arching his brow.
Voren’s smile fell immediately. He bowed to his king, and without another word turned and disappeared.
“What was that?” N’ameth asked. Zak sighed.
“He will not petition for any of the females because he cannot impregnate one.”
N’ameth’s eyes widened. “What?”
Zak turned. “I know I don’t have to ask, but please don’t repeat that. I don’t know the circumstances, but I believe he had an injury as a young.”
“That’s—” But N’ameth was at a loss. The fact remained that they needed all the females to consent to breeding. In reality, Zak should have chosen one of the other females since Callie was unable to grow a warrior’s seed, but he already had an heir in Kaleth, and Callie was Zak’s mulaa. There would never be any other for him.
He fell silent as he watched Sascha surrounded by three males. All warriors, including Julian and Lam’saak. His co-pilot was most taken by her, and she remained pleasant, but N’ameth couldn’t tell if she favored any one warrior.
“Why aren’t you there?” Zak asked bluntly.
N’ameth swallowed. “She won’t even talk to me.”
Zak followed his gaze. “Callie doesn’t think she resents you.” N’ameth glanced at his brother in exasperation. “As prince—”
“I’m not about to pull rank,” N’ameth said irritably, and probably too loudly as a couple of servants glanced his way. He lowered his voice. “She will never forgive me for taking her from Earth.”
Zak seemed to consider this. “What do we know about her?”
“She was mated—‘married,’ the Earth humans call it—to a man who died of health complications two years ago. No young. No elders we know of and none she has mentioned.”
“Then maybe her grief—”
N’ameth shot Zak an exasperated look and nodded to where Sascha stood in the middle of a group of at least five warriors. “She talks to them, and you know if there was a problem, Callie would have intervened.” The female Madison was still recovering and wasn’t present.
Zak nodded, a fond smile gracing his lips as he watched his queen, which did nothing to lessen N’ameth’s anguish. He couldn’t begrudge either of them, but he didn’t need such a constant display of love shoved in his face all the time. The thought of watching while his Sascha mated another warrior made him almost wish Xar’ta had been more successful today. Maybe he should take himself to the mining camp and stay out of her way.
“Has Teer’ka communicated again?” The representative from N’epalim had astounded them all with the news there might be another ship with Earth females on its way, but they had lost contact with it some lunar cycles since and were worried it was destroyed.
Zak shook his head. “All his communication is monitored, so unless either of us can think of an excuse for him to be here, we cannot attempt anything.”
N’ameth toed the tile floor with his boot. He didn’t even know why he was here. Why put himself through this? He was about to excuse himself when a sharp pain in his side from Zak’s elbow made him grunt and look up. All words died in his throat, though, as he gazed at Sascha, who was staring at him. He met those gorgeous brown eyes, as rich as the sweet rakir he had drunk as a child, and dreamed. Dreamed he was holding her in his arms. Dreamed he was kissing every inch of her delectable body.
“What happened?”
He had a moment of complete stupefaction to realize she had somehow materialized and was speaking to him for the first time in nearly two lunar cycles, before he processed the question and where her gaze was directed—at his cheek. He put his hand up as if to shield it from her gaze, but she caught it. He was too dumbfounded at her touch to protest and automatically curled his fingers around hers.
“Don’t touch it. It needs cleaning. What happened?”
“I—a prisoner.” She frowned, took his arm, and led him to the closest cleansing room.
“You need to be careful. Why don’t you guys have first aid boxes anywhere?” she asked in frustration after rifling through the cupboards. He gazed at her. Maybe he had been given Halkeer juice and his wits were addled.
“Warriors don’t need them,” he said. “I mean, our skin heals rapidly as part of the genome editing, and our bodies have a natural defense against infection. It will be completely gone by tomorrow.”
She stopped her search of the cupboards and gazed at him. “Oh,” she said quietly. N’ameth nearly cursed. Why had he said that? She would leave him alone now.
“But it means a great deal to me that you were concerned.”
She smiled hesitantly while his mind raced uselessly for another topic to keep her talking.
“I am sorry your mate died.” Sascha’s eyes widened a little at that, and N’ameth wanted to take a ceremonial dagger to his throat. First, he more or less told her he didn’t want her help; then, he had to follow that up with a reminder of her loss.
“I didn’t mean to say that,” N’ameth blurted out, and this time, bewilderment shone in her eyes.
“You’re not sorry my husband is dead?”
“No, I mean yes. I mean—” He sighed. “I’m just making it worse, aren’t I?” He slumped against the wall.
Her tentative smile widened, and warmed his heart. “It was a long time ago.” She turned. “I’d better get back.” He nodded miserably, and she hesitated. “I think Lexie is hoping you would be there.”
“Lexie is not my mulaa.” Would never be.
Sascha stilled for a second, then turned to glance at him. “But we haven’t been given the luxury of waiting to see if we fall in love. Why are you so special that you get that choice?”
He didn’t know what to say. “It is every warrior’s dream to find their mulaa.” Surely she would understand that.
“Uh-huh. What about our dreams? Did you think about them? But then I don’t know why I’m surprised,” she carried on scathingly without giving him the chance to answer. “You thought nothing of ripping us from our homes, so obviously the concept of free will won’t apply to anyone except those who can take it from others.”
She stormed back into the assembly room, and N’ameth’s heart sank. He’d known, and to have her disgust of him confirmed so eloquently shouldn’t hurt.
It shouldn’t, but it did.
