The Princess of the Wild

by Lorelei Orion

  Skye realized that she must have made a sound, for the Kalcoon’s large and liquidity eyes turned her way. He came near and she fought violently as the dispenser came at her ... and then darkness came again.

  When she came to awareness, she realized that two Kalcoons’ hands were upon her, stripping her from her clothes. Her limbs were too heavy to rebel while the beasts bathed her with an icy liquid, leaving her no dignity, uttering gruff comments in their Kalcoonian tongue. Then she was wrapped in pelts and laid in a soft, large bed. She was given a platter of meats and bread, of which she did not eat. They exited the doors, leaving her alone in the confines of this room—her prison cell. Exhausted, she fell asleep once more.

  Skye wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but this day when she had woke, her mind was free from the tranquilizers they had given her. They hadn’t yet returned.

  Why was she here? What did they want from her?

  She knew the familiar rushes of her frustration. She tried to turn her mind from the images of the laser strikes of her father’s battle with the hidden assailant, but kept seeing a vision of him lying there, on the ground ...

  She pushed the terrifying thought from her mind, lest the panic consume her again.

  Skye stopped her pacing before the long and wide mirror in the bath, the adjoining room. The dim, overhead globes softly lit her reflection. Her face was stunning, her violet-blue eyes large against her high pale cheeks, her red-gold hair in disarray all the way down to her hips. It was as though she looked at a stranger, never before having seen such despair, such fear in her eyes.

  “What am I to do?” she whispered.

  She flinched in surprise at the sound of the doors opening in the main room. She summoned her courage and moved there, and saw a Kalcoon, one apish and large—and ominous. He brought in a tray, moving to drop it on the round stone table nearby the bed. He straightened to his full height—which was a towering eight feet—and motioned for her to come and sit, and eat her meal.

  Skye didn’t obey. Escape was just beyond the unlocked doors ...

  The behemoth took an injection dispenser out from his scruffy vest, hinting of the consequences if she didn’t obey him.

  She bolted for the door, believing that she truly could outrun the beast. His bristly hand clamped down on her nape.

  “Please!” she cried. “Let me go!”

  She found herself on the bed, struggling violently.

  “No!” she shrieked as the dispenser was shoved onto her jaw, again sending her into the darkness.

  ***

  “Skye,” a soft voice soothed. “Lit’o light.”

  Her father’s voice brought her closer to consciousness. His comforting hand was gently stroking her brow. She was safe in his presence. He was telling her that everything would be all right.

  Skye realized that she was no longer asleep. An invisible hand was touching her cheek!

  She gasped and bolted upward. Tears instantly filled her eyes.

  “Papa?”

  His presence was there, seeming so real that she could touch him. Her soul was flooded with his warmth—his everlasting care, his love ... and then he was gone.

  Skye stared into the misty shadows, bewildered. The realization struck her like a lightning bolt. She collapsed onto the pillow, choking on her tears.

  She knew for sure, now.

  Her papa had died.

  The desolation that gripped her was one she had never known. She wanted to die also, and go off with him to Heaven. But, she knew that this wasn’t meant to be. The message he had sent her spirit was that he would always be with her, throughout all of her days.

  After a long while her tears stopped, leaving her with the ache of despair. The drug that she had been given was still within her, surging again, bringing the numbing waves. To keep her sanity, she made herself think a good thought, the brightest she could find. An image appeared within her imagination, a blond and blue-eyed man, the one with the dazzling charms—the magnificent soul.

  He was with her, his strong arms around her, comforting her ...

  She was alone in the galaxy. But not when he held her ...

  Chapter 2

  His Royal Highness Prince Nicholas Ellis Raine Christian Tyler-Shantay sat alone in the corner bench of the boisterous tavern, shrouded in the shadows. This was his first trip to this remote outpost on the planet Kan, and he wondered about his wisdom in coming here. It was nothing like what he had been told, when he had heard about it last month in a Myrrhian brothel. He was always on the lookout for new thrills, but this deplorable establishment was simply pathetic.

  His gaze roved the smoke-filled and crowded room, disappointed with what he saw. There wasn’t a woman in sight; they must all be detained in their rooms. There were about thirty or so creatures here—some being Human—scruffy and grizzled sots who worked the rainbow mines on Adriel, seeking their fortune in the rare iridescent gems. A few Trobins wandered about, their tall and lanky frames wearing hooded blue robes, the color telling of their esteemed place as administrators in their society. Their long faces, and cold and pink albino-like eyes, told of their stern demeanors; he hadn’t seen one smile yet. Mainly, Kalcoons plodded about, bumping into each other because of the bulk of their huge and apish physiques. There were sad faces on those who sat at the long and narrow bar, it evident that they would end their nights sobbing into their drinks. Many here were well on their way to intoxication, their voices loud and stupid—their balance precarious. He suspected that Kan’s two moons—their pull on aqueous anatomies—added to the motley lot’s half-crazed restlessness.

  He shared in the mood. He motioned at the Kalcoonian barkeep for a refill of his drink, amused when he didn’t notice him. His guise did well to hide his famous—or infamous—identity. His alias, ‘Nick Christian’, was a name not notable to anyone. He wore the simple dark hat and cloak of an adventurer, complete with the boots that reached to the knee, and the ever-present travel bag. He had darkened his blond shoulder-length hair with a soluble dye, making it jet-black. The lenses he had placed in his green eyes made them appear a dark brown. He had opted not to do the beard this time, being out in this remote area. Since he had a rather inquisitive nature—as many have told him—he needed to be incognito so as not to embarrass his family. Only Akins Menes, his Arab friend since his childhood, knew of his disguise.

  He wished that Akins could have come with him on this trip, but his father had needed his help at home. Truly, he wanted to get rip-roaring drunk, but being inebriated and alone in this place would be a bad idea; he may find himself stripped and robbed and on the next transport to Dazen. A little of tamfonite—a Kalcoonian liquor—gives a spirit an inner peace, but if one drinks a lot, one had better find a soft place to fall.

  No, he’d best keep his six senses clear, especially his wits. But, he still hadn’t found the inner peace ...

  He finally got the barkeep’s attention by shouting a curse at him in the Kalcoonian tongue. The behemoth listlessly stomped near and sighed while he filled the cup, tipping the long and thin bottle.

  Nick felt sorry for the depressed beast. “What is your name?” he asked amiably, in Kalcoonian.

  “Taush,” he grunted.

  “Taush,” Nick echoed. “Who’s available tonight?”

  Taush’s large dark eyes considered him, wondering if he could pay the price. Nick pulled a single rainbow gem out from his breast pocket, one the size of his thumbnail. This brought the beast out of his depression. His large finger activated the menu that was inlaid in the stone tabletop, the square screen flashing on. Upon the viewer screen were images of the prostitutes from which he could choose. Taush walked away, giving him time to make his selection.

  Nick took a fiery swallow from his cup while he scrolled down the menu, browsing through the risqué images, having the choice of twenty-three women. Most were attractive enough ... the buxomly blond looked interesting ... Even so, he knew that she wouldn’t hold his interest for long. They we
re all the same—when it came down to it—with their limited intelligence and simplistic demeanors. Still, he preferred the company of real women who understood their sexuality, not the aristocratic, spoiled and pampered twits like The Lady Audrey Anne Knore at home. Just because he had made the mistake of having her once last year, she thought that she owned him. Too often of late he’d turn and she was there, trying to get him into the clutches of her feminine wiles. He knew that he’d have to marry someday, but he’d work to avoid that trap as long as possible, like his Grandfather Ellis. He had never known King Ellis The Second, the man having died in the year before he was born, but he had heard the tales about his iniquitous youth, about how he had wed late, in his forties. He’d be like him ...

  Nicholas’ mind began to wander from the viewer screen, traveling down a troubling path. He thought of his last encounter with his father, the incident that had made him go incognito again ...

  He was in the last level out of ten levels in his training to be a FAS pilot. The FAS, Fighter Angel Starships, were the elite security force that guarded Adriel’s airspace, the finest military fleet in the Urania Solar System. Out of the two hundred and fifty top pilots, he was third in his class—or at least, he had been. He wasn’t sure where his last feat had placed him, whether it was good or bad ...

  The tenth level consisted of advanced war games, preparing for the event of war. One exercise was the testing of a pilot’s reflexes when up against a formidable robotic foe. The robotic buoy sent out rapid and precise laser bolts, seeking out the starships and disabling them when making contact. The idea was to see how far a pilot could get before he was disabled. When he had his turn, he changed the rules a bit. Keeping out of range of the buoy’s sensors, he set his ship on a dead stop. He turned off his exterior shields—which could be called a foolhardy act, because it could mean his death; with no shields, the laser bolts would connect with a deadly force. But, with no shields, the buoy’s sensors couldn’t easily detect him. He had rushed the target at a high rate of speed, maneuvering with manual control at the helm, trusting in his instincts, avoiding the seeking, blue laser streams. The buoy never saw him coming. To make his point—since the buoy was meant to be an unattainable, indestructible force—he didn’t simply disable it with the stun lasers, he annihilated it—literally.

  The news of his conquest had reached his father even before he had returned to the docking bay. He had unleashed the hatch of his starship, the metallic door shooting upward, and he saw his father’s angry face. Very aware of such well-kept fury, he braced himself mentally and lithely swung himself down onto his feet, into the bay. He met his father’s accusing green eyes, and lifted his chin, defiantly.

  “I got the target,” he said and walked off.

  He felt his father’s icy scrutiny of his backside. He heard him say, “Yes. I’ve got a target in my sights right now.”

  Nicholas felt reasonably sure that he was well past the age of paddling, but he had quickened his steps anyway, thinking it best to disappear for a while.

  This wasn’t the first time that he had slipped away to escape retribution for his actions, since it was always best to give his parents time to mellow. They would calm down, as if realizing that they were partly to blame. He had inherited his adventurous spirit from them; to say that his parents were incredibly dynamic was an understatement.

  Being a part of the Royal Family of Adriel wasn’t always a joy. He wasn’t allowed to live like a commoner—his actions were always under the scrutiny of the galaxy. Could he truly be blamed for wanting a little fun, for wanting to go carousing like others did at his age? Last week he had turned twenty-five—the day before the FAS exercise—and the party that his family had bestowed upon him had made the news. Had it been a smaller affair, it would have made the news anyway, just because it was his birthday.

  Although, there were advantages to his unique position in society, being Heir Apparent to the Throne. He hadn’t wanted for a thing in his life. He was six years of age when he began to grasp the concept of his name, realizing that he lived differently than most, that his parents had the ultimate power in the world. His mother, a warm and loving and very beautiful woman, was Her Majesty The Queen, and his father, a wise and courageous and very handsome man, was her consort. He had tested their limits as a child, crossing the line often. They were gentle in their guidance, giving him a quick swat on the rear when needed, which was more embarrassing than hurtful. And, he did want to please his mother, not wanting to bring about her scathing stare of disapproval.

  As he grew, he realized that they were trying to give him a normal life, fiercely guarding the privacy of the Royal Family. The family grew with his sister, Celeste, then Royce, his brother, then Selina, his youngest sister. They could be called a happy group, gifted with similar personalities and not much discord. They all knew that they were all troublemakers and they’d watch each other’s backs.

  He'd had a happy childhood, with many fond memories to choose from. He remembered one time especially, when he was four, when his father taught him how to fish in a sparkling pond nearby the log cabin where they vacationed on Myrrh. He remembered the warmth and love that emanated from his parents—their bright laughter and good spirits. He’d wake from his nap, and his mother would be flushed and disheveled because she and his father had been ‘playing’. Truly, they ‘played’ a lot, to this very day.

  His parents demanded their alone time, sometimes leaving their children in the care of Great Aunt Alma, a studious but warm, beloved old woman. His mother delegated her royal responsibilities out to a very adept staff, refusing to be encumbered by every little detail. She wanted more of a common life for her family—at least, as common as a royal family could be. Now that her children had grown, she had even more time for her consort. They, at times, reminded him of lovesick teenagers—it was pathetic! But, he guessed that it really shouldn’t be any other way. He had also inherited his zest for passion from them—albeit, in his case, his desires weren’t set on one person. From a young age, he had found his passion wherever the wind would take him.

  He was fifteen when he decided that he wanted to become a FAS pilot. Although he didn’t need an occupation, the lure of the sleek starships and the adventures that they would bring intrigued him. His parents, at first, protested his choice of a career, being that the endeavor was fraught with danger, but then they reconsidered. His mother would never deny her children their dreams, as she herself wanted to be a starship pilot before she realized that her duties in life lay elsewhere. He began his military training, discovering that he had a knack for it, easily learning the martial arts and the intricacies of a starship’s helm.

  He also had his duties as a royal—ceremonial mostly—such as dedicating new foundations amidst the throngs of his adoring followers; he had made an appearance in every major city across the world. His mother and father, knowing of his popularity, tried to keep his feet on the ground, giving him meticulous tasks, such as plotting out important star charts for the Menar Sector. He wasn’t fooled, knowing that they were just trying to keep him occupied. Still, he would take to their challenges, enjoying the deciphering of all the numbers, always surprising them by finishing the tasks in record time.

  They didn’t want him to be a spoiled brat; they wanted him to become a good and responsible man. He was, but ... Howbeit, he had learned at a young age that anything that he wanted, he could have.

  Adriel had been blessed with peace and prosperity all of his life, him never having known the ravages of war, but there was a new development that was threatening the harmony. People all over Adriel were mysteriously disappearing. It had started over five months ago, and his mother’s advisors weren’t any closer now to solving the mystery than they were when it started. The only link that the victims had in common was that they were all young—between seventeen and twenty-five—and mostly female. They disappeared without a trace. Last time he had heard, over three hundred were missing. This concerned his mother not
only for the safety of the world, she feared for her own children.

  She was accustomed to his absences, how he would go off in need of his freedom—sometimes for weeks at a time—but still, she didn’t like it when he didn’t contact her. He had sent her a message out on his comm when he had headed for Kan, telling her that he would be gone a while, that he was all right, trying to give her one less worry. She had enough to think about, without worrying about him.

  A shrill shout brought Nicholas out of his thoughts, and he looked at the bar where there was a fight brewing. A Kalcoon was having heated words with a Trobin, the others in the bar milling excitedly about.

  Nicholas sat back to weigh the situation, wondering how far it would go. He had seen more and more Trobins around lately. The Trobins were a strange breed, fairly new to the Urania Solar System, being that a wormhole, an interstellar portal, had been recently discovered about a year ago, linking their home sector, the Dazen Star System, with Urania. Before the portal, it had taken a ship almost two years to reach Dazen, but now it took about an hour to reach it, here from Kan. He had been through the portal once, and to Strou, the Trobins’ home planet. It had been a different and unique experience, with their world’s reddish sky and hierarchical society. Still, he’d rather keep to his own kind, preferring the more pleasant company of Humans.

  The angry Trobin poked the Kalcoon in the hairy chest. The drunken Kalcoon didn’t like being poked in the chest. He tried to take after the wiry creature but then Taush was there, shouting out threats and keeping them apart. The Kalcoon retreated, and the Trobin stalked off to his chair where he sat, seething.