Battalion's Bride (Alien SciFi Romance) (Celestial Mates Series Book 8)

by C. J. Scarlett

  “What is your name?” he asked me.

  “Shay,” I replied, but found myself unable to ask his. With his free hand, he plucked two champagne flutes from the table, both filled with a rose-colored liquid. I took the one that he handed me. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” he responded with cold formality. I took a sip from the champagne flute—it was cool and sweet, slightly carbonated. It had a bite—it was some sort of alcohol. It burned my throat as I swallowed.

  We approached another woman-Ak-hal pair. She had blonde, ringleted hair beneath her headdress. Her face was pale, frightened, her blue eyes looking from side to side. I gave her a small smile, trying to impart some comfort to her, but found myself switched off to the Ak-hal who had been holding her arm. I watched, confused, as the Ak-hal who’d had me walked off with the frightened woman. She looked at his chest, confused. I glanced toward the one who now held my arm. His grip was tight. I felt that I understood why the other woman had been frightened—he seemed rough.

  I stood beside him silently, waiting for him to speak. He sniffed, inhaling deeply, as though smelling me. I clutched my glass nervously. He exhaled sharply, grunting. I shook with fear. Where the other Ak-hal seemed to hide their monster side, this one seemed to ooze with danger. I could feel him ready to shake off his humanoid shell and burst forth with fiery abandon. A deep rumble thundered through his core. I fought to keep my breathing under control as I felt him willing me to look at him. Slowly, I complied, my gaze raising to meet his bright crimson eyes. Two twin wheels of flame in his perfect, Italian renaissance-sculpture face. I fought to contain my terror.

  “Shay,” Sarita’s voice came from behind me, and I whirled to see her in relief. She stood behind me, smiling a little. Her hands were clasped before her. “Come with me. Rakharo, there are others.” I found myself released from Rakharo’s vicious grasp. My glass, which had been clasped in my hands, was taken from me. Sarita placed her small hand on my arm, guiding me toward the dais. The king stood beside it, speaking in low tones to another Ak-hal, this one with Sarita’s caramel-toned skin and dark hair, and the king’s bright green eyes. He was half human half Ak-hal, I realized as he glanced at me. His face had a more human expression to it, yet it maintained the coldness of the Ak-hal. His red-brown, glowing eyes glittered with the same danger of the king. I then realized why I had been “acclimated” by the queen. I had been chosen for her son.

  “Moranen,” Sarita said, warmness seeping into her voice as she addressed her son. “This is Shay.” He bowed low, taking my hand and kissing it.

  “My mother has told me about you,” he said. It came out without any effect. “She has chosen well.” My stomach dropped as I glanced at Sarita. She smiled coldly.

  “What?” I wanted, desperately, to glare openly at her, queen or not.

  “When I saw you, at the party,” she explained, “talking to that hideous, odious man, with such grace, I knew that you were destined for my son.” I realized that I had seen her. She had been watching me talk to Greg at the party. She shrugged. The king took her hand, and they disappeared into the crowd, leaving me on my own with Moranen. He looked at me, hungrily.

  “You no longer have to worry,” he assured me, taking my hand and tucking it into the crook of his arm. “We will be mated at the end of two weeks. And then we can spend all eternity together.” My stomach roiled sickly.

  He led me out of the cavernous hall, and into a courtyard. Above us, the night sky was ink black, and the stars were small and luminous. I wondered if one of them was Earth—where the grandchildren of everyone that I had ever known were living out their lives, blissfully unaware of the horrors that existed in the universe. I exhaled, my breath a cloud in front of my face, and I shivered in the cold, despite my thick cloak.

  The courtyard was tiny, and the hedges of blue flowers were thick. In the center, water spilled from a fountain. At its center was the carving of a woman, her hand holding an urn, which poured out a continuous stream of water. Standing, entwined around her was carven the shape of a dragon, its body long and sinuous, its triangular-shaped head gazing down at her downturned face. I reached out a hand.

  “How is it possible for the water to flow?” I asked. The air was freezing. Moranen smiled.

  “It’s heated,” he said, as though I were a child. “Feel it.” I sat on the stone lip of the fountain and dipped my hand into the pool, feeling the heat of the water. It burned my skin.

  “And the flowers?” I asked.

  “What about them?”

  “How do they grow?” I looked at them. “On Earth, when it’s this cold, nothing can grow.”

  “It’s never warm here,” he replied. “It’s always what you call winter. We are too far from our sun. Things must grow here, to support life. Their chlorophyll moves very swiftly, to circulate it through their systems.”

  “The Ak-hal didn’t make it, then?”

  “No. The plants were here before us.” He studied them, his head cocked to one side. “It does look like something that we would make, though. They are… beautiful.” That word again. It seemed that they knew nor had any other adjectives.

  “Do the Ak-hal make things that are only beautiful?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he replied evenly. “There is nothing that we make that is ugly. What would be the point?” I thought of their use of the Kamani’s pelts. That was ugly, but in moral, not in look. I got the feeling morality was a concept that would be foreign to Moranen. He placed a hand on my cheek, and I looked up at him. He looked at me, possessively, and a confident grin spread across his face, that cold look in his eyes—it was psychopathic in nature. It chilled my blood even more than the climate.

  “We make things which are beautiful,” he explained. “As you are beautiful, Shay.” A compliment. Nice try, I wanted to say, but my body was still a slave to the training and the will of the Ak-hal.

  “Thank you, my prince.” It came from my lips, unbidden. My emotions were at war with each other within the prison that my body had become. On one hand, I was relieved—I wouldn’t die in two weeks. On the other, for the rest of my very long and healthy existence, I would spend it with this being, whose core was made of ice and mithrim. He leaned in, his glittering eyes close to my own. He kissed me on the lips. I found myself responding, no, not myself—my body responding. Inside, I screaming in fear and loathing. The Ak-hal had created a cage, and I was helplessly trapped within it, like a bright bird, desperately beating against the bars.

  Chapter 4

  The next morning, I had just returned from the communal bathroom and stood before the mirror in my room, putting my hair up. At the soft knock at the door, I turned to find a small girl came to the dormitory-style bedroom where I had been placed. Because I was to be a crown princess, I was given my own. It had white walls of mithrim and a blue stone floor covered in a thick purple carpet. It had a small, soft bed, piled with thick, woven blankets. There had been a Kamani pelt, as well, but I had folded it and placed it on a side table.

  The night before, it had been heaven to find myself alone. It gave me time to think, and to be quiet within myself. This morning, it had been awkward. All of the other women shared one large room. They had all gone quiet when I had entered the communal bathroom.

  “The queen requests an audience,” the girl said softly. She was a beautiful child—obviously the product of a human and Ak-hal union. She had the cold features of the Ak-hal with the darker skin of a human. Her eyes were like the Ak-hal—empty of emotion. She was dressed in white with gold ribbons at the collar and sleeves. I wondered at the thought that I hadn’t seen any children. I wanted to ask her where she was kept, but I felt like I wouldn’t get a forthcoming answer from her.

  “Can you show me the way?” I asked, unsure of where to go. Everything within the palace, so far, had appeared uniform. If she gave me directions, surely I would become hopelessly lost. She said nothing, merely nodding. She waited until I walked to the doo
r, then she walked away in silence. I followed her, trying to mark the passages. They all looked the same—mithrim, no decorations, same blue stone floor. Even the placement of the windows seemed the same. I had no time for a better study of them; the girl walked so quickly, her tiny feet not making a sound. I had to hurry to keep up.

  At last, we came to a door made of mithrim, with ornate carvings etched within the surface. The girl knocked, then a call from within. She opened the door and stepped aside to let me in.

  Sarita sat inside on a large black velvet armchair. Her feet were placed on top of a large paisley ottoman. The walls were painted a deep, blood red. It seemed out of place. Here, Sarita showed her humanness—a need for color, pattern. A fire roared in an elegantly simple fireplace. Tapestries hung on the walls. From a brief glance, I could tell that they depicted the Ak-hal. I would now recognize that straight-backed form anywhere. I stood in front of Sarita, silently waiting for her direction. She looked up from the needlepoint that she held in her lap. She frowned at me, her expression twisting in anger.

  “Kneel,” she commanded, and my captive body obeyed instantly. I felt the full weight of her authority as I looked up at her from the floor.

  “There are things that you must know as crown princess.” She didn’t look up from the needlepoint.

  “I didn’t learn everything while in stasis?”

  “You must not speak unless spoken to,” she snapped. My mouth clamped shut, meanwhile I seethed inside. “We had to be sure that Moranen would take you.” She paused a moment, letting the idea that Moranen was my savior in this matter sink in.

  “If the king dies in the upcoming campaign against the Kamani, then you will take my place,” she said. “This may never happen, as immortality can only end with grievous injury. The king is well protected.” She paused. Dramatic pauses seemed to be her thing.

  “Your job is to produce an heir.” She looked at me, and my head nodded of its own accord. My stomach flipped sickly. I was to be a brood mare.

  “You will accompany my son around the castle on business. We have many things that need to happen prior to our campaign against the Kamani. Rumor has it that they want to make an alliance. We will grant it, but we will use it to betray them. It’s most important that we take over rule of the Kamani.”

  “Why?” I asked because she wanted me to.

  “We must rule this planet. The Kamani control its resources, including the Sky Jewel. The Ak-hal were meant to rule.” I could see where this was going. It was likely that the Ak-hal had taken over rule of their last planet—which they promptly destroyed along with their women. I wanted to know how that happened, was dying to ask, but it seemed that Sarita had no inclination for discussing that.

  “The Kamani are weak. They are meant to be dominated. In my culture on Earth, there were castes, ordained by the gods. The Brahmin were meant to rule, just as the Untouchables were meant to have nothing.” The way that she said it, it was with bitter resignation. So, she was of the lowest caste in her human life. That must have sucked. I didn’t feel particularly sorry for her, to be honest. She was cold and cruel, like her adopted people. “It’s the same with the Ak-hal and the Kamani.”

  “My son will lead the first campaign against the Kamani. As soon as you are mated, you must produce an heir. It’s of the utmost importance. If you fail to do so, you will be executed with the next mating ritual.”

  “Do you have any other sons?” I asked. She looked up from her work sharply.

  “Of course. I have five sons. Moranen is my oldest. If he dies in the campaign, however, you will not be saved for the next son. You will be discarded.” My heart pounded in fear. I folded my hands on my lap to hide their shaking. Wherever I looked—up, down, left, right—there was another wall. It seemed as though I were feeling my way around like I had when I first awoke in the ship—the door was hidden from me, somewhere. It would appear where I least expected it.

  Chapter 5

  I walked, back straight, chin raised, my hand tucked in Moranen’s arm. We glided down the hallway of the castle. Groups of women and Ak-hal passed us, their faces angled downward in respect. I was dressed that day in bright crimson silk, the color of blood, and the sleeves spilled over my hands. I wore a thick cloak, woven of soft, scarlet yarn. I was relieved to not be wearing the skin of a Kamani. My hair was pulled back into a tight bun beneath my sun-like crown. I had been wearing it so often that my neck ached from its weight. We were stopped by a raven-haired Ak-hal who had a young, haughty-looking woman hanging onto his arm.

  “Moranen,” the Ak-hal greeted. “I see you have found your mate.”

  “And you yours, Bahir,” Moranen said. You would think from their tone that they were discussing a new plaything. Baseball cards. Video games. I had to remind myself that those things didn’t exist here. I nodded to the other woman. She stared at me.

  “This is Libba,” Bahir said. He wore the red sash of a noble. Libba looked at me with a delicate smile. She took her hand from Bahir’s arm, and transferred it to mine. We walked down the hall, in front of our soon-to-be mates.

  “How do you like it here?” she asked me. She seemed as cold as an Ak-hal. Immediately, I mistrusted her.

  “Not at all,” I replied honestly, testing her loyalty. She looked at me, her eyebrow crooked.

  “You will,” she said confidently. “Everyone ends up liking it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Who wouldn’t jump at the chance for immortality?” she shrugged. “My new dresses are beautiful and Bahir treats me like a princess. He has promised me that I will always be dripping with jewels.”

  We had entered the great hall filled with circular tables. There was one off to the side, where a bunch of women sat in total silence. I looked at them, frowning. Libba noticed.

  “Those are the ones without mates,” she said disdainfully. “They have nothing that is worth the Ak-hal’s time.”

  “Then why were they taken?” It seemed pointless, a waste of innocent lives. I sat down at a table beside Libba. She unfolded the cloth napkin set on her plate, pressing it flat in her lap with a flourish.

  “It must have been a mistake,” she shrugged. It clearly didn’t concern her that it might easily have been her sitting at that table.

  “But five of them?” I said incredulously. I looked over at Moranen. “Why haven’t they found mates?”

  “It happens,” he replied vaguely.

  “Shouldn’t they be sitting with the Ak-hal? Shouldn’t they at least be trying?” I was unnerved. Moranen looked at me impassively.

  “There are always a few who are executed before the mating,” he said. “It just happens.” Our breakfast was brought to us by a woman dressed in fine silks, a large white apron covering her front. I had been instructed, in one of my daily sessions with Sarita that I wasn’t to speak to her. As a new member of the royal family, others were now below me. The serving women were mates to lower Ak-hal—foot soldiers. It was of the utmost importance to the Ak-hal that everyone had a mate. Their whole campaign against the Kamani was dependent upon their growing numbers.

  She placed a plate of strange meat and sweet bread in front of me. A small bowl of something looking and tasting of yogurt, encircled by different cut fruits. It was colorful, pleasing to the eye.

  Outside of the large window, a massive body lumbered by. I sat up, enthralled, my mouth dropping open. It was my first glance at the Ak-hal when in dragon form. It had a massive triangular-shaped reptilian head perched on a long, sinuous neck. Its body was long and muscular, and its wings were like the fabric of an umbrella stretched upon its thin spokes. Its scales were white—iridescent in the sunlight. Its tail dragged loudly behind it.

  “You look like a fish,” Libba said archly. I had the distinct feeling that she wanted to add “an ugly one” to that sentence, but didn’t dare in front of the crown prince.

  “It’s breathtaking,” I replied.

  “You sho
uldn’t talk about an Ak-hal who isn’t your mate in that manner,” Moranen said darkly. I glanced over at him in surprise.

  “I’m sorry,” I gasped. “I didn’t know.”

  “Now you do,” he said simply, yet with menace in his voice. I looked down at my plate, chastised. I picked up my fork, filling it with a tiny bite of food and placing it into my mouth. I chewed delicately. Sarita had warned me—everything must be done with grace and elegance, no matter how hungry or uncomfortable I might be. We had sat in her personal chambers, first thing, every morning. She taught me things that I hadn’t learned while in stasis. Her teachings basically amounted to this: nothing must disturb the Ak-hal. If their ire was raised, it could spell my end in a fiery inferno. In the world of the Ak-hal, there was no sickness. There was no aging. There was only a fight to remain calm at all costs. That, and to produce more of the Ak-hal. They wanted to take over the planet that we were on, Shakal. They wanted it for its resources, which the Kamani controlled. Ak-hal were strong, but they were small in numbers. The Kamani, it seemed, had numbers.

  As I sat in silence, eating, I thought about who I’d been on Earth. I had been a high school teacher in my small town. I’d taught English. I hadn’t made the best salary, but I’d owned my own small house and had been quite content to live quietly with my books. I hadn’t wanted to get married. From a young age, it had never appealed to me. While I had dated, nothing had ever seemed permanent. Not one of my exes could have made me an offer that I couldn’t refuse. It wasn’t commitment that had been my issue—it had been compromise. They had all wanted me to compromise—go to a game, or a party, when I’d just have rather to curl up in bed with a book. A cat would have suited me better.