Alien Prince: (Bride of Qetesh) An Alien SciFi Romance

by Juniper Leigh

  The Qulari are not required to be celibate while they serve their gods; indeed, we are encouraged to take husbands and wives, to engage in the act of creation in honor of the great pantheon that watches over us. But I spent most of my young adult life never turning an eye toward the fairer sex. When we saw them begin to die off, they were coupled up quickly, and I was left without a Qet companion. And then the Europax came…

  Bah, none had ever turned my head. No female had the capacity to occupy my thoughts, and it suited me fine to remain a bachelor. Never needing to amend my behavior to suit someone else, never having to worry about the rearing of a babe. I was carefree. And I liked it that way.

  Did I not?

  Lorelei Vauss was asleep, curled tightly into a ball, and her bare bottom pressed against my leg. For my part, I lay staring at the shadows dancing on the ceiling, cast there by the dying embers from the fire at the front of the room. My fingertips recalled the feeling of her flesh, and I wondered if she would feel different now, warmed as she was beneath the blankets. I was consumed by thoughts of what it would mean to touch her, of what it would feel like to relax and let our limbs tangle up together. I wonder if her skin tasted sweet, or like musk and salt. I wondered if the flower of her sex was wet like water weeds.

  I threw myself over onto my side and tried to get away from her, and eventually I was able to fall asleep for a time. But I drifted in and out of slumber on the heels of ill-fated dreams until I finally awoke, sweating, with the furs piled double atop me. Lorelei was swinging her feet over the edge of the bed, her back to me as she stretched her arms high over her head.

  I stirred, and drew her attention. “Good morning,” she said, her hands going self-consciously to her breasts in order to preserve what little of her modesty remained. I grumbled my own salutation in begrudging reply. “I have to, um…” she stood and pressed her knees together, a universal signal for a need for relief.

  “The privy room is at the back,” I said, and gestured vaguely in that direction. She bounded off with a shouted note of thanks, and I rose as well to squelch out what remained of the embers. The day was already beginning to warm, and the room had grown hot in the rising light.

  I threw open the windows to let the fresh air in and fetched a few items of clothing from the trunk I kept at the foot of my bed. When she emerged again from the privy room, she kept herself hidden behind the bulk of the wooden bedframe.

  “I have garments for you there,” I said, gesturing to the folded fabric. “But you may wish to wash yourself.”

  “Yes, please,” she said, her tone one of total insistence.

  “Very well,” I conceded, not looking at her. “Follow me.” I snatched up the clothes I’d set aside for her, as well as a basket that contained a brick of soap and some natural moisturizer, and set out the front door of the dwelling.

  When she did not immediately follow close at my heels, I stopped and turned my head just enough to register her in my periphery. “Is something the matter?” I demanded.

  “I am not used to all this…nudity,” she said, her voice shaky. “I’m a little uncomfortable.”

  “I will not look at you,” I said. “You have my word.”

  This seemed to do the trick, and in a moment’s time we were headed off toward the freshwater pond I used for all of my washing. The day was bright and clear, the pond was cast in shadow. I gestured toward it, holding the basket out to her so that she could pluck the soap out of it as she passed me. She did, and mumbled her thanks.

  I heard the tall grass rustle as she passed through it, heard the water sing upon her entrance. “You can look at me now,” she said, and I did.

  She had submerged herself fully, her black hair heavy with the water, and had begun to lather herself with the soap I’d given her. She was stunning — a water nymph like from the stories of our pantheon. “What?” she urged. I’d been staring.

  “Nothing,” I said quickly, and turned away.

  “You might as well make conversation with me,” she insisted, “since we did just spend the night in the same bed together.”

  I harrumphed my displeasure, but obliged her all the same. “I was thinking only that you remind me of a nymph or a siren,” I said, and felt ridiculous immediately thereafter. “Never mind. The notion is absurd.”

  “No, no,” she called out to me, shifting slightly in the water as she washed herself. “There are such stories in human mythology as well. The sirens call to sailors, and seduce them into drowning.”

  “That seems a fitting end for someone who spends their life on the water.” She laughed, and the sound was like music. “Why is that funny?” I asked.

  “Are you afraid of water, Calder?”

  “I am not. So long as I can touch the bottom.”

  She smiled at me. I didn’t know that I was smiling back until she said, “You are very handsome when you smile. You have dimples, did you know that?” I frowned.

  “Have you finished yet?” I asked. “I hunger, and there are fresh berries and oats waiting for us at the dwelling.”

  “Not yet,” she said and began to lather her hair with the soap. “You should get in with me,” she said, and quickly amended her statement. “I mean, if this is your usual bathing time.”

  “It is.”

  “I do not mind.”

  “I shall be fine, thank you.”

  “Not if we’re sharing a bed again tonight,” she insisted. I wondered, suddenly, if I stank. Surely not when I bathed only yesterday. I turned my nose toward one shoulder and sniffed. No, I smelled fine. Did I not?

  Grumbling and suddenly self-conscious, I set the basket down and untied the drawstring that held my linen pants up on my hips. “Avert your eyes,” I commanded, and she did. When I was satisfied that she was not looking at me, I let the pants puddle at my feet, and sloshed quickly through the water, accidentally splashing her like a small tidal wave as I moved.

  “I would use the soap when you have finished with it,” I said, giving her a deliberate scowl. She held it out to me, all sudsy and frothed, and I took it, careful not to let it sink to the bottom of the pond. She disappeared under the cover of the water for a moment and when she emerged again, her hair was free of the soap she’d used to clean it. “May I ask you something?” she sputtered as she wiped the water away from her face.

  “If you must.”

  “What made you leave Larandi?” She wiped her hair out of her face and floated slightly toward me as I made my best attempt to discretely lather my body with the bar of soap. “And, furthermore, how did you come to be without a mate?”

  “These are very personal questions.”

  “I realize that,” she said, floating around me in a circle. She was submerged up to her chin, but I was only submerged up to my ribcage. I peered curiously down at her as she slithered through the water like a sea snake. “You are under no obligation to answer them, I only wondered—”

  “I was a man of the gods,” I said by way of explanation. “Mating was not terribly high on my list of priorities. Then, when our leader passed, I gave up the Qulari priesthood, and left my people.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice no louder than a whisper. “About your leader, I mean.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Is his death why you left?”

  “Her death,” I corrected. “And yes, in part.” I cocked my arm back and threw the soap gently to land. It plopped to the ground near to where I’d set down the basket. “When we lost Ramari Ro’quare, I lost my path to the gods. My people asked me to step up and lead them when she passed, but I could not.”

  “Why?” she pressed. “Why couldn’t you lead?”

  I scowled and waded toward the shoreline, climbing out of the water, modesty be damned. “Enough of this chatter,” I said, picking up the soap and the basket, and grabbing my pants. “You dry yourself, and I shall make us some breakfast.”

  I left her there, floating in the wa
ter, with a stack of clothes folded neatly on the shoreline.

  ***

  The garments I’d left for her were much too large, and the lady Lore looked somewhat ridiculous trying to hike up the pants enough so that she did not trip over them. She’d tied her hair back with a strand of tall grass and, even in spite of the dark bruise on her forehead, she was looking much fresher.

  “Thank you for the clothes,” she muttered, “but I’m not sure if I will be able to travel in them.

  “Come here,” I said, and she gathered the fabric in her hands and high-stepped over to me. I reached for my hunting knife, which I had left out of its sheath on the work table, and sliced into the red linen of the pants I’d given her. I cut the fabric away in a neat line until the end of both legs hit her mid-calf. I treated the black tunic similarly, but I sliced the sleeves off at the seam so that her shoulders were bared. The intricate beadwork at the neckline went unharmed.

  “Thank you,” she said, then took one of the eviscerated sleeves and tore it in strips lengthwise. One she used to wrap around her waist to keep the tunic largely in place, and the second she used to replace the reed holding her hair back. When she was finished, she looked quite fine. Better than any of the Europax stick insects they’d sent to us.

  “I have some oats and berries for you,” I said, and held out a bowl and spoon for her. She took both with grateful enthusiasm.

  “Thank you,” she said again, undoubtedly spurred by my having scolded her for not employing her manners somewhat sooner. “I really do appreciate your kindness.”

  We began eating, and I delighted to hear her mmm’s that indicated she was enjoying the small meal I’d prepared to break her fast. I ate with less enthusiasm: truth be told, I was sick of oats and fresh berries. I was sick of everything about the routine of my life, and there was a small part of me that was grateful for the disruption that was Lorelei Vauss.

  “We’ll set off for the village presently,” I said, and she nodded her agreement. “Have you any notion as to what your plan of action will be when we arrive?”

  She bounced her delicate shoulders in a shrug, her eyes angled down into her bowl as she toyed absently with what remained of her meal. “I do not know what I should do,” she murmured. For the first time, I could hear the fear in her voice. “I need to find that ship. I need to get people to it before my friends are auctioned off to the highest bidder.”

  “Will they be separated, then?”

  “I believe so. I think the way it works is that the Quarter Moon Slavers invite people to the ship for the auction, and once the slaves are sold off, that’s it. Then they’re en route to the farthest corners of the galaxy. And who knows what kind of records they keep? If they’re sold off, we may never find them again.”

  I took the bowl from her hands and set it aside. “I know we are not so advanced a species,” I said, “but I also know that the Spire at the center of town is the ship that brought us here some 200 years ago. I know how its communication systems work, and I know that no one would deny me access to it.”

  “So you’ll help me hail the Atria, then?”

  “I will.”

  She threw her arms about my neck and hugged me tight. Startled by the sudden show of affection, I brought one hand up to gently pat her back before I pried her arms away. “We must go,” I said. “The trek to the village will take us two days, and we do not know how long your friends have aboard that vessel.”

  To prepare for the journey, I filled a satchel with dried meat and water skins, sleeping furs, and knives, and I slung my bow and quiver over my shoulders. Lorelei offered to shoulder some of the burden, but I wouldn’t hear of it. She was small and I was not. I would carry the load.

  We set out along the river, not talking much because Lorelei struggled just to keep up with my steady pace. We took frequent breaks, and sat basking like lizards in the sunlight, and spoke of nothing in particular. I relished the curve of her beneath the fabric of her tunic. I loved how the light caught a shine in her ink black hair.

  As the daylight began to wane, we came upon a small campground: two tents that looked like the bones of a gutted fish, their gaping mouths pointed at a dead fire pit, had been set up in a clearing by the river. This was a well-trodden camp with packed dirt floors all around the perimeter. We slowed as we passed, and I saw a tall, thin woman emerge from one of the tents, a basket of fruits in her arms. I recognized her, but from where?

  Then I saw her companion emerge from the opposite tent, and I broke into a beaming smile. Waelden. My old friend. I laughed low in my belly as I marched toward them, Lorelei obediently following at my heels.

  “Fancy meeting you here, old friend,” I called out when we were still some paces off. Waelden turned and held a hand up to his brow to shield his eyes from the daylight.

  “Do my eyes deceive me?” He shouted, a grin curling the corners of his mouth. “Is it really Calder Fev’rosk?”

  “The one and only.” We came to each other, reaching out with our right hands to grip one another’s elbows. But this customary greeting was altogether too formal for us old friends, and we embraced with a slap on the back.

  “Waelden Ramarek, this is Lorelei Vauss.” I gestured to the human girl, round and rare as autumn fruit, and she proffered a smile and stepped forward, her hand extended.

  “It is an honor to meet one of Calder’s friends,” she said, so formal, so polite. Waelden took her tiny hand and gave it a squeeze.

  “Calder, you old dog,” he said, a twinkle in his good eye. “I thought you swore you’d never mate.”

  “Ah, I haven’t,” I said, my face growing hot.

  “Uh huh,” Waelden grunted. “Well, you will remember my wife Vanixa.” The reedwoman made no move to shake my hand, or Lore’s. “Vanixa, this is Calder Fev’rosk—”

  “I remember him,” she said coldly.

  “Ah, so my lady has learned the language of her husband, I see,” I said, and she turned her dark eyes away from me and to Lorelei.

  “Who is this?” Vanixa demanded.

  “I am Lorelei Vauss,” she said, then rattled off some words in a language I did not recognize. The sudden shift surprised Vanixa, whose face lit up at the sound of what I can only imagine was her mother tongue. Vanixa made her reply, but then something in what Lorelei said next soured her again, and she gave a wave of her hand.

  “What is it?” Waelden asked. “What did she say?”

  “I said,” Lorelei interjected, “that the Quarter Moon slavers had gotten ahold of me and some other people from the Atria, and that I had escaped. I was asking if she knew the names of any of the other women, but she does not.”

  “She has been with me for many years now,” Waelden said. “I am her whole world.” Vanixa turned her back on us then and headed back toward the tents with the bowl of fruit in her arms. She was stern and stoic, and I wondered if my friend might not be happier with me in my bachelor’s cottage instead of his marriage bed. “Come,” Waelden said, clapping me on the shoulder. “You will stay with us through the Winternight here at our little camp.”

  “We would be delighted,” Lore said, smiling. And I smiled back.

  Waelden had aged considerably in the years since I had last seen him. There was a crease between his eyes that I did not remember seeing there before. Still, he was a proud specimen, virile and strong, and I wondered at the fact that he had not yet gotten his young wife with child. The four of us huddled in the mouth of one of the two tents, close to the fire, and nibbled on meat and fruits. When our bellies were full, as we passed a wineskin of Panyan liquor back and forth between us.

  Lore attempted all evening to draw Vanixa into conversation, but she would have none of it. The Europax woman was beautiful, to be sure: fine featured with dark hair and darker eyes, but she was cold. She preferred the company of her own thoughts over ours or, indeed, over her husband.

  During one brief moment of reprieve when Lorelei was able to d
raw Vanixa into something of an exchange, I turned to Waelden: “Are you happy, friend?”

  And he lifted his broad, round shoulders in a shrug. “Happy enough,” came his tepid reply. “I will be happier when our union bears fruit.”

  I nodded. “I was curious about that. Do you…?”

  “Yes,” he confirmed, “if infrequently. I get the sense that she finds me altogether distasteful. But she is my fate, and I hers. We shall make a life of it one way or another.” He grinned, somewhat abashedly, and scratched absently at a spot just below one of his horns. “That is why we are out here, in fact,” he said by way of explanation. “I thought it might do us some good to…you know, foster intimacy outside of the strictures of everyday life.”

  “And has it worked?”

  “Not as such, no,” he said grimly, and drank deeply of the Panyan liquor. “But what of this human girl of yours?” he asked, his tone hushed. “How did she come to be here?”

  I told my friend the story of finding her escape pod, of fishing her out and nursing her back to consciousness. I told him of her quest to help her friends, but was stricken to see my dear friend go suddenly pale. “What?” I asked at length. “What is it?”

  “They will come for her, Calder,” he said, his tone loud enough to draw Lorelei’s attention. Waelden looked at her then. “They will come for you, my lady. They will track the pod and come for you, and when they do, the Qet cannot protect you.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, sitting so that she hugged her knees to her chest. “They wouldn’t just…give me back to them, would they?”

  Lorelei’s eyes were frantic as she searched first Waelden’s face, then mine. “Surely not,” I assured her. But Waelden had another answer.

  “We have dealt with the slavers before, and we know better than to stand between them and their profit. If the choice is between bringing back one girl and risking them take all of our new mates at gunpoint, we’ll give them back the girl.” Waelden glanced between Lorelei and myself, his expression full of an apology his lips never made. “They will come for you, and when they do, we will have no choice but to hand you over.”