The Artistry of Love (Alien SciFi Romance) (Celestial Mates Book 2)

by C. J. Scarlett

  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 shouldn’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.

  Now, I would be married, against not only my character, but my better judgment, as well. I was to become a royal brood mare. The bleak idea of my new reality, barely a week in, already stifled me. I didn’t know what to do—I was only alone when in my room, when I was sleeping. I got ready for the day in the same large bathroom as all the other women, and then I was sent from person to person, spending my day with either Moranen, silently clutching his arm as he went about his business, or sitting across from Sarita, listening to everything that I must do to be as crown princess of the Ak-hal.

  Beside me, Moranen stood, finished with his breakfast. He held out his hand to me—his signal that it was time to go. I glanced at my plate mournfully. I had barely cleared a fraction of it, and I was still hungry. Quelling my sigh before it left me, I placed my hand in his, letting him pull me out of my seat. I looked over at Libba, who stared at me with jealousy. I recognized in her the same moral values as Sarita—power and prestige were everything to them.

  “It was lovely to meet you,” I lied with a smile. I was getting quite good at it.

  “And you,” she replied coolly. If looks could kill, I’d be a corpse on the blue stone floor. Moranen whisked me off. We had a council meeting to attend, in which I would sit silently beside him. If there was one thing that I had learned during my time with the Ak-hal, I no longer had an opinion.

  We glided through the halls of the castle. I was starting to learn my way through the very similar-looking halls. There was a pattern to them—that of an interlocking spiral, the center of which were the main hall, the rooms belonging to the royals, and the War Room, as I called it. The set up was wildly confusing. I imagined that this was for anyone who got in—they would never find their way out through the maze.

  We made our way to the War Room. Moranen opened the intricately carved mithrim door, holding it open for me. I stepped inside. It was entirely white, as the Ak-hal preferred. There was a long table, at which sat twelve Ak-hal nobles wearing their red sashes. I was the only woman there. I sat down to the left of Moranen, who sat at one end of the table. His father, Sarita on his arm, entered after us. They sat down at the other end.

  “What are your plans, my son?” the king asked.

  “We are to attack two days after the mating ceremony,” Moranen replied. “A delegation of the Kamani are to attend the mating ceremony. They seek to make a peace treaty with us; peace in exchange for access to the resources that we desire.” That sounded better to me than war and a hostile takeover. I noticed Sarita shooting me a warning look.

  “We are to make them feel welcomed,” Moranen continued. “We are to sign the treaty and then send them back to their people. They will let their guard down. That will be the perfect time to act.” My stomach churned. I felt like I needed to do something. The king nodded.

  “We will attack two days after the mating ceremony,” he agreed. “We will rain fire down upon their ice caves. Despite not knowing them, I wanted to save the Kamani. But I couldn’t even save myself—I couldn’t even speak.

  Chapter 6

  The end of the two weeks spent with the Ak-hal arrived. All of us but five had been chosen as mates—the ones who had sat at the table every morning, alone—they had never been claimed. I just wondered—what made them undesirable? They were gorgeous—model pretty. They had accepted their fate stoically, in silence. Were those not things that the Ak-hal prized?

  Their execution was to come before the mating ceremony. We were awoken in our temporary, dormitory-style rooms early in the morning, hours before the sun would rise. I walked into the bathroom, where I found Clara waiting for me. She greeted me with a smile. This was the first that I had seen of her since the day of my arrival.

  “Congratulations, princess,” she said warmly. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “And you,” I replied, clasping her hands warmly. “Where have you been?”

  “With my mate,” she responded. “When you don’t need help in dressing for formal events, then my duties are with him.” When I glanced around at the group of women gathered in the room, she explained. “Those who aren’t mated to nobles assist them. After this day, many of the others will be in my position.”

  “Can I trust you?” I whispered. “Or are you like Sarita?” She looked me in the eye solemnly, so that I knew that she was telling the truth.

  “You can trust no one here, princess. This is the world of the Ak-hal.”

  “Thank you,” I replied. Her truth confirmed my suspicions—I could trust her to tell me the truth. But if it came down to me against the Ak-hal, I would be on my own. I couldn’t expect her to risk her life to side with me. I didn’t blame her. To survive was our goal here. I steeled myself as she helped me prepare. I was deeply anxious about many parts of today. I looked about me as the tub I sat in filled.

  In the corner, the five girls who were to be executed trembled, tears coursing down their cheeks. I had noticed that the only Ak-hal who had paid them any attention was Rakharo. He loved it when the woman to whom he spoke was terrified. He seemed to feed off it. I hoped that he would never find a mate. The poor woman would suffer her entire life. The mood in the room was tense. No one seemed the least bit excited. Libba, of course, merely seemed pleased. She had been mated to one of the nobles. She resented me for my title as princess, but she was pleased to have status, I believe. After today, she would live out her life, dripping with jewels. She held her
chin high as she stepped into her bath.

  Clara washed and dressed my hair. Today, it was done up in an elaborate pouf, with curled tendrils artfully falling out. The headdress I wore was heavy. Two women dressed in black silk carried it in in ceremony on a velvet pillow, both holding it as they placed it upon my head. It was tall and spindly, an elaborate crown with gold flowers and spires that mimicked the castle of the Ak-hal. The dress that I wore was of cream-colored brocade, decorated with a gold pattern. At the neck and the sleeves, it was lined with Kamani pelt. It had a tight bodice, and long sleeves that flared at the cuffs, covering my shaking hands. I might not have been dying, but I could feel the sand in my hourglass running out, grain by miniscule grain.

  Clara painted my face with foundation that made my complexion white—pearlescent, like the Ak-hal. Gold eyeshadow rimmed my lids, bringing out the hazel shade of my eyes. My lips were painted bright crimson—a shade that reminded me of Jenny. The two women returned, each holding a black velvet box. Clara opened the box held by the woman on the left. It contained an intricate gold necklace, with rubies set within its netting. She placed it around my neck, where it hung heavily. She turned and opened the box held by the woman on the right. It held a pair of large ruby earrings. The rubies were shaped like large, bloody teardrops. They tugged on my earlobes.

  The effect of the bloody gems and the ornate crown and the makeup was striking. I looked completely foreign to myself. I had, in the space of two weeks, become a creature of this strange, arctic planet. Shakal, I reminded myself. I had shifted into an alien to my own self. Clara’s face smiled at me proudly. The door to the bathroom opened, and Sarita entered, wearing her own version of the crown that I wore. Hers was far more ornate, set with deep-blue stones. Her makeup was more natural than my own. She smiled, and I loathed her entirely in that moment. It was her fault that I was here.

  “You look stunning,” she said, pride evident in her voice. I kept my mouth closed, for fear of what might come out. “You look worthy of becoming the next princess.” My mind went blank as anger shot through me. I found my mouth free to speak my mind.

  “You’re a bitch,” I hissed. The whole room went silent, the low buzz of conversation going silent in shock. I felt everyone’s eyes on me, something that had been happening far too often for my own introverted comfort. Sarita slapped me across the face, white foundation covering the palm of her hand. The skin of my cheek burned.

  “If you have nothing edifying to say, you will remain quiet. Is that understood?” she yelled powerfully. I said nothing, glaring at her as I held my cheek. “My son deserves the best. From this day forward, you will endeavor to deserve him.” She turned on her heel, her shoes clicking on the tiles of the floor. Clara immediately patched up the foundation on my face. She said nothing, for which I was grateful.

  The sound of drums was loud in the cold dawn. They were deep, insistent, like the beat of my racing heart. The sun was rising, small and golden on the horizon. The five girls stood on a scaffold, set up in the main courtyard of the palace. I stood beside my betrothed, shivering in my elaborate dress. My neck ached from holding up my head while wearing the crown, and my tiny golden slippers pinched my toes.

  The drums paused, and the five girls knelt down, placing their heads face down on the blood-stained wooden blocks. Their hair had been cut short, so it wouldn’t be in the way of the sword’s final blow. The Ak-hal had taken everything from them—their homes, their lives, even their last words.

  As the sun rose, the shining broadsword in the executioner’s hand swept down, five times. I felt sick. But if I vomited, or showed any sign of weakness, then the Ak-hal might change their minds. There was more pressure on me, as a new royal. When the execution was over, the executioner stepped off the platform, leaving the gore behind him.

  “Come,” Moranen said, holding his hand out to me. I placed my hand within his. I let myself be led inside, Moranen grasping my hand as we went in procession, following the king and queen inside the palace. We walked slowly. We followed them, straight up to the dais, where they sat in their respective chairs. The red lanterns had been removed from the ceiling, and now white ones hung in their place. White streamers and large bunches of the blue flowers dangled beside them. Golden sunlight gave them a warm hue. The floor was strewn with blue petals. I would have found it lovely, had my heart not been pounding in fear and dread. The other pairs to be mated waited in line behind us. The only thought in my mind was that there was nothing for me to do. There was no way out.

  The shaman of the Ak-hal came up to the dais, and stood between Moranen and me. He was dressed in black robes. He had long, flowing black hair. He wore many golden rings on his fingers, and they clinked against a large golden goblet that he held. Around his neck, on a thick golden chain, hung a large chunk of what looked like amber, but seemed to be glowing, pulsating strangely. On his head, there was a large, ornate headdress, reminiscent of the crescent moon, a sliver balanced upon a golden cap on his head. His eyes were golden, and his pupils were black slashes—reptilian. He handed me the golden cup, filled with a dark, viscous liquid.

  “You’re supposed to drink,” Moranen whispered to me.

  “What is it?” I asked. He smiled and shook his head.

  “Don’t worry about that.” I put my lips to the gold cup and drank. I almost choked when the acrid stuff burned my throat—it was thick, glutinous.

  “It’s disgusting.”

  “Quiet,” Moranen hissed as the shaman took the cup back. He placed my hand into Moranen’s. I looked up into my soon-to-be mate’s almost-human brown eyes. The shaman began the ceremony. As he chanted in the Ak-hal language, a feeling akin to a rush of endorphins surged into me, filling my core with ice. Whatever he was doing, in joining me with Moranen, it made me like the Ak-hal. Moranen smiled widely as he noted some outward change, and my heart stopped. I was numb, barely listening to what was going on, as the sound of my pulse beat loudly in my ears like the drums, counting down my last seconds as a mortal. The shaman placed a white ring in Moranen’s hand, made of mithrim, with a large, black gem clasped in an elaborate setting. He slid it onto my hand. It was over.

  He led me to the side of the dais, to the left of his mother, where two white chairs were placed so that we could watch the rest of the mating ceremonies in state. I sat down, staring. Moranen leaned over, whispering in my ear.

  “The ceremony will be complete as soon as we consummate it.” According to his Ak-hal nature, there was no emotion in his voice as he said those words. Dread filled me at his words. I would rather have stuffed my mouth with poison than have sex with this cold brute beside me. I hadn’t ever wanted to have sex, even with my human boyfriends. They would pressure me, and I would automatically withdraw from the relationship. I had never been ready. At twenty-one, or, as I had been in a coma for eighty years, one hundred and one, I was still a virgin. Jenny had been the only person to know for sure, even though it was a rumor in our small town.

  The ceremonies went by slowly. The pairs were shuffled through the ceremony quickly. They were all exactly the same—human woman mated to Ak-hal male, their skin going luminous, and their eyes glowing with the immortal fire of the Ak-hal as the shaman worked his occult magic. My backside and my spine ached from how long I sat. The sun slowly changed its angle through the large, arched windows of the hall.

  There was another dance, like the one that had taken place when we had first arrived. Although I was a spectator this time, I could make no sense of it. It was done with the sang-froid and military precision of the Ak-hal. I looked around for the source of the music, but still saw none. It sounded as though there should be a string quartet somewhere, but they were invisible. The door to the hall slammed open as the dance ended, and the couples arranged themselves in lines. They stood to the sides, so that there was a neat aisle through them.

  People entered—people who weren’t the Ak-hal. I felt myself sit up straighter in my seat. Moranen noticed my sudden motion. Out of t
he corner of my eye, I saw him glance at me, askance.

  The people were tall and muscular, their skin dark, mahogany. I watched them approach, spellbound. I knew that they were the Kamani, come to make a false bargain. They were dressed in large, handwoven clothing, thick and tawny in color. Their garb seemed to be a single piece—a jumpsuit. They had large, knee-high boots on in some snow-resistant shiny material. They were tall, the men’s heads closely shaved, and the women wearing their black, silken hair long and loose. Their eyes were almond-shaped, and their irises were a bright gold color.

  Their leader, a tall, muscular-seeming man, wore a headdress of red. He appeared to be in his late forties. But I knew next to nothing about the Kamani, so he could have been any age. His headdress was almost like a turban, made of cloth folded in an elaborate manner. It reminded me of a van Eyck painting. My gaze fell upon the Kamani standing next to the leader. He looked back at me, his face open. His eyes were warm as he smiled at me, and I had the overwhelming ache to stand beside him instead of beside Moranen. I felt myself falling, while at the same time, I reminded myself that it was too late—I was doomed. I felt Moranen’s hand close possessively upon mine, like a vise.

  Run. It’s a trap, I thought, unable to voice the words.

  The Kamani cocked his head to the side, his warm, golden eyes studying me, as though he could hear me. Please, I thought. Do something. I felt something—an answer, coming from him.

  The courtyard.

  What?

  Meet me outside. I wanted to drown in his golden eyes. I could feel his warmth from across the dais. I had, for two weeks, sought a way out, and he had walked through the door, almost moments too late.