Alien Prince's Bride: Scifi Alien Romantic Triangle Romance Novel

by Vi Voxley

  Violet wanted to scream. To scream so hard and so loudly that the bubble she’d built around her would burst to a thousand pieces. Difficult questions with misunderstood answers.

  “I...” she said. “Oh god.”

  “You still have time,” Halley said. “We are calayas. There is a lot of beauty in our lives and a lot of danger. Don’t bury yourself before you get to live.”

  Tears rolled down Violet’s face. She felt a hand gripping hers and saw Maige putting on a brave smile for her.

  “I don’t know how you’ve done it all this time,” she whispered.

  Maige gripped her hand tighter. “I don’t either.”

  A crash brought their attention from themselves back to the champions.

  It seemed the last of the gnaour was fed up with them. It roared its defiance at them and stormed the warriors. No amount of fang swords would be enough to slow it down. Its mighty, square head swung left and right, throwing the champions off their feet. Nothing seemed to stop its rampage until Forial, also seemingly unaffected by the venom, cut a deep gash in its hind leg. The gnaour bellowed so loudly the arena itself seemed to shake and then turned, limping. The rest of the champions rounded up to face him, but not before the gnaour’s tongue swept Forial’s legs from under him. The warrior fell to his knees, looking up only to see the massive jaws of the beast before it bit his head clean off.

  Violet winced in horror. She hadn’t liked Forial, but...

  The next second everything went wrong. Satisfied with the taste of Atreen blood on its tongue, the mad gnaour turned to Ronay. Like a memory repeating itself, the venomous tongue swept out to knock the warrior to his knees. Just like Forial, he looked up and then his gaze snapped unfailingly towards Maige.

  Her scream nearly deafened Violet. The hand in hers almost broke her bones. It was the most heart-breaking thing she’d ever heard.

  Areon seemed to think so too. Why else would he have stepped between Ronay and the ravenous mouth closing in for a bite?

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Oh god that stinks. This thing does NOT have good dental hygiene.

  In hindsight, it was probably stupid.

  Technically, there was an unspoken truce in place and they were supposed to look after each other, however, it was quite something to put his life in such danger for someone else – a rival not to mention.

  Areon the bumbling fool was certainly not someone to offer himself up for heroics. The Raider Prince might have been, if subjected to a shrill screaming that shot through the heart like ice.

  Everyone heard Maige. There was no point in trying to lower your voice when everything you’d ever wanted was about to be eaten by a bloody gnaour. Also, worthy of consideration, Violet looked horrified.

  It was weird, that’s what it was – he’d come there with the clear intent to either win Violet for his own or win her anyway and make her pay for breaking his heart. One way or another, the girl was in for a good spanking for her thoughtless words. Yet, there she was, proving to be much more like the girl he remembered and not the girl she was rumored to be. So all at once he wanted to repay the sense of betrayal and never, ever hurt a hair on her pretty little head.

  Turned out, he was quite a hero in the making.

  This is going to be horrible for my reputation once they start figuring things out.

  True, because saving Ronay meant being a little more himself than he’d intended to be. Judging by the look on Ronay’s face, it showed.

  All that went through his mind in a few seconds, because the gnaour certainly wasn’t going to roll over and give him more time for meditating on the emptiness of life or something of the like.

  He aimed the fang sword straight between the creature’s own fangs. There, it worked, for like a second or two.

  “Move!” he yelled at Ronay. The warrior, as stunned as he was, at least had good instincts. He was up and away as quickly as he could, but it was still enough for the gnaour to wrap his tongue around Areon.

  I swear these things are developing a taste for me.

  Finding himself in the same position twice in a few hours’ time was not a fun experience. That gnaour was larger – and stronger – than the first one. Planting his feet on the jaws of the beast didn’t help much this time. The pull of the tongue was so powerful Areon feared the creature might pull him in half. The venom seeped into his skin again, now covered in blood and dust and whatever else the arena offered. It seemed that bigger creatures had stronger venom, or maybe his body had already used up the antidote, either way, the paralysis was quicker this time. If it reached his legs, it would be over.

  The others made use of the creature’s preoccupation as best they could. Areon just wasn’t sure if they’d be quick enough. Reim certainly knew they had to do it fast, but he couldn’t let it show too much. Which left him to hold on and –

  His foot slipped, nearly sending him down the gnaour’s throat. No amount of antidote would help him there. The venom would simply eat him up, leaving him a blind and deaf mass of meat – at best. And what kind of best was that?

  Damn. That was too close.

  No, they were nearing too slowly. He had to kill the gnaour himself. Risky, risky, risky, but that was just his chosen life.

  Charades and games were fun enough, but they were no use to him in the digestive system of a gnaour. Areon gripped the fang sword in his hands and brought it down straight into the gnaour’s eye.

  As could be expected, the beast didn’t like it.

  It roared in fury, throwing his massive, now-bleeding face around. Areon held on, but therein lay the danger – he couldn’t let go or he risked being trampled under the gnaour’s feet. However, you had to be calaya-born to hold on to a sword hanging from a bucking, thumping gnaour. Areon decided to take it as a challenge to his competitors’ wit. Anyone looking at him funnily when he landed wasn’t a fool.

  Someone stop this thing, he thought. I want to get off.

  The gnaour had other plans, however. It refused to quiet down, making it practically impossible for any of the champions to even get a stab at him.

  It was still up to him, Areon found – nothing to be done about that. He’d chosen, now he had to live with his choice.

  The gnaour had released him from the bind of his tongue when he jammed the sword in, but it was still slashing at him. The pain it brought every time it connected to his bare skin was unimaginable. Its jaws were snapping at his legs, hoping he’d slip and fall, then he’d be eaten for sure.

  Riding around with a wild gnaour is definitely the weirdest thing I’ve ever done in my life. Violet, I hope you’re watching, I will not repeat this performance.

  The gnaour’s eye was bleeding heavily, slicking his grasp on the sword. Areon sighed, no use delaying the inevitable, he’d be dead in another minute. He shook his shoulders loose and instead of pulling the sword out as he might have, he pushed it deeper in.

  That got the gnaour to stop and double its efforts to drag him off with that damned tongue. The others closed in with their swords and Areon did his best to buy them time to hit something good. His hands ached from the venom and from maintaining his grip, but he kept pushing. He had no idea what the gnaour’s head was filled with, but it didn’t go easily past the eye. His muscles flexed as he had to use his actual strength a bit. He hoped to god no one was paying close attention. He could still play it off as the desperate luck of a dead man, hopefully.

  Someone had finally managed to break one of the gnaour’s legs, bringing it down heavily. Areon let himself slide off the creature, careful to pull out his sword a bit. He ran away from the dying creature as soon as his feet touched the ground, but in truth Areon wasn’t sure if that saved anything – maybe it did in the eyes of the audience, or perhaps in the eyes of the calayas.

  The Overlord? Grom? Ronay? Who knew…

  While the others finished up the gnaour, he walked over to Forial’s headless corpse. It was a grim reminder of what the arena and the champions truly
were. Not the friendly bunch they pretended to be at the moment, drenched in gnaour blood and sweat, having fought relentlessly for hours. No, they were still rivals. The thing was, quite a few of the warriors could have made it to help Forial, Grom for sure. They were much closer to him than Areon had been to Ronay, but they took their sweet time. It would have been easier too, less risky. They could have merely distracted the beast to let Forial get back on his feet – they did not. Areon stood and watched him, feeling no particular remorse towards the former rival. He hadn’t been a good man or a kind one. He’d been a worthy opponent and that was all.

  Now he was a sign of warning that the truce was oh-so-fragile. Areon wondered if Grom would have done the same for him, if he’d been the one in danger – possibly. Who knew? Forial had been a considerable rival; it wasn’t as if he’d been surprised. While he was too far to help, quite a few had been only too happy to be far as well. It was only fair, Forial would have been a threat to them.

  The distinct silence ripped him out of his musings. The others were finished with the gnaour – all four of them lay dead on the arena floor. Truly, this was a tournament for the history books, if only for the miracle of bringing down four gnaour with a hundred men.

  Some were looking at him, as was the Overlord, now standing again. He ignored the temptation to crack a joke. He was just a lucky bastard, stunned by the fact he was still alive.

  “Congratulations,” said the Overlord. “You have absolutely outdone yourself. Fighting gnaour isn’t something every warrior gets to experience. And I believe it is obvious you deserve to be standing, when even the mightiest can fall.”

  Yes. No doubt you expected better from Forial, with the antidote in his veins.

  “However,” he went on, making Areon grin under his breath. “Can I ask the only three not trembling from the venom, how exactly you knew?”

  All eyes were on them now. Reim, standing a little away from the others, limping slightly from a nasty hit he’d taken earlier from a rampaging gnaour. Ronay, very silent after the moment he’d clearly thought would be his last. And Areon, the one with the demon luck.

  Reim spoke first. “I saw them,” he said, shrugging. “This morning. One got loose. Lucky break, Overlord.”

  Areon was thankful he’d managed to pass that piece of information to his second-in-command that morning too. Otherwise it might have been a bit of a gamble to claim to have seen them. Right now, the Overlord nodded, accepting that explanation – Reim was cunning enough to plausibly sneak past the guards and spy on the arena.

  Ronay still said nothing. So it left him, giving his most winning smile to the Overlord.

  “I just took every antidote I could get my hands on, just in case, might have been a bad idea because my stomach is killing me.”

  That actually got a laugh from the audience. They appreciated him, which was nice. He saw Reim trying hard to hide his smirk. The Overlord gave him a hard look, but eventually he nodded too.

  You know, it’s kind of disappointing that it’s the easiest with you, Areon thought, looking at his former fief lord. You can’t even entertain the possibility I might be more than I appear to be.

  “And you?” the Overlord asked Ronay.

  The warrior slowly lifted his eyes, first to Areon, just for a heartbeat, and then to the Overlord.

  “Is it a part of the trial to answer?” he calmly asked.

  Oooh. Nice. Not winning any points with the Overlord, though.

  True enough, the Overlord leaned forward on his podium. “No,” he said and his voice had dropped many degrees.

  “Then why would I tell you how I knew?” Ronay asked.

  “Courtesy,” said the Overlord and his tone suggested anything but. Areon didn’t know how to signal to the fool that he was making enemies he didn’t need.

  Ronay seemed disinterested in that, however. He shrugged. “He told me.”

  “Who told you?”

  Oh come on, I thought you might be a little more favorably inclined –

  “The Prince.”

  A hush went through the audience like a breeze. Even the Overlord looked surprised. Areon was frozen in his tracks, waiting very calmly to see what the next words would be, from either of them.

  “The Raider Prince told you,” the Overlord repeated.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” the Overlord pressed on.

  Areon held his breath.

  “He’s apparently a great supporter of young love,” Ronay said and there was a knowing smile playing on his lips. The audience laughed again. Areon couldn’t blame them, the tournament really had it all – tricks, trials, love, drama and gnaour (must not forget about the gnaour).

  The Overlord glared.

  “Any chance you might point him out for all of us?” he asked, his voice pure venom.

  “Oh, he’s sitting right there,” Ronay said, pointing at Sarto, who went paler than snow.

  Areon had to bite his lip not to burst out laughing. Looking over to Reim proved he was having the same problem. The Overlord was far from amused, though.

  “You are quite insolent,” he said.

  Ronay laughed and Areon wondered if everyone else heard how made-up it was.

  “I apologize,” he said then. “It’s just the fight that’s still in my blood. I thought I might alleviate the mood a bit.”

  The Overlord seemed to accept that response, and the apology. “So did he or did he not warn you?”

  “He did,” Ronay said, to the chorus of another murmur. “Everything but the seating was true. He told me. I think he did it for me and Maige, I see no way I could be useful to him in here. But don’t ask me to point him out.”

  The Overlord sighed deeply, but once again, nodded. “Very well. I respect your honor in not wanting to give up the man who helped you. I will flush him out myself.”

  He raised his voice to address the whole of the tournament. “As I promised, the champions can rest and heal now for the next trial. Before the third trial begins, the calayas can give their favor if they want.”

  Areon waited along with the others to be led back to the practice area. He hoped there was food there. For sure there would be plenty of antidote to go around.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he observed his competitors. The only one to give him a puzzled look was Grom – figured as much. The only one with previous fighting experience with the gnaour would know what it took to fight them. For a second he thought Grom might confront him, but the champion shook his head and left him alone for the time being.

  In turn, Areon caught Ronay’s gaze. The other warrior nodded to him, solemn and silent, as he’d been before the first trial of the day. He returned it.

  After all, the man had done him a huge favor by taking the risk and provoking the Overlord. With his joking about Sarto and the doubtless speculation over the Prince’s true self, Areon’s ride with the gnaour was quite forgotten. Not to mention he’d made it sound like the Prince didn’t take the antidote himself. He was safe in anonymity for a while longer.

  He ate and drank and let the doctors feed him more of the antidote. Although he had taken it before, his stomach still turned and his hands burned. He wondered how the others bore it, but of course they hadn’t gripped a gnaour’s tongue with their bare hands. Grom had taken quite a few hits though, it was a wonder he was still standing.

  A real danger, Areon thought. I doubt he’ll want me in his service once he learns who I am.

  He let his eyes wander over his competitors. No lucky bastards left – some had quit and most were dead, and those alive were not the cuddly type they had been in the arena. They were killers, as they’d proven with Forial. Even Reim and Ronay were killers just like Areon.

  Someone tapped on his shoulder. It was a servant of the Overlord, dressed in his colors.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, “but lady Violet wants to see you.”

  Areon felt his heart skip a beat. He nodded and followed her, his breath caught in his lungs.
>
  Oh the humor. I fought four gnaour, not to mention I was almost eaten by two of them. And NOW I’m afraid? Of that little girl?

  Yet she was dangerous, more dangerous than any of the killers he left behind, because she was holding his heart in her tiny palms.

  She must have made her choice.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Violet thought she might faint.

  She’d never been this afraid in her life, not of any warrior, not of her father, not of all the things she was afraid of as a calaya. Nothing at all compared to what she felt now, wondering if Areon still wanted her after she’d driven him away – twice – and lectured him about how wonderful the Raider Prince was.

  Great going, she thought. If he laughs in your face, you had it coming.

  She was pacing around in one of the rooms set aside for the calayas to rest, as if they needed to rest from anything. Yet there it was, blessedly private and empty. Her friends had gladly given her the room, along with the words live a little.

  She intended to. Violet wanted not to live a little, but a lot. The years she’d spent deluding herself into a fantasy seemed wasted. She’d have given anything to get them back, but in reality, she would have settled for the tournament being gone from her life.

  Violet no longer knew what to expect from Areon. She’d been sure about a hundred times that his days were numbered now for sure, only to see him pull off another miraculous escape or something so utterly mind-boggling she couldn’t really comprehend it. She felt like seeing double again.

  It didn’t matter, Areon was alive. That was important – alive for now.

  She’d sent her most trusted servant to fetch the warrior – it was funny to even call him that. As she heard them approach, Violet hastily looked herself over. Her hair was a bit messy from running all the way, but she hardly cared. The dress wasn’t the best she had, but it fit. All in all, it would have to do.

  Areon froze on the door.

  There was a smile on his lips that Violet didn’t fully understand. Then the moment dragged her into its net and she was lost, hopelessly lost in his eyes – how she’d missed them.