Conquering His Queen: A Sci-Fi Alien Romance (Zalaryn Conquerors Book 1) Page 2

  “Thank you—” he starts to say again, but just then a sound pierces my ears, so loud I drop to one knee. It wheedles into my brain, paralyzing me. I fear that some vital piece of my hearing has been permanently damaged.

  Stine helps me to my feet, his eyes darting around the hall. “We must go,” he says. I can hear him, barely, but only because he is shouting at the top of his lungs. His veins stand out on his neck and spittle flies from his lips.

  “What is that?” I shout.

  “The alarm,” he says. “We’re under attack.”

  This planet is perfect. It’s a good temperature—cold but not too close or too far from its sun. The atmosphere is mostly nitrogen. There are deep reservoirs of water beneath the crusty surface. And most importantly, there’s livestock. Lots and lots of livestock. It’s a small planet, with scattered settlements clustered around the capital. The long, winding, craggy mountain ranges render most of the surface uninhabitable. That more than anything is why Lekyo Prime has gone unnoticed by most of the nefarious races in the sector.

  Until now.

  This perfect planet, it’s mine.

  “Activate stealth,” I call. The cockpit is bursting with nervous energy. My Admiral Superior, Bantokk, is handling the landing, navigating in search of the best place to land our ship. The other co-pilots are at their helms, flipping switches and monitoring gauges.

  It’s always this way before we land. We’re all eager to get on the ground. Eager to see what’s down there.

  We’re ready to plunder. Ready to take.

  “Done,” he says. Our stealth shield will block our ship’s signals from detection by any of the planet’s security rovers or satellites—if they even have any. Anyone who looks up in the sky will see us once we get underneath the atmosphere and cloud cover, but by then it will be too late. “But do we even need it?” Bantokk asks. “This planet seems primitive—even by human standards.”

  “It is unlikely that they’ll be able to detect our presence,” I say. “Preliminary research suggests that they lack even the most basic technologies. Their telecommunications are nonexistent. They deliver messages with paper and ink via courier.”

  “Are you sure that they’re human?” Bantokk asks. “Sounds more like a bacteria colony.”

  “That’s not even the best part,” I say. “The courier travels on foot.”

  This planet is going to be almost too easy. My males need a challenge. We’ve been traveling for a long time. We’re antsy.

  Ready for a fight.

  Too bad these humans won’t give us one.

  “You picked a good one, Vano,” he says.

  “I hope so,” I say. “But no praise before the raid even starts. It’s bad luck.”

  “Sorry, Sir,” he says. It feels weird to hear my friend call me ‘Sir,’ and I haven’t gotten used to it in the three years I’ve been captain of the ship. Still, Sir beats serpentoid, bastard, traitor and all the other names they called me when I was in the dungeon.

  When the High King himself appeared before the bars of my cell, I thought I was finally succumbing to delirium. When he asked me personally to lead the mission to colonize Lekyo Prime, I was sure of it.

  But it wasn’t delirium. Not unless the King was suffering from it, asking an old bastard like me to head the mission.

  “Are the rest of the crew ready?” I ask.

  “Absolutely,” Bantokk says, smiling widely. “You know how it is, that feeling when you know you’re about to take something from someone who doesn’t deserve it.”

  “It’s only yours…” I say.

  “…If you can fight to keep it,” he finishes.

  “Their King is old and weak,” I say. “He will not be able to fight.”

  “Human kings do not fight,” Bantokk says. “They send others to fight and die on their behalf.”

  “Then their armies will be even easier to overrun,” I say. “The human males cannot fight valiantly for a weak old man who sends them to the battlefield while he languishes on his throne. They will fight, but their hearts will not be in it. They will run, they will scatter, they will lay down their arms.”

  “Do they even have weaponry?” Bantokk asks.

  “They have sharpened metal blades,” I say. “Some primitive societies can fire projectiles with crude charges of weak explosive powders. But no, they do not have real weaponry.”

  “We’re ready for the last push,” he says. I feel the ship jerk downward and know that it is only a matter of moments until we land.

  We hover while the landing equipment extends and roots to the ground, and then the ship is still.

  This is it. The most important mission I’ve ever commanded.

  Because we’re not just here to plunder.

  We’re here to conquer.

  Lekyo Prime is going to be a Zalaryn colony from now on. We’ve been dispatched to subdue and evacuate the local human population and establish Zalaryn settlements. The humans will be allowed to stay and work for a time, but the edict is that all humans must be relocated before the next orbit around the sun.

  Once the native population has been dealt with, more Zalaryns will arrive. Males and females, families. We have our orders from the High King Xalax back on Zalaryx. He has called on us to conquer and colonize a new sector.

  This planet is going to be the first Zalaryn settlement in this particular galaxy. As the captain of the expedition, I will remain as the ruler of the new Zalaryn settlement.

  It sounds like a great honor, a reward for excellent service. But I know the truth.

  It’s exile.

  That was one of the non-negotiable terms of my release from the dungeons: never returning to Zalaryx.

  “No one wants this job,” High King Xalax had told me through the bars of my dank dungeon cell. “There’s little plunder, little reward. Just hard work and a high chance of failure. We’re not good at building things, in case you haven’t noticed. Most of our lads would rather tear things apart.”

  High King Xalax was right about that.

  The next moments are a blur: the crew pouring out of the ship, storming towards the human capital; humans mounting their pitiful defense; the pathetic sounds of their sad little blades clenched in trembling hands as they whiz through the air, missing their targets.

  A battle—a true battle—sharpens my senses, slows down time to the point where I can feel the passing of each nanosecond. But this is no battle. This is no test of prowess and skill with an anankah.

  My crew are forced to slay a few of the humans, but I take no joy in the violence. There is never joy in violence, not for me, not anymore. Not after my last mission.

  I try to seek out their leader, the human male who is directing their attack and coordinating the defense, but I find no one.

  “Lay down your arms,” I shout over the din of the fight. “Surrender and hear our terms.”

  A few of the humans exchange glances. I know they are eager to stop fighting. What they don’t know is that I’m just as eager, if not more so, to stop. I can tell that they want to hear the terms of surrender. They want to sleep in their beds tonight. They want to return to their family units.

  One male drops his weapon immediately and puts his hands above his head in a gesture of surrender. Others quickly follow suit. This will be over sooner than I imagined.

  “Surrender and hear our terms,” I shout again, “and you will not be harmed.” I speak in their simple language, the words sounding comical coming from my mouth. Part of my preparation for travel was a medical procedure that rendered my brain able to encode and decode almost all of the languages of the universe. It involved a long metal probe inserted through my skull and into my brain—and a jolt of electricity. I’m not even ashamed to admit that I pissed my breeches when the voltage was administered.

  More human males throw down their blades and place their hands on their heads, their grateful faces upturned, waiting for further instruction, eyes watery with tears but glistening with hope
. Hope—the most foolish of all emotions.

  “Cowards!” one of the humans shouts to his comrades. “All of you, cowards! How dare you let these barbarians take what’s yours?” He rushes straight toward me with his blade outstretched. You fool, I think. You just got yourself killed.

  I take my anankah from its sheath and set the charge. As he lunges at me, I step to the side and aim a blastwave at his torso. In an instant he crumples to the ground, a boneless heap only recognizable as human because of the clothing.

  I fear that this will galvanize whatever shallow reserves of courage the humans possess, but I had to do it. You cannot allow another male to make an attempt on your life. There must be consequences for that level of treason.

  For it is treason, pure and simple. I am the ruler of this planet. They just don’t know it yet.

  My fears are realized when some of the human males bend over to retrieve their weapons. They’ve been shamed into action. Another male fought while they trembled and surrendered, and they are eager to reclaim their masculinity, to prove their worth as males.

  I draw in a big breath, and the stench of the male I was forced to kill invades my lungs. I am about to shout out a warning when I hear thunder. Behind me. Gathering force, getting louder, coming closer. I turn around and see it.

  I see her.

  She’s astride a huge beast, galloping straight toward me. Her hair is dark gold like the waning sunlight, plaited as intricately as any embroidered tapestry. But strands are loose, pulled free from her frantic ride. Her cheeks are flushed red from the exertion, from the fear, from the hope. The layered skirts of her gown swirl in the wind as she rides. She looks like a spirit of light, escaped from the Void itself. She is fierce and beautiful, but there is no ice in her veins, no cold royal bearing. She is heat and light and raw energy racing toward me on a creature several times larger than she is. She controls the animal with grace as its hooves glide over the dusty ground.

  And in one second, she’s down, tumbling on the ground, tangled up in those flowing layers of her gown. Two milky white legs are exposed as she rolls, and for a brief moment, I see a flash of her undergarments. Tight white fabric clings to the soft round globes of her bottom, then she tumbles, and her legs are splayed, and I feel an instant heat as I think of the things I could do to her while she’s laid out like that.

  I shake my head to clear my dirty thoughts and watch as she struggles to pull down her skirts and stand. I take in the scene and see that her animal struggles, too—its feet are tangled in weighted ropes. I look at my warriors and see which one has done this.

  Just then, two of the surly lads, Harlu and Pexx, are striding towards her, anankahs unsheathed and charging.

  “Come here, little girl,” Harlu snarls. “Did you ride all the way out here just to become my conquest bride?” He speaks in the Zalaryn tongue, so she does not understand his words, but when he grabs lewdly at his groin, she gets the message. Pexx chuckles and wrings his hands together in anticipation.

  I watch as two of my males are about to start taking the rewards of this planet. According to Zalaryn law, they can claim her as spoils of war.

  But only if they can fight to keep her.

  And they’ll have to fight me.

  “Stop,” I shout. My weapon is in my hand, and I will strike down my own warriors if necessary. Because I know who she is now; it all makes sense, her intricately braided hair and flowing gowns. She is royalty. The King’s daughter, or maybe the old monarch took himself a much younger wife, a deplorable custom that human males seem to adopt if they have the power to do so.

  Harlu and Pexx are closing in on her, and there is no time. I will not allow them to insult her with the touch of their rough hands and lewd ideas. I point my anankah and give them a small blast, just enough to knock them back a few paces, where they go sprawling on their arses.

  “My lady,” I say, using what I hope to be the common greeting for someone of her status. I extend my hand to her, but she just looks at me for a moment, then rolls around to untangle the limbs of her great beast. His thrashing has made it worse, and she cannot unknot the ropes.

  “Shhh,” I say. I lay my hand on the animal’s snout. It’s soft and dotted with short whiskers. He blows air out of his lips and makes an amusing, floppy sort of sound. Then he nibbles at my fingers, probably looking for a snack. I take a protein block from my waist pouch and offer it to him. He takes one tentative lick before the girl slaps it out of my hand.

  “Don’t you dare poison my horse,” she says.

  “Poison?” I ask. “This magnificent creature? It’s just a protein-lipid mixture.”

  “Horses don’t eat meat,” she says. “They eat grass.”

  “This isn’t meat,” I say, but I take her point and put the oily white bar back into my pouch. “Are you hurt?”

  “Just my pride,” she mutters. Her horse has calmed enough, and she gets the ropes free. He gets to his feet and takes a few steps, and I notice that she gives a loud exhale that can only be relief.

  “Who are you?” I ask. “And what are you doing here?” This close I can see that I was right—she is beautiful, and her beauty is pure heat. I can smell her sweat, and it is a sweet sensation, the feel of her vitality passing over the sensory pads on my tongue in a most enjoyable way. Her eyes are bright and blue, but as I noticed before, they are not the icy blue of a noble figurehead. They are blue like the water, teeming with life and the power to pull a man under.

  “I’m here to stop this madness,” she says. “I am Queen and demand audience with your leader.”

  “You’ve got nerve,” I say. “Any other species would have decapitated you before the first word passed your lips—and that’s if you were lucky.” If she were unlucky, she’d be flayed or crucified as an example to the others, a visible reminder that the old way of doing things was destroyed. Other species of invaders would have captured her for the flesh markets, as beautiful human females are prized as pleasure slaves all throughout the universe.

  She is either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid.

  “And am I lucky?” she says. “To be taken down off my horse and insulted by those rubes? Enough nonsense. Who is your leader?”

  “I am the leader,” I say. “Tell your fighters to lay down arms. We do not wish to hurt anyone.” I think of Harlu and Pexx and my blood boils. They would hurt a female of this exquisite beauty? The lust, well, I understand the lust. She exudes that fertile, vibrant aroma that males find irresistible. The swelling breasts that crest above the tight tunic she wears tease me. I want to tear the cloth to shreds and watch as her breasts tumble free, pink nipples waiting to be strummed into hard knots. I want to peel off the layers of her gown until I get to those little white panties. I want to slide one finger under the leg hole and pull them over to the side, exposing the source of all her sweetness.

  “You have a funny way of showing it,” she says. But she stands and tells the males to drop their weapons, and they do.

  “Tell them to put their hands behind their backs,” I say. “My crew will bind their wrists. It will be temporary. I mean it when I say we will not hurt anyone.”

  “Why are you here?” she demands. “I am Queen, and I will not simply hand over my planet and my people to an invading force.”

  Oh, but she will. They always do, these human leaders. Because they cannot compete with Zalaryn might and technology. They cannot fight us, for we are born fighters. They cannot overpower us, for we are born powerful. They cannot out-maneuver us, for we are trained in tactics and strategy before we can read.

  “We must talk,” I say. An idea is forming in my head. I can use this young little queen to get exactly what I want.

  And I want her.

  I want her more than I’ve ever wanted a female. Her scent is driving me mad—it’s ripe and warm and so inviting.

  “Maybe we can negotiate an agreement,” she says.

  “I certainly hope so,” I reply.

  “But no bindi
ng my soldiers. They shall not be bound and humiliated for doing their duty to protect their homeland. You have my word that they will not fight. Any man who does—I will deal with him, and I promise my retribution will be sufficient.” She instructs the human males to abstain from fighting, and there is some muttering, but the males obey their Queen.

  “To the palace,” she says. She spins on her heel, the luxurious velvet dress swirling around her feet.

  Incredibly brave or incredibly stupid—probably a little bit of both.

  She just allowed her male fighting force to be disarmed. And now she’s inviting a Zalaryn conqueror into her palace for a private audience.

  She has no idea what’s about to happen to her people, her planet.

  More importantly, she has no idea what’s about to happen to her.

  We are being invaded.

  The aliens descend in one large ship, the bright lights and dust making it impossible to see clearly, but I don’t need to. The spaceship itself is a marvel of technology that we could never dream of achieving on Lekyo Prime.

  Any race of creature that commands a vessel of that magnitude is a race of creature we could never hope to beat.

  We are done.

  I hurry down to the stable and find Daisy in her stall. I quickly saddle up and ride out to the battlefield. She is not happy to be ridden so fast without a proper warm-up, but I need to get there now. I have to stop this. If we fight, we lose. And if we lose, we die.

  Our only hope is surrender.

  I have a plan, and it does not include all of my fighting men being slain on the battlefield.

  I ride as fast as I can, pushing my horse to the limit. She’s my favorite, and I know how far I can push her, that even though she’s fighting the reins, she’ll shoot down the rift like a winter storm wind.

  As I approach, I see one of our men struck down in the blink of an eye. It happened instantly. There was shouting, then a big alien pointed a stick and there was a loud sound that I felt more than heard; it warped my eardrums as the shockwave passed over me. Then my soldier was down. I have a feeling he won’t be getting up again.