Page 10 of Claimed By the Alien Prince
ZEVRAN
T he warmth of her body lingers in the air, but it does nothing to quell the storm brewing inside me.
The Kiphian woman beside me traces her finger up the length of my bicep as she whispers seductive things that I'm not listening to, oblivious to my growing agitation. Her scent—sickly sweet vanilla—grates against my senses, too clean, too polished. I can’t stand it.
I push myself up, the bed's soft moss feeling like a trap beneath me. She calls out to me, scoffing when I ignore her entirely. I've already forgotten her name. My head pounds with frustration as I slip out from under the sheets, anger flaring hotter than before.
Dressing quickly, I wrestle with each article of clothing as if they’re an enemy’s embrace. Every movement reminds me of my spine burning with confusion and anger—the touch that shouldn’t have happened, yet clings to me like smoke.
I storm out into the palace halls, the bioluminescent sconces flickering overhead as if they sense my ire. Each step echoes off the polished walls; where am I going? I don’t care. Just away from this—away from her.
My feet guide me almost instinctively toward her door—the human woman who has upended everything in a heartbeat. I knock hard, not even considering that she might still be asleep.
“Who is it?” Her voice drifts through the wood—delicate, drowsy yet somehow firm.
I hesitate only for a moment before pushing the door open, my heart racing in defiance of reason. There she sits on the ledge of the window, sunlight spilling across her features like a careless painter's brushstroke.
“Oh,” she grumbles, squinting at me. “It’s you.”
A laugh escapes my lips before I can stop it—a rich sound that surprises even me amidst this chaos. “If anyone else spoke to me in such a way,” I say with mock severity, “I would have them beheaded.”
Her brow quirks at my jest as she stretches languidly—a movement both graceful and infuriatingly inviting.
“Lucky for me,” she replies with a teasing lilt, “you don’t seem inclined to murder this evening.”
She leans back against the window frame, exuding confidence that draws an involuntary smile from me despite my irritation. In this momentary reprieve from all else weighing on my shoulders, I realize how desperately I need something more than just distraction—or fleeting company.
I stand there, an awkward silence stretching between us like a taut vine. "I've realized… we haven't been properly introduced."
She doesn't respond.
Clearing my throat, I sweep into the Kiphian bow, my spine tingling with the effort of control.
“My name is Prince Zevran, great grandson to the revered Prince Elvion of Veras.”
She blinks at me, unimpressed. “Never heard of him. Besides, why bother introducing yourself to a prisoner?”
Her words slice through me, and I feel the heat rise in my cheeks—a rare reaction. How could she not know about Elvion? The stories are legendary among our people, tales that shape our history. But I brush past it; there's no point in lingering on the trivialities of human ignorance.
“I’m not keeping you here as a prisoner,” I say, forcing calm into my voice. “Prisoners stay in cells.”
She pushes herself away from the window and stands tall despite the room’s opulence—a contrast that strikes me anew. Her hands sweep around her, gesturing at the walls draped in silks and adorned with jewels.
“This place might look luxurious,” she snaps, “but it’s still a cage.”
A flicker of annoyance courses through me. “It is far from a cage. You’re?—”
“Right,” she interrupts, rolling her eyes dramatically. “I’m being treated like royalty here.” She gestures toward her makeshift bed and the corners filled with nothing but shadows and echoes.
I let out a long sigh, the weight of her words pressing down on my shoulders like an unwelcome shroud.
“What is your name?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Carys,” she replies, her voice steady. The name rolls off her tongue like a melody, somehow both foreign and achingly familiar. It resonates in the air between us—a perfect fit for the fiery spirit I see before me.
I take a moment to observe her fully. Her medium brown skin glows in the filtered light, shoulder-length curls framing her face in a chaotic halo.
Those bright amber eyes flicker with determination and defiance, but beneath that fire lies something softer—perhaps vulnerability.
The dirt-smudged goggles perched on her head remind me of a gardener lost in a world of flora; it feels absurdly domestic against the backdrop of our alien landscape.
She crosses her arms, bringing my attention back to her irritation. “You’ve taken everything from me,” she snaps, glancing toward the corner where Todd would be if he hadn’t been captured. “My research gear, my drone—what do you want with them?”
I shrug, unwilling to admit that I hadn’t even considered their value beyond mere equipment. “They were confiscated as a precaution.”
“Precaution?” she scoffs, raising an eyebrow. “You think I’m some kind of spy?”
“No.” The word escapes before I can weigh it carefully. “But humans have a history of exploiting what they don’t understand.”
Her expression shifts from anger to exasperation, and for some reason, it ignites a flicker of amusement within me.
“I’m bored out of my mind,” she says with an exaggerated sigh, pacing like an agitated creature in a cage—a vivid reminder that we are both trapped in this moment.
After a beat filled with unexpected contemplation, I relent. “Fine.” The agreement surprises even me as it slips from my lips. “If you promise your little… Todd isn’t a threat.”
Carys’s eyes widen momentarily before narrowing again in suspicion. “He’s not dangerous,” she insists. “He’s just... jumpy.”
“Then we have an accord.”
An awkward silence envelops us as I step back, unsure how to conclude this strange encounter without further irritation brewing between us.
“Until next time then,” I say stiffly.
“Right.” She nods sharply but doesn't move toward the door.
I linger for just a heartbeat longer before exiting the room, closing the door gently behind me.
What in the worlds am I doing?