by Calista Skye
My Alien Prince: Claimed by the Atrexu
Calista Skye
Published by Calista Skye, 2015.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
MY ALIEN PRINCE: CLAIMED BY THE ATREXU
First edition. September 18, 2015.
Copyright © 2015 Calista Skye.
Written by Calista Skye.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
My Alien Prince: Claimed by the Atrexu
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He rules the galaxy.
She scrubs toilets.
For some, their love is just too dangerous.
The powerful Crown Prince Ar'Ric of the Atrexu Empire needs to find a wife to be his princess. But the women available to him in his Empire are all stick thin, and the Prince strongly prefers curvy women.
When chunky and sassy Emily Fallon stumbles into his life, he can't believe his luck. And she can't believe the sensationally handsome alien prince is really falling for her.
There's only one problem: He's a prince of the stars, and she scrubs space toilets for a living.
And it soon becomes clear that not everyone wants a curvy alien as Imperial princess. If they can prevent it, they don't care who dies. Or how...
My Alien Prince: Claimed by the Atrexu is a standalone science-fiction romance with powerful and sexy aliens, funny situations, sneaky traitors and loyal friends. And a steamy happy ever after for our curvy and sarcastic heroine!
Part of the My Alien Prince serial of standalone scifi romances with a royal theme!
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1
“And hey, if you think that it takes too long to clean the floor with the mop, you can just use your ass. Should be even more effective! I mean, with a size like that! Ha ha ha!”
Cadet Meller sauntered off, and his mean laugh reverberated through the corridor. The two girls he had in tow, new trainee sub-cadets, giggled and sent curious glances over their shoulders at Emily. She was too surprised and humiliated by his verbal assault to think of a good retort, so his insult went unanswered as the three higher-ranking members of the staff on the space station casually walked away from her. Further down the hall, they broke out in another hail of laughter, and once more the two girls looked over their backs towards her. They were clearly laughing at her.
Humiliated and angry tears burned in Emily's eyes while she dipped the mop into the bucket again and washed another couple of square feet of the corridor. Cadet Meller was always doing things like that, always humiliating his subordinates in front of others. And Emily was his favorite target.
Sure, she was fluffy and curvy, with a little extra padding here and there, especially in the rear. But at least she wasn't stick thin like those trainees who took such care to show their appreciation of Cadet Meller's cruel and stupid jokes. And of course, she had a decent rack, too. Most guys seemed to appreciate that. So why was she feeling bad about herself? Why was she lost for words when someone insulted her because of her weight?
“Don't let it get to you, girl,” Tonya said and calmly brushed another exotic tile of the wall. “He's just a jerk. You're hot as sin, you know that. He's just pissed 'cause you're out of his league.”
Tonya was Emily's co-worker and roommate, another underpaid cleaner in the maintenance sector. She was a few years older and always had a word of wisdom. She tended to take everything calmly and could seem unshakable. But if she were pushed too far, she would explode. And then no one was safe.
“I guess that's why,” Emily sighed. “Not that I'd consider that jerk anyway. I don't think he has any chances with anyone.”
“Damn right. You know he thinks he's hot shit. But he's just one of those things. And it's not 'hot'.”
“Got that right.”
Water splashed against the pristine white walls of the corridor as Emily angrily swept the extremely low-tech mop against the hard, super high-tech floor. Why can't they find a more hi-tech way of cleaning the floors, she thought furiously.
Tellus Station was Earth's first commercial space station, built to be a point of contact and trade between the humans from Earth and the many alien species that had turned out to be just waiting for mankind to get its act together and start serious space exploration on a large scale. Then they had introduced themselves, one race after the other, offering cooperation and goods and marvelous technologies.
But not cleaning robots, Emily thought. It seemed aliens were never that dirty in the first place. Only humans needed to swab the floors on their space station on a daily basis. Cleaning technology was the only area where Earthlings were the most advanced in the galaxy. Even a simple squeegee was a thing of wonder to most aliens, who had never needed or seen one. So better to let her and the sixty others cleaners like her get ancient buckets and mops to do that. Robots were not wanted on the space station because they were considered inflexible, and the technology was still immature.
But it's okay, she thought, calming down. If there had existed cleaning robots that were as effective as humans, she would never have secured a job here at the station. She would still be on Earth, probably washing floors in some office building there, too.
She leaned on the mop and looked out a small window. There was Earth right outside, all blue and white and innocent-looking. But for her, life on Earth had always been a struggle. Poverty, debts, a lack of education and a crappy home life had done their best to keep her down. Getting this job up in space was the first break she'd ever gotten. She had done the best she could, reading books on cleaning, taking classes on space-related dirt and getting endless practice using all kinds of cleaning supplies and chemicals that were safe for use in something as fragile as a space station. She was probably the best bathroom cleaner of all time, with majors in both Sink Cleaning and Toilet Care. And she knew she was the best floor-swabber on the station.
She intended to make the most of it, disregarding the less-than-minimum wage, the lack of harassment rules and the overabundance of stupid bullies among the station's officers. Because deep down, she loved the place she worked. Not many humans had yet been in space, but Emily lived there. It was a point of pride for her whenever she went home on leave, which happened once a year. Hardly anyone knew where she worked, because security regulations specified that she should keep that as secret as possible. But she knew. That was enough. She was proud of it, proud of her accomplishment.
And the future? Well, she didn't know for sure, of course. But her first two years in space were almost up, and then she was certain she'd get a promotion. Everyone always did after two years. She had done her very best for all those twenty-four months. She hadn't s
aid no even once to requests to work overtime, to clean just one more section, to take care of just one more row of toilets, to take over shifts from others or to give just that little extra effort to make sure the commander of the station was always surrounded by an installation that was clean as a whistle. It always was. And Emily knew that she had a big part in that.
She could take a couple more days being Meller's subordinate. Then she had a meeting with Commander Chevalier about her future on the station. She was banking on that future being pretty bright. She'd earned it, many times over.
The water splashed against the walls again as she plunged the mop into the bucket. Two more days, two more days...
2
“Looks like no good fishing today, Yr'ighness,” Ev'ax said. “Just skeletons as far as the eye can see.”
Crown Prince Ar'Ric grunted in annoyed agreement and looked out over the mass of people. He felt the boredom and frustration rise in his mind. It was the same thing every three months – go to the Grand Hall at the Imperial Palace, stand there dressed to the nines in his general's uniform, loaded with medals, look regal and carefully study the endless row of young women from noble families who were paraded past him, desperate to marry into the royal family. Or, more specifically, to marry him.
“Lady Hereb'a Ulk,” the royal chamberlain announced from the other side of him. “Only daughter of the Count of Tyx. Interests: Flower arranging, dancing, puppet shows and embroidery. A fine young woman, Your Highness. Note the length of her arms.”
The prince sent the young girl a pale smile, and she stumbled in surprise and happiness. He was after all the Crown Prince and Heir Apparent to the entire Atrexu empire, encompassing six thousand stars and untold billions of inhabitants from thousands of sentient species. One day he would be crowned both king and emperor, and the woman he had married would become queen and empress.
At 25, Ar'Ric was young, but he was still old enough to understand that the women who wanted to become princess and then empress were less interested in him as a person and more in the power, wealth and privilege it would mean to be his wife. And all three were unimaginable to most ordinary people. Royals lived lives of unspeakable luxury and unlimited power. The Atrexu empire was one of the largest in the known galaxy, and it expanded almost daily.
Ar'Ric liked the conquest part of being a prince, but he disliked the official functions. He had always been a quiet, brainy type who preferred a good biography of a famous general over endless banquet evenings. And this was just such an evening. His father, Emperor J'anz, had told him in no uncertain terms that an empire with no third male in line to the throne was not an empire, but a shambles in risk of collapsing if the heir apparent were to die.
“Miss Bio'k Kridx,” the chamberlain continued, and another stick-thin women curtsied in front of Crown Prince Ar'Ric. “Youngest daughter of Baron Kridx, the wealthy industrialist. Interest include embroidery, theater and dexback riding. Eye color is bright red. Very pretty, Your Highness.”
The prince gave her a curt nod. He could not stand dexes. He was a good rider, but he felt the whole activity a waste of time as long as there were perfectly serviceable motor vehicles available.
“Skeletons, every one,” Ev'ax repeated under his breath. “You'd think nobles could afford to feed their daughters. But I guess there must have been a blight or something.” He was Prince Ar'Ric's friend from way back, a fellow officer who had worked himself up from an undistinguished background to become colonel and baron at the age of 26. His dry humor, competence and inability to control his sarcastic tongue made him a favorite companion to the Prince.
“A secret blight,” Ar'Ric agreed in a soft voice so only Ev'ax could hear. “Every harvest on every world must have gone spectacularly wrong, and no one cared to tell the Emperor.”
He knew there had been no such blight, of course, and that the food supply to every planet in the Empire was perfectly intact and adequate. The thin and waif-like shapes of all the young women who sent him flirtatious glances were due to fashion and old habit, he knew. And those who weren't thin as the twigs from the hyu'k tree were as muscular as front line grenadiers.
“Lady Huh Musu'usuc,” the chamberlain droned. “Eldest daughter of the Marquis of Mufph. Interests include finger painting, jousting, and cooking. Very steady feet, Your Highness.”
Too bad, the prince thought as he glanced at the girl, that she was apparently not in the habit of actually eating the food she cooked. Then he might have shown more interest.
He sighed deeply, trying his best to keep at least a neutral expression on his face. He was not at all as reluctant to get married as his father obviously thought. Sure, he enjoyed the ease of scoring a willing and eager bedfellow for the night that his royal status afforded, but what he wanted more than anything was a wife - a real one, a good one. A feminine one, with a womanly shape and something to hold on to, a large, soft behind and breasts to go with it...
All his fellow officers wanted that after weeks and months of conquest, surrounded by young, athletic male soldiers. After that, they all wanted a female, a true woman with a shape to match. But there was little chance of landing a wife like that. The current fashion, which had been current for as long as the prince could remember, dictated thinness in a woman. As thin as possible, was the ideal. No large behind to knead and weigh in his hands, no breasts to caress in wonder at the feminine essence, no soft waist to put one's arms around, no tender cheeks to kiss. Just bone and skin and muscle.
And of course, because he was the Crown Prince, they all thought that he was attracted to that fashionable shape, and so every girl who was to be paraded to him in presentation to the Imperial court had been dieting hard for months to achieve that skeletal look.
“Miss Moss Mazz,” the chamberlain read. “Daughter of the famous actor, Mess Mazz. No interests noted. Commonly known to have unusually protruding ribs, Your Highness. Very attractive.”
The prince sighed again and nodded regally at another hopeful, who immediately went red in excitement and sent him a series of shamefully flirtatious looks, thinking he was truly interested. But he was not. In order to not succumb to the boredom, he had to favor an occasional girl with a special look or smile or gesture, giving her high hopes and a great story to tell her grandkids – grandkids who would not be royals. Not if he had any say in it.
The chamberlain kept on introducing eligible women. “Lady Whic Cheep. Daughter of the Count of Monztr. Interests: Mourning the dead, embroidery and childbirth. Um, I imagine that last one is a theoretical pursuit, as yet, your Highness.”
“Birth and death in one person,” Ev'ax said in his driest voice. “Encompasses life wonderfully. And in between, embroidery. Well, I suppose it makes life seem to drag on forever.”
Once in a while the prince spotted in the crowd of young women a girl who gave him a brief hope, one who had a more feminine, attractive shape. But she always turned out to be married already or to have bad teeth or a terrible mental defect, so that she was ineligible. The prince wouldn't have minded marrying a servant or another lowborn woman, as long as she had the round, fluffy shape he preferred and loved him for himself, not for his future empire. But the chances were slim.
He groaned at the terrible pun he had inadvertently made in his mind, and another girl turned around in delight, thinking he had expressed his lust for her. He quickly looked away to avoid giving her any ideas.
As he did so, his gaze happened to stop at the Duke of Hyp, his older cousin. The Duke was standing a little to the side, away from the usual huddle of noblemen. He made sure never to miss any event at the Imperial court, even if he was usually not invited. But he was the Emperor's nephew, and no one ever tried to stop him entering the palace. The duke was a pale and thin figure, except for his enormous gut, which spilled heavily over his ceremonial uniform pants and strained the fabric of his pink shirt to the breaking point. No one knew why he kept wearing that uniform, because as far as anyone knew, he had never been involve
d with the military.
It was rumored that the duke was constantly conspiring to get closer to the Imperial throne, even if he was currently second in line. Only Ar'Ric stood between the duke and the Emperor. Ar'Ric was not concerned, because the duke was twenty years older than he was and had never married.
The duke stared straight back at Ar'Ric, not blinking and not inclining his head in a courteous greeting like every other noble would. His eyes were pale and bulging as he stared, reminding the prince of a reptile. There was an unhealthy sheen in his eyes, as if barely able to hide an ambition that bordered on the insane.
“If I didn't know better,” the prince said softly to Ev'Ax while nodding at another young woman, “I'd suspect that Duke Hyp was responsible for picking out these hopeless women. He would like nothing better than for me not to marry and produce an heir.”
“That may not be as absurd as you think,” Ev'Ax said thoughtfully. “He has been seen a lot around the palace lately. And because of his title and relations to His Imperial Majesty, your father, he's rarely denied what he demands.”
The prince nodded. “I always try to stay as far away from him as possible, of course. He seems to radiate... decay. We must make sure none of his agents are around me. I feel that he just might murder me if he could.”
“I have the same feeling, Yr'ighness.” By all means, we must keep him at arm's length.”
The prince again surveyed the long line of young women waiting to be introduced to him.
“Straighten up, Yr'ighness,” Ev'ax growled beside him. “They're a hopeless bunch, but that's still the uniform of an Imperial officer you're wearing.”
The prince sighed for the hundredth time that evening and straightened his back again. He never slouched in any other situation, only during these endless and badly disguised bride-finding functions. He could not be allowed to let this whole silliness get to him. Soon it would be over, and he could retreat to his chambers to have a drink and read more about the tactics of the legendary Admiral Gu'b.
