Barbarian's Prisoner: An Alien Romance

by Abella Ward

  "The moons were never in alignment for you." Bjorn turned from the window and bowed his head in shame. "When the priest declared we would come here and work to impregnate Cheryl, he was declaring me king."

  "I think not."

  Bjorn took a deep breath and made himself look his once-rival in the eye. "He was. Few people know, but warrior-slaves are made sterile when they are taken from their families. Warriors cannot increase their own numbers and rise against the houses. You could never impregnate Cheryl, Maskin. The priest made this test so that you would fail, and it would be seen as the Gods punishing you for daring to rise above your station."

  Maskin stared back at him. His eyes were cast in shadow, but the rest of his face was utterly neutral.

  "I knew." Bjorn swallowed. "And I said nothing."

  The warrior-slave turned back to the window. He remained hard-faced. Bjorn waited. He wouldn't blame Maskin for whatever he did next. It seemed like forever before the warrior nodded.

  "Thank you for telling me. It makes the choices from here on easy. Just promise me one thing, Lord of Leshire."

  Bjorn nodded.

  "Take care of our Lapis Lazuli. Give her everything she wants and the life she deserves."

  Bjorn was surprised to find a lump in his throat. He nodded. "I will."

  "Good."

  The prince hesitated, but put a hand on Maskin's shoulder. "Go lie with her. Rest. I'll keep watch."

  For a long moment, he thought Maskin would refuse, but the warrior-slave nodded. Bjorn turned his back to let the man have peace with their queen. He watched the bright, planet-lit night, and tried not to feel how much his heart was sinking.

  Chapter Nine: Cheryl

  How she managed to sleep, Cheryl never knew. All she knew was that sleep she did, and when she woke, Maskin's arms were around her. His eyes were closed, his breathing deep. He was still wired as though ready to strike, but he was sleeping. Bjorn was at the door, watching out of the little window. His face was lit by a ghostly glow.

  The plan was fully formed in her head. If their attackers were really after her as Maskin suspected, then there was only one way to ensure her two men walked out of here safely. She had to turn herself over to them. Maskin was already sleeping, so he wouldn't be a problem. Which left Bjorn.

  Cheryl slipped out of Maskin's arms and tiptoed to the spice cupboard. She had had a hard time sleeping at the shrine for the first few nights, and the acolytes had made a special tea to help her sleep. If she could make some for Bjorn, then he would fall asleep and she would slip out.

  There! Hogroot. It was perfect for putting a man to sleep. She reached for it—

  "We need to keep our wits about us, Lapis Lazuli." Maskin's hand closed gently around hers. "I know you must be frightened, but you can't sleep except naturally."

  Cheryl turned to face him, guilt written all over her face. He tucked a finger under her chin and brushed his lips against hers.

  "You weren't meaning to make yourself sleep, were you?"

  She glanced at Bjorn. The prince was still looking out the window, but from the rigidity of his stance, she knew he knew. Her eyes burned. "I just thought… if I gave myself up then they would let you live."

  "It won't work like that. I–perhaps we–are still threats to whoever is commanding these warriors. If he wants to be king, we must be killed. And if he wants Bjorn to be king, then I must die."

  "No." Cheryl wiped her tears away angrily. In a fit of frustration she stomped a foot. "No, I won't accept it. I won't. I am the one who has the final say in who my king will be. I won't have some random Lord who doesn't have the bravery to face the tournaments. I won't let them dictate my fate. I am the queen!"

  She stomped her foot to each word. Maskin just smiled at her, as though she was the first star he had ever seen. Clearly, he didn't take her seriously, and that just made her angrier. She put her hands on her hips and shook her head.

  "I won't be queen unless I have you both as my kings. I don't care about tradition or whatever might stand in our way. You were both chosen by the Gods in the tournament, and I choose you both now. You are my kings."

  "It's beyond choice now, Cheryl," Bjorn reminded her softly.

  She shook her head again, moving away from Maskin as he reached for her. The sunrods brightened as a result of all the movement in the room.

  "No. I refuse. It's not beyond my choice. I will not be queen. I always did as I was told, I was never given a choice. I didn't know what choosing was. I didn't know what love was."

  Both men were looking at her at this point, their expressions mirroring each other's. They looked so sad… Why did they look like that?

  "I never knew love was real. Not until I met the both of you. And if I can't have both of you… well, then nobody will have me."

  Maskin wrapped his arms around her. His head fell to her shoulder, and his massive body shook. Cheryl was so surprised that she didn't know what to do. Out of every response there could have been, this vulnerability wasn't something she had even considered. Her heart rate spiked.

  What had happened while she slept? Had Maskin already decided to sacrifice himself for the sake of the other two?

  She opened her mouth, but before she could ask, Bjorn spoke.

  "You won't have to. Hang tradition! It's practically unheard of for a woman to have only one husband, why can't the queen choose to have two kings? Did the Gods declare one of us had to die? No. A priest did. Do we want to usher in a new era? I say we start now."

  Cheryl turned away from Maskin. Bjorn's face was hard with determination. He marched from the window and pulled her into his arms with one hand while gripping Maskin's shoulder with the other. He looked between the two of them, eyes glittering, his dark blue skin even darker in the dim light.

  "I will find a way for the three of us to be together. I promise. I will do everything in my power to ensure it."

  Cheryl buried her face in his shoulder. Relief flooded her body, so powerful she began shaking.

  A tremendous noise screeched through the walls. The door and all that barricaded it burst inward, making Cheryl scream. Shards of wood flew towards them. Maskin grabbed her and Bjorn, twisting his body to shield them both from the explosion.

  His hand squeezed hers one moment and then it was gone. Before Cheryl even realized what was happening, the clash of swords rang through the kitchen. Maskin stood against a dozen warriors, muscles straining as he parried their blows and drove his own blade through their bodies.

  The enemies made no sound as they attacked, their eyes glowing, expressions blank. One darted in at Maskin's side, but Bjorn was there in an instant, stabbing him in the gut. The prince flanked the warrior-slave, helping him to drive back their attackers step by step.

  Cheryl found herself useless once more. Her hands clenched, but there was nothing she could do but watch. Her men were fierce, fighting with every ounce of strength they had. Bit by bit they drove the attackers back, out of the kitchen. Cheryl was drawn forward to the jagged hole, unable to take her eyes from the battle.

  Once outside the building, the attackers regrouped. They pressed harder against the two men, those terrible blank expressions still on their faces. Bjorn was barely able to deflect a blade. It sunk deep into his arm. Maskin blocked a killing blow meant for his neck and pushed his way forward, his movements frenzied as he cleared the way for Bjorn to retreat.

  "Find their ship and return to Thoutle. Get her out of here!" the warrior-slave roared. He drove into the midst of the attackers, both arms swinging, driving them back. A look of terrible concentration was on his face, his teeth bared. "Protect her!"

  Cheryl cried out as Bjorn slung her over his uninjured shoulder. She held her arms out to Maskin and screamed his name as the prince carried her away.

  The last thing she saw was the ranks closing in on him.

  Chapter Ten: Maskin

  All he had to do was give Bjorn enough time to get Cheryl to safety.

  Maskin poured
all his strength into the fight, driving back the attackers inch by inch, giving him the space to dodge from one end of the group to the other. His strength was failing him. Already, blood poured from various wounds, deep slices in his abdomen and shoulders. He knew he wasn't going to be able to hold them back much longer.

  But if Bjorn and Cheryl got away safely, his death would be worth it.

  He was slow to parry a blow on his right. His enemy's blade bit deep into his shoulder at the joint. His arm fell useless by his side. He grabbed his sword with his other hand, but it was too late. A second enemy had taken advantage of his distraction and drove his own sword through Maskin's gut.

  Pain blinded him. Sweat was beading his brow. His mouth opened and closed like a man gasping for breath in the vacuum of space. A blade was brought to his throat.

  "Leave him!" a voice commanded. It sounded vaguely familiar. "He's as good as dead now, but if you end his life, you'll be cursed for killing on hallowed ground."

  Maskin struggled to get to his feet. A fist to his face had him sprawling. His vision danced in splotches of white and red. When it finally cleared, he could hear that same voice ordering the warriors to find Cheryl. Struggling with his own approaching death, Maskin managed to look up and see the man who was giving the orders.

  It was the priest who sent them here. Quincy. Maskin's brow furrowed. What was he doing here, leading an attack against the queen and the two potential kings? A priest couldn't be king. They were sworn to be celibate on pain of death.

  "I don't want to see any of you back until you have brought the queen to me," the priest ordered. He grabbed one of the warriors. "You. Stay here to watch him. I won't have him coming to stab me in the back."

  Maskin tried to push himself up, but the warrior stepped on his shoulder, forcing him back down. The priest looked down at him with a blank expression for a moment before he turned and walked away. Maskin glared after him. Either he was determined to be king despite his priestly vows, or he had somebody else lined up for the throne.

  Would he or his champion treat Cheryl as the beauty deserved?

  No. She had told him and Bjorn both how often the priest discouraged her. If he forced Cheryl to be his queen, she would not have another choice for as long as she lived.

  Maskin was not going to let that happen.

  He roared, trying to gather the strength to fight off the remaining warrior, but the man's heel dug harder into his wound, grinding him into the dirt. Pain danced in bright lights before his eyes.

  "I would end your suffering, Hero, but I was given orders." His enemy's tone was emotionless. "I take no pleasure in this."

  Maskin didn't waste his strength trying to reply. He lay still for a long time, trying to regroup. But blood was still pouring from his body, and each passing second, his strength waned a little more. His thoughts became fuzzy. Time seemed to stop. He drifted in and out of thoughts and images. Knowing he had to get up and stop Quincy. Remembering Cheryl's sparkling eyes as she took him by the hand and led him to bed. Watching Born's grin as he watched the two of them. Tasting happiness for the first time in his life.

  There was a grunt from somewhere above him. He didn't care about it, losing himself in the blissful memories he had created here with his queen. The grunting continued. There were sounds of crashing blades.

  "Don't you dare die now, Warrior!"

  Wait… was that Bjorn's voice?

  Maskin lifted his head in time to see Bjorn drive his sword through the enemy's neck. The prince let the body fall, running to the warrior's side. He turned him over, grimacing at the amount of blood. Maskin stared at him, slack-jawed. What was he doing here?

  "Why did you leave Cheryl?"

  "She's safe." Bjorn peeled his shirt over his head and pressed it to Maskin's abdomen.

  Maskin's back arched as he screamed in pain. The sharp jolt brought him back to his senses. He blindly grabbed for Bjorn's arm. "It's that priest, Quincy. He wants Cheryl. You have to stop him. Leave me, protect her!"

  "I'm not letting you win her love by taking all the glory, man," Bjorn grunted. He belted his shirt into Maskin's wound. "Come on, up you get."

  Maskin tried to stand, but he couldn't make his body work. Bjorn lifted him bodily, grunting with the effort.

  "You have to leave me here."

  "Shut up. I'm not one of your warriors you can order around." Bjorn slung the huge warrior-slave over his shoulders.

  Maskin felt the prince stagger and had to repress a grin. If their roles were reversed, he would have no problem lifting the prince. In the back of his mind he knew that this strange euphoria was dangerous, deadly even, but at the moment he didn't care. The white and red dancing lights were back, as well as a feeling of his body getting lighter and lighter. He heard singing somewhere.

  And then Cheryl's voice, calling him back to his body. "Maskin!"

  It came from all around him. She sounded worried, but he couldn't see her. He tried to reach for her, to tell her that he was fine, that it didn't hurt anymore.

  "Maskin, don't leave me."

  Something warm on his lips.

  Bjorn's voice. "He's lost a lot of blood. I picked up a regenerator, but I'm not sure it'll be enough."

  Cheryl's hands cupped his face. "Maskin, don't leave me. Don't leave me."

  He felt himself slipping away. He wanted to tell Cheryl that it was okay, that he wasn't going to be gone long… but she sounded so scared. A fire built in his chest. This wasn't how it was going to end. Cheryl needed him. He wasn't going to leave her. He had to stay and protect her. With a roar, he fought against the darkness clawing at him.

  He couldn't leave her.

  Chapter Eleven: Cheryl

  Cheryl held Maskin's hand tightly as Bjorn covered the entrance of the hollow tree they hid in. It was an ancient tree, the trunk so wide that a dozen men Maskin's size could stand with their arms outstretched and still be barely able to encircle it. It had been luck–or an act of the Gods–that Bjorn had seen the hollow in the trunk that was just big enough for them to slip through. The inside was cool and dry and smelled strongly of wood and earth.

  "Can you save him?" she asked.

  Bjorn activated the regenerator. "I'll do everything I can."

  He ran the regenerator over the deep, bloody gash in Maskin's side. The queen couldn't look at it without feeling like she was about to vomit, so she concentrated on Maskin's face, kissing his lips again and again. His already pale blue skin looked almost white.

  She had never seen a corpse before, but right now the warrior looked like one.

  "Don't leave me," she ordered in a whisper. "Don't you dare leave me. You are my king, and I am your queen."

  His facial muscles twitched and a low groan reverberated from his chest. It was like he was trying to roar a challenge, but couldn't quite make it. Cheryl cupped his face and kissed him again before laying her head on his chest.

  "Stay with me."

  His heartbeat was so slow that she almost thought it had stopped. She clung to him, whispering his name over and over.

  "There," Bjorn said after what seemed like hours. He sat back and wiped sweat from his forehead. "That's stopped the bleeding at least. How well his internal organs patched up… It's up to him now, Cheryl. I wish…"

  Cheryl grasped his hand but didn't leave Maskin's side. "I wish we had stayed as well."

  A pained look crossed the prince's look. "No. Getting you away from those warriors was the right thing to do. But I wish I hadn't told him that he was sterile. Without a chance to have children with you… I'm afraid that he won't fight."

  Cheryl felt like she had been slapped. "Sterile?"

  "All warrior-slaves are made sterile. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I should never have agreed to come here when I knew that this—"

  She held up her hand and took a deep breath. As much as she wanted to be angry with Bjorn at the moment, her worry for Maskin was too great. She didn't have the strength for two such strong emotions.


  "When I lived at the temple, Priest Quincy would sometimes perform fertility rites for same-sex couples. If he could clone and combine DNA from two individuals, why can't we do the same for three?"

  Bjorn's eyes widened. "That's possible?"

  "Doesn't everybody know?"

  The prince shook his head. "Cloning is… well, it was declared unviable hundreds of years ago. But if the temples can do it… Do you hear that, Warrior?" He poked Maskin's arm. "You can have children. The three of us can be parents. So you have no excuse to give up, do you hear me? Unless you want to give up your claim and give Cheryl to me to enjoy all by myself."

  Cheryl opened her mouth angrily, about to scold him for saying such dreadful things, but Maskin stirred. He didn't open his eyes, but a smile twitched his lips. A grunt rose from his throat before he relaxed back into unconsciousness.

  "He can hear us!" Cheryl kissed him. "Maskin, I love you. Come back to me. Fight. We'll have dozens and dozens of beautiful babies."

  "Maybe not that many. But as many as you want." Bjorn rested his hand on her back. The bandages around his injured shoulder were soaked through with blood. With a grimace, he began to peel them back to use the regenerator on himself.

  "I want lots of babies," Cheryl said. "I have all their names picked out already."

  Bjorn smiled. It was a sad smile, but Cheryl wasn't going to think about that. Right now, she was just going to keep holding Maskin's hand and make sure he knew how much she loved him.

  ***

  Cheryl woke to Bjorn gently shaking her. She rubbed her eyes, her gaze immediately going to Maskin. He was the same as he ever was, eyes closed, skin pale, breathing deep. Cheryl reached to touch his hand. His skin was cool. Not fevered, not overly cold. A small smile crossed her lips. He was a fighter. There was a chance all three of them would make it out of this.

  "I have to go find food," Bjorn said gently. He put a dagger in her hand. "Remember, if someone enters without first giving the password—"