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

by Vi Voxley

  It didn’t break right through. A gnaour’s tongue was massive, big and thick, and Grom didn’t wield a real weapon.

  Areon knew he’d made the right choice when he enlisted Grom of all people, because only he was mad enough to hit it twice. Not many people remained sane with a crazed gnaour suddenly almost on top of them. Grom brought down the metal bar with a sharp edge the second time, striking the bleeding tongue at exactly the same spot.

  This fucker concentrates with a gnaour trying to eat him. God, he really is clinically insane, isn’t he?

  Then again, he might be as well, because he’d held the tongue both times.

  The second one cut through and they both jumped back, away from the tongue and away from the blood spilling from the mouth.

  It didn’t kill him, of course, but Areon hadn’t thought it would. It did drive the gnaour into a frenzy and for a long moment it thrashed and roared while Grom and Areon kept away. Areon made a point of hiding behind Grom’s back. The warrior didn’t seem to notice, or care. He was a leader – his place was at the front.

  Areon liked that, it was stupid, really, really stupid, but he kind of admired it.

  When the gnaour finished trampling, Grom dashed forward the first opportunity he got and jammed the metal rod deep into its skull, straight between his jaws. It took several minutes for the beast to stop moving, taking a few unfortunate souls with him in its wild death throes. Grom had lost his sword, but Areon figured he considered it a worthy exchange judging by the look on his face.

  “Is it dead?” Areon asked, faking ignorance, although he could no longer hear the gnaour breathe. And his calaya-born hearing was definitely better than Grom’s.

  “It’s dead,” Grom humphed in a condescending tone and the great champion turned around. Afar, the other three still rampaged, now driven into a frenzy by the death of their brother. The two of them seemed safe and forgotten for a moment, but not for long.

  Grom gave him a long, measuring look. Areon could see the little cogs working in the champion’s head, calibrating new information.

  “That wasn’t a bad idea,” he said.

  I know, but kind of you to say.

  “Any others?”

  Areon almost smiled, but instead he forced his face to chuckle nervously. “As long as you watch my back, sure.”

  Grom gave him a hard look. “Why are you here? You’d be dead if I hadn’t decided to help you.”

  “But you did,” Areon said, smiling. “They say I have the luck of demons.”

  That seemed to amuse Grom.

  It’s amazing, he’s almost smiling. I didn’t know his face could do that.

  “Whatever it is,” Grom said, “it works. Don’t worry. I won’t kill you until I have to.”

  I have no doubt of that. I’m afraid I can’t promise the same.

  “We have weapons now,” Areon said out loud.

  Grom raised an eyebrow. “It seems to me we have one less, with my sword stuck in that thing’s skull.”

  “Aye,” Areon said. “That useless slab is gone, it did its job. We have something better now.”

  “Stop speaking in riddles.”

  Oh you’re no fun.

  “The fangs, I imagine if we could jam something inside them for a handle, they might make for pretty sharp tools. And seeing how you punched a fucking sword into the wall yesterday, I doubt that’s a chore for you.”

  Grom stood for a moment, stunned. Further away, one of the gnaour ran closer. It seemed their moment of rest was over. Areon wondered if the Overlord had somehow found a way to control the monsters, to direct them in their way, but these were questions for another day, another time. Right now Grom was looking at him like he just fell from the sky.

  “Impressive,” he said at last. “If you somehow survive this trial, quit. I’d hate to kill you, but I might find a place for you in my service.”

  Somehow Areon found the self-control to just offer a pleased smile, instead of doing the many other things that crossed his mind, or saying any of the words that beat at his teeth.

  For a second, he let his amused mind consider the prospect. Taking another year or so to serve Grom like he had the Overlord, learning from the undisputed champion. It would have almost been worth the fun, if it didn’t mean giving up Violet, which was a ridiculous idea.

  Grom left the tearing out of the gnaour’s teeth to him, seeing as he suffered less from the creature’s venom. Areon’s insides still burned and his hands were useless, but he forced himself to forget that; the blood on the creature’s teeth didn’t help, though. He chose two straighter fangs, sharpest and longest, best fitting for swords. Under the onslaught of another gnaour, Grom fashioned them into a pair of the weirdest swords ever. Areon did his best to protect him from another venomous tongue in the meanwhile. It felt out of place to fight side by side with Grom, but the Overlord had forced his hand. It felt even weirder to trust Grom, at least for the immediate future.

  Getting up, Grom gave him one of the fang swords. It felt odd in his hand, but it would work. Grom weighed the weapon in his palm.

  “Alright,” he said. “Let’s test your demon luck.”

  The Raider Prince smiled. He knew the truth of that – there were no demons or luck, there was only him.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Violet was considering climbing into the arena again.

  Alright, either Irmela lied, which is unlikely, or the Overlord really hates everyone in the arena. Gnaour?

  The calayas had stopped watching. Atreens were not a species that feared death and it wasn’t the first time for any of them to see someone die, but this was different. First of all, they’d gotten kind of attached to their suitors, secondly, gnaour – no one wanted to die like that. There was no pleasant way to be killed by a gnaour, Violet shivered just thinking about it.

  It was her turn to look. The calayas had found a method to be up to date without technically looking – they averted their eyes so that only one of them was watching the arena. The one on the watch kept reporting everything that wasn’t someone dying gruesomely with half his torso missing or both legs torn from under him. Violet was very glad she didn’t get to eat much in the morning or all of it would have come up.

  She stood on the watch, reporting on the survivors and Ronay.

  The gnaour had reaped a horrible toll. Weaponless and naked to the venom, the first charge had done the most damage. Surprise and confusion had thinned out the ranks as if they’d just been standing there, waiting to die. At that moment, they’d been too horrified to look away. So they’d seen how the slow dying began. They’d also seen Areon in the gnaour’s grip and Grom’s valiant defense.

  Violet felt horribly conflicted about that. He’d done well, she supposed, but Grom had still been the one to kill the beast. And after that Areon trailed after Grom like a loyal dog, keeping behind him. Although, he did his share and seemed to direct a few attacks on the beast, Violet still felt unsure. It was like she was seeing double. One moment, Areon was practically crouching behind Grom’s back, in the next, he was swaying his fang sword valiantly, escaping death by inches.

  He must have had all of the demons working to keep him alive.

  Now there were two gnaour. Following Grom’s example, several others had managed to make it to the fallen creature to arm themselves. Violet had peeked at the Overlord to see if he was mad at being outsmarted, but if anything, he seemed impressed. She supposed that was what the trial had been about, to find those with enough wits to outsmart the gnaour, seeing as strength alone did little to help.

  The champions had formed something akin to a very shaky truce. For the time being, it seemed they all just wanted to survive the gnaour, they could sort each other out later. So they’d banded together in groups, not unlike raid parties, Violet thought gloomily. And with quick strikes and retreats, they’d actually taken another gnaour down. Bodies from that attack littered the ground, some were still twitching from the venom. The gnaour spat such poison tha
t some corpses twitched for some time.

  So far, most of the favorites were somehow alive.

  “I think they’re going to try something really stupid,” Violet said, frowning. “I see chains and Grom is laughing. I never know if that is a good sign or bad.”

  “Both, I think,” said Olive. The young beauty had been quiet for most of the time, but now spoke. “My father fights with him all the time, he says that Grom only laughs if he thinks something is crazy enough to work. So, that means both.”

  In her heart, Violet agreed. She nodded. “I think so too. God, I think they’re going to try and trip a gnaour.”

  The beasts had stopped trampling a while back. The death of the first one had driven them into a frenzy, and a wild beast was a careless one. When the second fell while they weren’t paying attention, the gnaour seemed to get wary. Violet wondered how much were they able to comprehend from what was going on, if they were surprised at suddenly being matched, because they were so used to being victorious.

  The two remaining monsters moved slower now. She didn’t know how they communicated, but from time to time it was obvious their attacks were coordinated. Men fell then, to venom and to the sheer mass of them. Every time Maige clutched at her dress so hard it almost tore.

  Violet had no idea how she dared to be that vulnerable. She’d made them all warn her when Ronay was anywhere near danger. She didn’t want to miss his death, if it was to come. What did it feel like, to love so desperately?

  Whether or not the chains would work out, Violet supposed they had no choice. Of the nearly hundred men that had gone to fight for them, about forty remained. Clever or not, strong or not, soon their numbers would not be enough to fight the gnaour. It didn’t matter that Grom and Areon had brought one down with just the two of them – they had been helped by Areon’s demon luck.

  “Don’t cry now, Maige, but I think Ronay and Reim will take the lead in this one,” she said. Maige nodded, but Violet could hear her teeth chattering.

  “Makes sense,” Pearl said, ignoring the reprimanding look from Violet. “They seem to have some kind of immunity to the venom, at least more than others. Do you think they somehow guessed? It has to be because of the antidote.”

  “Yes,” said Halley. Violet knew they could trust her to know, she’d been studying medicine since she was a child and a calaya’s memory was excellent. “It’s the antidote.” She looked at Violet, a weird look in her eyes. “Your suitor has taken it too.”

  Who, Areon? Violet had thought it weird that he could clutch a gnaour’s tongue and not die, but she had put it down to great pain tolerance even though pain wasn’t the only symptom. Neither he nor the other two showed any particular signs of the paralysis, while several others limped or had hands slinging around lifelessly. The antidote would take the effect away in time, if they survived long enough to administrate it.

  “He’s not my suitor,” Violet said.

  “Yes, he is,” Halley insisted. “It doesn’t make him any less of a suitor, if you don’t want him, which I don’t believe.”

  The others looked at them, surprised. On the arena, Violet watched Reim and Ronay drag one of the chains between them and slowly approach the gnaour. Maige was taking over her watch now and watching them like a hawk. She could have turned away, but found herself unable to do so. Areon was near them, also immune to the venom. The fang sword was in his hand. Did he mean to tackle the gnaour alone?

  “What are you talking about?” Lavie asked. “Violet has her eye on the Prince. Everyone knows that.”

  Halley smiled. “Maybe she did,” she admitted. “But she hasn’t taken her eyes off the poor boy since the tournament began.”

  “I don’t want him to die, that’s all,” Violet lied, knowing Halley wouldn’t let it fool her.

  “Why do you deny that you like him?” she asked.

  “Because I don’t,” Violet said.

  “A lie,” said Halley.

  Violet turned to her, shocked. Halley had always been a sweet, happy girl. It surprised her that she’d argue about such an irrelevant topic that fervently.

  “Why do you care who I like?”

  “I just think you are making a mistake.”

  “If I am, I am, leave me be.”

  “Alright, but I never took you for such a coward.”

  Violet almost slapped her. “I am not a coward!” she hissed.

  “Yes, you are,” Halley said calmly. “My mother said Irmela did a number on you, but she clearly didn’t know how bad it was.”

  “What does my mother have to with this?”

  “Everything, it seems.”

  “You!”

  “I… am afraid too.”

  That shut Violet’s mouth. Even Maige sneaked a glance at them. The rest were just silent, caught between looking at them and the arena. Ronay and Reim were closing in, a group of warriors at their back, swords at the ready. Violet still couldn’t believe they’d try that. It took immense strength to trip a gnaour – they were enormous.

  “You what?” she asked, shocked more than mad, with the surprise having washed some of the anger away.

  “I’m afraid too, of many things,” said Halley. “Getting a champion who is cruel and who I don’t like, losing someone I might have loved, being kidnapped or killed – you name it.”

  It was very unusual for a calaya to say those things, although Violet suspected they all felt it.

  “What does that have to do with me?” she asked.

  “Every one of us is afraid, but only you let it completely overtake you. I don’t know what Irmela said to you, but she really messed you up.”

  Fury rose back to the surface. “I am not afraid! Stop saying that.”

  “Yes, you are,” Olive said quietly. Violet recoiled from this new unexpected attack. “You’re the only one who doesn’t dare to root for someone.”

  Violet was so stunned she struggled for words for a long moment. “What are you talking about? Maige is the only one of you who has a favorite.”

  “No,” said Olive. That seemed to be it.

  “Who then –” Violet began, but Halley cut her off.

  “If she doesn’t want to share it with you, let it go. That’s not the point. I know who she likes. I know who I like. I know who you like too, Violet, but you refuse to admit it to yourself.”

  “The Prince,” said Violet, but her voice said the words as if they were ash in her mouth.

  Halley sighed. “Yes. Exactly. Violet, you don’t know who the Prince is, where he is, if he’s even here, you don’t know what he’s really like. Don’t you understand? Maige has a favorite, yes, but she’s not the only one. We all root. We’re just not sure if we can say it out loud. But our favorites are real. Yours is a name.”

  “He is real,” was all Violet could think to say, but the words of the other calaya had hit something within her. The fury was gone again, replaced with an emptiness she’d never felt before.

  “I believe you,” Halley said. “But he’s just as much not real. Not for you. You’ve never met him, or if he really is on the arena, you don’t know where. You just want to think he is the one for you.”

  “Maybe he is,” Violet argued, but her voice was getting weaker.

  “Maybe,” Halley allowed.

  They were quiet then. Down on the arena, they had somehow managed to trip a gnaour. It squirmed and thrashed, while the other went on the offensive. Violet was afraid her eyes might dry because she didn’t dare to blink for a second. All she could see was Areon dodging impossible strikes of the gnaour’s tongue, which knocked another warrior against the arena wall. He slumped down, only to get bitten in the next breath.

  They all watched, silent and reverent, at the gnaour’s death and the dying around him. Working together, they had brought it down, but there was only thirty of them left now. Violet watched mutely as Reim walked around the fallen, delivering the mercy of death to those who lay there suffering. The last gnaour was creeping along the walls now, af
raid but defiant. All the more dangerous for the danger it felt.

  “What did Irmela say to you?” Halley asked, when the screams had ended for the time being.

  Violet did not know what to say.

  It was all true, of course – everything that Halley was saying. Other than Maige, Violet knew who her sisters rooted for. She’d seen both of them wince from time to time when the warrior was in danger. If the others didn’t want to share, it was just as well, but something very fundamental had locked into place in her world.

  She really, truly was rooting for a mere name. Violet looked at the Prince’s proxy, sitting there amidst the Raiders. Would she have given her favor to him, if it turned out he really was the Prince?

  “Her favorite died,” was all she said. Damn, the memory of that conversation still hurt after so many years. She heard the shocked gasps of Lavie and Marelle, but Halley was smiling kindly, more like herself now.

  “No he didn’t,” she said.

  “What?” Violet asked. “How could you possibly know that?”

  “My mother was a calaya at the same tournament, as you know. She told me. That’s how she guessed your change had something to do with Irmela. Your mother was very sad when you drifted away from her.”

  There was something shaking within her. Violet felt it, felt the world slowly break apart from its hinges.

  “Told you what,” she dared to whisper. Dared to hope.

  “You think your mother didn’t want the Overlord?” Halley asked. “Violet, she loved him long before the tournament. He was always her favorite.”

  “But…”

  “She didn’t openly root for him because there were many men who wanted her. It’s Irmela. She was a famous beauty, which is why she felt the horrors of the tournament so keenly. She didn’t want the champions to die, thinking she didn’t care at all. Irmela hated everything about the tournaments even back then. Only when a powerful opponent came up as the Overlord’s rival in a duel did Irmela give him her favor. Realizing that if she didn’t do that, he might have thought she didn’t care. My mother says it was only after that that he became the Overlord.”