The Alien Prince’s Dubious Bride (Escape to Haven County)
Chapter 1
1
I let the loud groan of annoyance in my head become audible because I’m alone in my Lake Union studio apartment. The email I’m staring at continues to announce to my disbelieving eyes that Wildwood Publishing, the parent company of approximately one hundred travel and hobby magazines, will no longer be accepting freelance submissions. They’re very sorry, increasing costs, et cetera.
Flipping to the other browser tab where my bank balance is displayed, I just want to whimper. That one I hold back. I didn’t get this far by giving up. They didn’t say it in the email, but I know Wildwood has decided to adopt AI for all of their fluff pieces previously written by people like me. And I can’t really blame them. Nobody reads them anyway, so why not let the robot do it? We aren’t talking scintillating interviews here. It’s things like one hundred nine-patch quilt patterns you can sew in front of the TV, and food safety on the modern Oregon Trail.
Although they’re only one of several publishing houses that pay the rent, the writing is on the wall. I need to either start leveling up to the feature pieces or I’m going to have to give in and get a nine-to-five job. Which no longer exists unless it’s minimum wage, as I’ve informed my over anxious parents a million times. It’s more like six-to-nine and I don’t mean a three-hour shift.
Sighing, I get up to open my last bottle of wine. It will have to remain the last until I can figure out a new sustainable strategy for remaining independent.
Pouring a large glass, I admire the deep red tones. It’s a very pretty wine. Far more suitable for a fancy date than lounging in my favorite sleep pants and over-sized t-shirt. But needs must and all that.
I sit back down at the computer to figure this shit out. Valentine’s is coming up — it’s about three weeks away. If I can come up with a unique angle — something AI would be incapable of imagining then maybe I stand a chance. And If I can find it in the next week or so I can at least submit it for syndication. Not the easiest thing to do, but I have made some contacts over the years that might be willing to do me a favor. Even that won’t solve all my problems, but it might get enough eyeballs to secure more work.
Okay, strategy in place, but what’s the angle? An image pops into my mind of the strangest ad I’ve seen in a while (and that’s saying something) from one of the last physical magazines I still receive. It’s an old science fiction fantasy publication that exists on limited print rights from authors that would say hell no to electronic distribution. But never mind that, the ad was simply a notice for a dating service, but still extremely odd. Now, where the hell did I leave that magazine?
I plow through the stack of notebooks and miscellaneous crap piled on my desk. Nope. Then I move on to the kitchenette and under the bed. Finally, I locate it beneath a stack of towels in the bathroom. I’m not sure how or why it landed there and, frankly, I don’t care.
Refilling my glass, I adjourn to the small loveseat by the window and flip through until I find it.
Would you like to explore a distant planet or galaxy with a faithful, protective alien mate by your side? The Zotari Empire is now accepting applications! You must be single and over the age of eighteen to apply. More information will be provided during the matching process.
There’s no phone number or address, just a website. I navigate to it on my phone. There’s no additional information there either, really, just a survey. A very personal detailed survey that has me saying hell no. But my instincts are up. There’s a story here, even if it is a cult trying to lure desperate single women into its clutches.
Turning on my sleuthing skills, I go back to my laptop and start looking into the Zotari Empire. It must be a fictional reference of some kind that’s being used to catfish people. Except the only mention I can find, waaay down in the bowels of the internet, is a property transfer in Washington State. Not near any major city — it’s out in the boonies — some place called Haven County. And they had some money to play with because they purchased over three hundred acres.
Google Maps isn’t any help. For some strange reason, that entire county has nothing but blurry trees. No street view available, not even in Nordquist or Snowberry the two largest towns. How very strange.
Maybe it’s time for a road trip. That way I can get pictures as well. I send off a note to my older sister, Hannah, letting her know where I’m going. She won’t read it until I’m already on the road, so she won’t get a chance to dissuade me.
Suddenly, I’m excited about this new adventure. I throw the basics into a carry-on and flop into bed. I’ll head out at first light and hopefully be at the door of the so-called Zotari Empire by lunch.
My eyes blink open in the dim light of my personal quarters. Someone is frantically calling my name, well, my title anyway.
“Your Eminence! Your Eminence!”
I turn my head to see who felt a sudden urge to interrupt my meditative sleep. By my internal clock, I had at least two more days coming to me.
It’s Mykkal, the closest I have to a friend on this floating palace. He must have been nominated as the least likely to incur my wrath. Seeing that he has my attention, he continues, “Your Eminence, there’s been a message for you. A potential mate has been identified. Your presence on the planet Earth is requested immediately.”
I blink again. I must be dreaming. Not only did I not request a mate be found for me, but nobody requests my presence. Ever. They come to me. Unless it’s my grandmother, of course. But she’s said more than once that she’s done with me. Although seeing as I’m her heir to the throne, that doesn’t carry as much weight as she’d like.
Sitting up, I rub a hand over my face, trying to wash the sleep away and toss my battle braids over my shoulder. The tie holding everything up and out of the way must be somewhere in the bedding. “Say that again, Mykkal, and slowly. It sounded like you said I had a mate, which would imply I requested one and I know I didn’t.”
Mykkal stutters, “N-n-n-no, your Eminence, you didn’t. Przzt’l checked on that first thing, to make sure the message was valid, even though it had all the proper signatures. It appears that the Empress placed the request on your behalf.” He pauses to take a few steps back. “Five years ago.”
“ Tradz ,” I bite out the colloquial word for shit. Mykkal knows I avoid using the more common and far more satisfying drak, as it’s my nickname. There is one saving grace to my parents damning me with what is essentially the title of Prince Fuck. The Empire’s etymologists insist the word came about because of the original Prince Drakkon’s popularity with the ladies several millennia ago.
“You can still call me Drak, Mykkal. Not that much has changed from our battle days.”
His gaze shifts to the side before he answers, “They have, though. The Empress may be in good health for her age, but she’s still approaching her two hundred and fifth birthday. It won’t be long before she cedes the seat to you, willing or not. And I can both serve you better and maintain my own health if your enemies don’t assume I have your ear.”
Sighing, I slip out of the warm bed. “Fair enough. Tell me about this Earth and how long will it take to get there.”
He trails me to the cleaning tube. As the fine mist fills the enclosed space, he informs me of my future bride and her home world.
“It’s a relatively new planet, your Eminence. Both in development and our discovery of it. They are not a part of the Empire, but discussions so far have been promising. This union would almost certainly seal the deal.”
I frown at that. “If they aren’t even part of the Empire, how does this possibly benefit anyone?”
Amusement fills Mykkal’s voice. “Humans are something of a universal mate, your Eminence, capable of producing children with many, if not most, of the races in the Empire. In particular, those that have seen a population decline. And there are approximately half a billion unmated females of reproduction age on the planet, sir.”
Oh. I now understand the bureaucratic appeal. “Well, can’t one of those worthy veterans have this girl? Hell, all of them? It can’t look right for a royal to just swoop in and grab the first one, right?” I’m pleased with this line of logic. It just might get me out of the whole thing.
“I’m sorry, your Eminence, but the matching program doesn’t work like that. It analyzes both genetic and personality functions. And… well, the days are gone when we can just swoop in and steal the women, sir. It looks better if they volunteer. Things have been a little slow in that department. Knowledge of other species has been entertained but not confirmed among the populace, sir. In other words, they think the whole thing is a hoax. Your marriage would no doubt open the floodgates for all those veterans you spoke of to find happiness.”
He’s really good with the guilt trip. “Fine. How long do I have to brace myself?”
“About a week, your Eminence.”
Sighing, I flip the switch for the drying function and then accept the uniform Mykkal hands me. “Well, does this girl have a name? I suppose I’d better learn to pronounce it correctly.”
“C.J., sir. It’s two letters of their alphabet. None of the staff on site has been able to determine what it stands for.”
My eyebrows go up at that. I’ll find out. Probably in less than two seconds flat. Retying my braids at the back of my head, I nod to Mykkal and follow him out of my quarters. For better or worse, members of the Royal House are unable to travel by transport due to the inherited nanobots, so it’s the old-fashioned ways of travel for us. Which does at least give me a few days to study up on this young female and what I’m about to contend with. I’m tired of all the simpering misses hoping I’ll bed them for bragging rights. Or, better yet, elevate one of them to Empress so she can lord it over all her friends. I shudder at the thought. This girl had better understand fast that I won’t tolerate her acting like a jealous Seetle bird.
“Przzt’l has prepared a file for you, your Eminence. It’s waiting on your personal console,” Mykkal announces as we step onto the bridge. At the very back of the room is a fancy chair I’m supposed to sit in, making it look like I’m the one in charge. We all know that’s not true and I loath pretending. When I saw active duty, my skills were gunnery and hand to hand combat, hard not to be good at that last one with the particular gifts of the Royal House. Command was never my dream, nor do I seek it now. Still, the seat is well out of the way of those who do have work to do and it has all the necessary technology. I sit and immediately key in my request for breakfast. A drone will deliver it shortly. Then I brace myself and open Przzt’l’s file.