Chapter 1
Jolie
I honestly didn’t know if I’d qualify what went on between Prince Qurbaga and me as sex. Especially since I’d never truly felt his cock enter me—not surprising since the appendage was no larger than my little finger.
He’d never know it, though. Meryl Streep didn’t have shit on me.
The way I squirmed and bucked and moaned and screamed—like the deli scene from When Harry Met Sally on steroids—one would think Qurbaga was fucking my brains out.
Really, if one had to be a sex slave in space, it wasn’t too bad a gig.
The prince liked beautiful things, so he didn’t allow me to be mistreated, and he fed me well.
In exchange, all I had to do was be at his beck and call—which for Qurbaga and his well-stocked harem only amounted to a couple of times a month—and give an Oscar-worthy performance.
Thankfully, Kwado didn’t kiss, and since his species had apparently descended from frogs, I was immensely grateful for that small mercy.
Qurbaga stood nearly seven feet tall, his mottled green-yellow skin glistening with a thin layer of protective mucus that caught the light like oil on water. Large, bulbous eyes, each the size of a human fist and a sickly yellow color, protruded from the sides of his broad skull.
His mouth stretched impossibly wide across the lower half of his face, lined with rows of needle-sharp teeth designed for catching prey whole rather than chewing.
And when he spoke, a deep resonant croak emerged from the inflatable vocal sac beneath his chin, which pulsed rhythmically with each word like a grotesque heartbeat.
Four-fingered hands ended in webbed digits tipped with retractable claws, while his feet were massive, padded things that made no sound when he walked, allowing him to move with an unsettling silence.
I’d grown up fishing with my dad, so the whole ‘frog’ thing didn’t bother me that much. The thing I hated most about Qurbaga was his ego.
He rolled off me with a wet, squelching sound, his massive bulk shifting like a landslide of mottled flesh.
Snorting through the slits that served as his nostrils, he preened with self-satisfaction, his pathetic excuse for a cock disappearing beneath the gelatinous roll of flab that hung from his belly like a deflated balloon.
“You sounded pleased, female,” he croaked. Smugness dripped from his words like the perpetual slime coating his skin.
“Yes, thank you, my prince, I am well pleased.” The words tasted like bile in my mouth, but I delivered them with the sweetness of honey laced with arsenic.
Seriously, did they have Oscars in space?
Maybe they should. I couldn’t be the only human in slavery who deserved one for this level of theatrical deception.
I sat up on the bed, my movements deliberately languid as I arranged the gossamer-thin excuse for a dress to cover my body.
The fabric, if it could even be called that, felt like spider silk against my skin.
Beautiful but fragile, much like my carefully constructed facade.
Qurbaga heaved himself upright, heading toward the chest that held his expansive wardrobe.
Because of his species’ peculiar anatomy and the fact that their genitals retracted into a protective slit when not aroused, he didn’t bother with anything as mundane as undergarments.
Instead, he favored sumptuous robes in jewel tones crafted from the finest velvet and silk that credits could buy.
“We will arrive at the Ardeese Valout soon,” he announced, his bulbous eyes swiveling independently to fix me with an unblinking stare.
The light caught the perpetual sheen of mucus on his skin, creating an oil-slick rainbow effect that might have been beautiful if it weren’t so repulsive. “How progresses Lilibet’s training?”
Ice water flooded my veins, but I masked the terror with a smile so radiant it could have powered a small star.
“She does well,” I lied, even as the thought of what his idea of training entailed made my stomach churn more violently than the lingering sensation of his slime coating my skin.
“Excellent,” Qurbaga rumbled, the sound vibrating through his chest like distant thunder.
He hopped to the side of the bed with surprising grace, his hand—cold, damp, and smelling faintly of stagnant pond water—coming down on my head in a patronizing pat.
“We will rendezvous with her new owner on the Ardeese Valout.”
“What?” The word escaped before I could stop it, my carefully maintained composure cracking like ice under pressure.
“Her new owner.” If Qurbaga noticed the naked alarm that flashed across my features, he didn’t show it.
His mouth stretched into what passed for a smile among his kind—a horrifying display of needle-sharp teeth glistening with saliva.
“I have made her a gift to a very important business associate with... particular tastes.”
White-hot rage blazed through me, and I wanted nothing more than to watch the life drain from those grotesque yellow eyes.
I could do it too, rather easily. Qurbaga thought me so thoroughly broken and docile that he’d carelessly left an ornate dining knife on the breakfast tray, the blade sharp enough to slice through his hide like butter.
I’d been a nurse once upon a time; the mechanics of sinking steel into flesh held no squeamishness for me.
But I couldn’t kill him. If I killed him, it would mean my own death, and that would leave no one to protect her. No one to shield her from the horrors that awaited. Instead, I masked my features with gracious submission, crafted my smile perfectly, and executed my most elegant bow.
“I will see to it that Lilibet is prepared for her new... circumstances.” Helen Mirren didn’t have shit on me either.
Qurbaga dismissed me with a casual flick of his webbed fingers, the gesture as thoughtless as swatting away an insect. “Excellent. You may return to the harem.”
I bowed again, my spine curving with practiced deference as I retrieved my robe from where Qurbaga had carelessly discarded it on the polished marble floor. The garment, crafted from a terrycloth-like fabric, eagerly drank up the residual slime, providing blessed relief.
After three years of captivity, I had become such an established fixture in Qurbaga’s harem that the other inhabitants barely registered my presence as I navigated the corridors.
The prince’s vessel was a monument to excess.
Less spaceship than floating palace, so impossibly vast that even as it hurtled through the cosmos at unimaginable speeds, one could barely detect the slightest tremor of movement.
Every surface gleamed with obscene opulence.
Plush carpets woven from the fur of extinct creatures cushioned my bare feet, while chandeliers dripping with precious stones cast prismatic rainbows across the vaulted ceilings overhead.
Instead of taking the familiar turn that would lead me back to the harem chambers, I veered left, my feet carrying me toward the kitchens.
The pilgrimage had become as sacred as any religious ritual—my post-Qurbaga journey for the contraceptive tea.
While the biological incompatibility between humans and the egg-laying Kwado species suggested pregnancy was impossible, I refused to take any chances.
Binwee stood perched on her well-worn wooden stool like a blue-skinned cherub, her diminutive frame hunched over a brass pot that had seen countless brewing sessions.
Aromatic steam rose in lazy spirals from the vessel’s depths, carrying the ghost of what my Earthbound memories insisted was lemongrass.
Though three years of captivity had taught me that memory could be a cruel trickster.
Binwee belonged to the Framaddi species, a people renowned throughout the galaxy for their artistic mastery.
Her skin held the luminous quality of polished turquoise, while her eyes blazed like twin sapphires set in her cherubic face.
Snow-white hair twisted into a practical bun atop her head, secured with jeweled pins that caught the kitchen’s warm light.
I encountered Binwee on my first day in Qurbaga’s harem.
She too bore the invisible shackles of slavery, and we had forged a quick friendship.
While many of the harem’s females navigated captivity through backstabbing and betrayal, after all this time I knew that Binwee’s loyalty to me was unshakeable.
Her brilliant blue eyes found mine the moment I crossed the threshold, and without a word, she nodded toward a delicate porcelain cup waiting on the wooden counter.
The liquid within still radiated warmth, the dark brown surface releasing an aroma that reminded me unpleasantly of stagnant swamp water.
“How was it?” Her voice carried a note of sympathy, while her expression twisted into a grimace that told me she already knew the answer to her question.
I rolled my eyes and shrugged.
“Then why do you look like you want to kill somebody?” She arched one bushy white eyebrow, a stark contrast against her skin. In our years of friendship, Binwee had become more than my closest confidante.
A growl rumbled deep in my throat as I settled onto a nearby stool.
I lifted the cup to my lips and downed the bitter tea in one determined gulp, the tea burning a trail down my throat.
I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth, holding back a grimace.
“Qurbaga told me he plans to give Lilibet to a new owner when we reach the space station.”
“Fucking bastard,” Binwee snarled, punctuating her fury by rapping her long wooden spoon against the pot’s rim sending metallic echoes ringing through the kitchen.
She had enjoyed learning English and showed a particular enthusiasm for the language’s more colorful expressions—with fuck and shit holding places of honor in her expanding vocabulary.