Chapter 18
Commander Screl was silent as the shuttle flew them toward Arysetta. Not that silence was unusual for him, but there was definitely a distinct tension in the air that had been absent on the last ride.
Lena watched through the small window as they glided high above the city. The amorphous buildings that seemed so small from the floating isle grew large and intimidating, and there was something pleasant, yet bizarre, about the lack of straight edges.
As they approached the palace, Lena’s body hummed with electric excitement, though a seed of anxiety continued to stay rooted in her chest.
Why did the Sovereign wish to see her? And why was Screl so nervous?
The shuttle landed with a thud on top of the gray central tower, and a large Thren ushered them into the building. She had expected a little more pomp and circumstance regarding the return of a prince, but kept her thoughts to herself.
They entered the building in the same way they entered every room on Screl’s ship; a Thren ran a tentacle along a completely smooth surface and a doorway appeared, as if by magic.
If the ship she had spent the last few days on was a maze, then this palace was King Minos’ Labyrinth.
Two Threns met them at the entrance and led them through undulating corridors and seemingly solid walls. No matter how hard Lena tried, she couldn’t see anything of note, no way to demarcate where they were going.
Screl walked beside her, his tentacles still and hands gripped into fists, and she had to hustle to keep up, her short legs no comparison to the towering alien.
The two pilots had stayed with the shuttle, while the other Thren walked right in front of them. Lena assumed he was a bodyguard of some sort, not that Screl really needed one as far as she could tell.
The group crowded into a small room, and with the press of a tentacle to the wall, she felt a sinking sensation in her stomach, as if they were descending on some sort of lift.
She stifled a laugh as she thought about how strange this would have seemed just a few days ago, standing in an elevator with four hulking, tentacled aliens. Screl loomed close, and she could feel his arm pressed against hers, but the others kept a safe distance.
The lift must have stopped, because a few seconds later, another door appeared, and they exited.
Two more turns and a final doorway and they were in a large, oval room with five colossal thrones at the end.
The elaborate silver chairs formed a semicircle around a dais embedded into the floor in front of them, with small sets of stairs on either side.
The room was enormous, with large windows showcasing a spectacular view of Arysetta.
Hazy light shone in, and Lena wondered if it would be dark soon, her internal clock absolutely ruined after days on the ship.
The walls were the same silvery smoothness as everything else she had seen, with no other decoration to speak of.
Four of the thrones were occupied, with the largest Thren she had ever seen seated in the center one. Lena assumed that must be the Sovereign, and of course the empty chair belonged to Screl.
The excitement from earlier gave way to fear as they walked toward the dais. Why did this feel like she was on trial, about to be condemned? For what? She had no idea.
Screl put his hand out, and she stopped just outside the embedded platform, the Thren entering on his own.
“Prince Rohieth,” the Sovereign said, his voice a thunderous boom that echoed through the minimalist chamber.
Screl bowed low, keeping his eyes on the floor.
“Sovereign. You wished to see me.”
His voice was clear, but quiet. He didn’t make eye contact with his parent, just kept his eyes glued to the ground in front of him.
“My offspring. You have caused me much trouble of late.”
Icy fear gripped Lena’s heart, clenching her stomach into knots. Was she in danger? Was Screl?
The Sovereign moved his gaze to her. His eyes had the same shimmering quality as Screl’s, but were so dark that they almost appeared black. They rippled as if he were observing every detail, and she held her hands clasped together, scared to make any movement.
He was definitely over seven feet tall, his skin a mottled gray with barely a hint of the blue that Screl and Dronzal had in theirs, and he wore silver body armor, as did the other royals at his sides.
As Lena glanced around the room, she realized that all four of them were staring at her, causing a shiver to run down her spine, and not a pleasant one.
The Sovereign jerked his eyes back to Screl with a vicious glare.
“So this is the human,” he said with a sharp bite. “The space station has been hounding us for days about her.”
“Sovereign, I can explain—”
Screl’s protests were silenced by a deep bellow that echoed through the room.
“Silence! Bring her to me!”
The Sovereign didn’t appear to speak to anyone in particular, but a few seconds later Lena felt a muscular Thren grab her shoulders from behind. She struggled, thrashing against her captor, but it was useless, as it always seemed to be with these aliens.
Screl watched her with wide eyes as the Thren forced her onto the platform, leading her past the other royals before pushing her in front of the Sovereign.
Her legs trembled, and she was afraid they’d give out at any moment.
She winced as the Sovereign reached out with a massive tentacle, tilting her chin up to face him.
Lena saw a flash in his eyes and suddenly he had all four of his appendages wrapped around her, running through her hair and circling her neck and arms. She tried to jerk away, cringing from the unwelcome contact, but it was in vain.
Though she had become used to the touch of Screl, even comforted by it, the Sovereign’s was completely different, emanating with malice as he prodded her.
“I knew allowing you to fraternize with the humans was a mistake,” he hissed, his eyes back on Screl. “My advisors told me we needed to make allies, but it has just made you weak. You care too much about such fragile, pathetic creatures.”
The Sovereign drew Lena closer as his tentacles continued to brush over her face and body.
“Please, Sovereign, it is my fault. The human had nothing to do with this. I am the one who deserves punishment,” Screl pleaded, taking a step forward.
The Sovereign shook his head, though he released Lena and pushed her toward the right. The two princes grabbed her and pulled her back against them, their tentacles roving over her body lecherously. She tensed her muscles, though she didn’t bother to fight this time, knowing it would be fruitless.
“Oh, offspring, you will certainly be punished,” the Sovereign said, and with a flick of a tentacle, two large Threns escorted Screl onto the platform.
He didn’t struggle as he stood to face his father, his shoulders slumped in acceptance.
Fear roiled in Lena’s stomach as the Sovereign pulled a large mace from his waistbelt, a long metal shaft topped with a vicious spiked head.
Without warning, he brought the mace down onto Screl’s shoulder with a sickening thud, and she gasped, a jolt of pain charging through her as if she had been hit.
Screl winced at the blow, but did not buckle. The Sovereign raised his arm again and delivered another savage strike, though Screl still did not falter.
Lena watched in horror as he brought down hit after hit against the commander’s body, her teeth chattering with each blow. The pain seemed real, but it couldn’t be. How could it? He was the one being attacked, not her.
After the tenth strike, Screl finally fell to his knees.
There was a low hum emanating from his body, and she could sense his pain as if it were her own. It was excruciating, making it difficult to breathe, and she grimaced at the sight of him, his shirt torn and dark spots blooming on the thin fabric.
The Sovereign raised his arm once again, and Lena finally found her voice.
“Stop!” she yelled, fighting with all her remaining strength against the two princes who restrained her. “Please, stop! You’re going to kill him!”
“Stay quiet,” a voice hissed, though she was almost certain no one had spoken.
Every Thren eye turned toward her, even Screl’s from his place hunched over on the floor, and the Sovereign cocked his head at her outburst.
“Father, I believe Rohieth has had enough,” one of the royals said with a high-pitched voice, and Lena was certain it must be Screl’s sister.
Slowly, the Sovereign lowered his arm; the mace returning to its spot on his waistbelt. She heard laughter from all around her as he approached. An ugly glare rippled across his face as he wrapped one tentacle around her throat and squeezed, just enough to make her uncomfortable.
“You are lucky that my foolish offspring chose a human of such little import to take. If you were an Alliance employee, this might have ruined the Peace Accords. Either way, you will be back where you belong soon enough,” he growled, his eyes spiteful shards of fury.
Screl tried to stand, but crumpled back to the ground all too quickly, groaning as the stinging pain melded with the deep ache of bruised muscles.
Somehow she felt his agony, but not the full force of it, more like an echo that didn’t quite deliver the full punch of intensity that surely would have ended her.
“Remove them,” the Sovereign spat, again to no one in particular, but the effect was immediate.
A Thren she recognized as the one they had arrived with helped Screl up, leading him off the platform and toward the door. The two princes released Lena, and the Sovereign pulled her close to him once more.
“I would take you for myself if I thought you had anything to offer, human,” he snarled, his tentacle still tightly circled around her neck. “Be gone unless you want my other offspring to enjoy you.”
Laughter echoed through the room as the Sovereign released her, and she hurried off the platform, trying to stay as far away from every Thren as she could. She ran to Screl and followed him out the door as the guard supported his weight.
Minutes later, they were in another room, the Thren guard helping Screl remove his shirt and depositing him onto an enormous bed. He looked at Lena seriously, then spoke for the first time.
“I will wait outside the door,” he said, before turning and leaving them alone.
The room had that vaguely familiar quality that all Thren spaces seemed to imbue—polished silver walls and minimalist furniture.
With a deep breath, she cautiously stepped over to the bed, afraid of what she might find. Screl was on his back, a wheezing noise emanating from his chest, though he was eerily still, his eyes squeezed shut.
Deep lacerations split his skin in various spots, thick, red blood oozing from the wounds. Dark bruises were already beginning to form on his exposed skin, and she shuddered at the sight, of the memory of how viciously the Thren Sovereign had beaten his own child.
Strangely, the echoed pain she was feeling was already easing as the seconds ticked by, and she hoped against all hope that it meant Screl was getting better, that he would survive.
“Yavriel,” she whispered, reaching for his shoulder and touching him lightly.
His eyes shot open, and he grabbed her wrist, a look of alarm on his face.
“It’s me,” she said, unable to get away from his firm grip even in his weakened state.
Finally, his eyes focused on her, their normal luminescence returning.
“Lena,” he wheezed, loosening his hold until his arm fell back onto the bed.
“Are you alright?”
Screl breathed heavily, though his eyes remained open, glistening with tears.
“I am sorry,” he said, taking her hand in his. “I should not have brought you here. I should not have done any of this.”
“Are you going to be alright?” she asked again, ignoring his apology.
All that mattered was that he would be okay, that he wouldn’t leave her.
His hand fit perfectly in both of hers, and she squeezed him tight, rage bubbling within her.
At least her parents had the decency to keep their hands off her—all of their sparring had been the verbal kind, so vicious it ultimately led to their divorce.
But Screl’s father was different. She had a sick feeling that the outburst of violence wasn’t a rare encounter, that it was likely something Screl had endured throughout his life, and the thought just about broke her heart.
“I will be,” he breathed, as if every word was difficult to get out. “Please lie with me. Do not leave me.”
This time it was not a command, like he had uttered so many times before. It was a desperate plea, his eyes begging her as she stood next to him.
Lena remembered the fights her parents had that lasted all night, recalled curling into a ball on her bed with tears streaking her cheeks, just wishing someone would be there to hold her, comfort her.
Before she could second-guess, she nodded, walking around to the other side of the bed and removing her jacket and pants.
Lena crawled over to Screl, twisting onto her side and propping herself up with a pillow.
His tentacles reached for her, and she extended an arm, allowing them to encircle her and drag her closer.
She had so many questions, but decided they could wait until he was better and they could get the hell out of here.
He pulled her flush against his body, and she felt the intensity of his pain, though the warmth of his presence blanketed all in glowing heat. Her skin tingled where they touched, a soothing balm that told her he would survive as long as she stayed close.
“Yavriel,” she whispered almost inaudibly, then kissed him on the cheek.
“Amoreth,” he growled, as she kissed him again and again on his shoulders and upper arms.
She took a tentacle in her hand and brought it to her soft lips, savoring Screl’s resulting moan. The heat in her chest flared with the touch, with the sounds, with the proximity to this alien who had hurt her in many ways.
“Come here,” he said, before heaving her onto his lap, wheezing heavily from the exertion.
Lena straddled his hips, running her fingers along his bruised chest as lightly as she could, unable to stop herself from touching him. His hands gripped her waist, much less forcefully than usual, and his eyes were focused on her.
A coil of need rippled through her, and the immediate reaction her body gave him was shocking, especially after the brutality of what his father had inflicted on him.
He ran his tentacles up and down her thighs, and she clenched her legs tight to him, observing him, trying to understand what he wanted from her. The fire in her chest jumbled her thoughts, and yet it was impossible to push him away.
“You should rest,” she said, her voice cracking with need despite her words.
“I do not want to rest,” Screl replied, shaking his head. “Not yet. I want you.”