Alien Prince

Chapter 1

Eklar

“When exactly did the attack occur?” I demand. 

General Vagon Babo, commander of the royal guard, sits just beside my father’s empty ceremonial throne in the War Room. 

“His Majesty will join us shortly, Prince Eklar, and he can elucidate.” The General wipes the sleep from his red, drawn eyes. I imagine he’s been up for days.

“I didn’t ask about my father. I asked about the attack.”

It’s too late at night and too unstable a situation to cut the General any slack. None of us gathered here — drawn from among the ranks of the highest diplomatic and military leaders, in addition to the highest-ranking members of the family — is in the mood for the situation we’re facing. 

Soldiers, diplomats, engineers, logisticians, and interrogators have been streaming back and forth past the open War Room door all day in the royal palace of the Treetop Kingdom. The crowd of visitors has only gotten larger, despite the cruel hour. I rarely see things so busy during the day, much less in the dead of night. 

But these are not normal circumstances.

I turn to my brother the Crown Prince. “Elvion? What have you heard?”

“Same as you, Brother. We just arrived from Verus ourselves.” Eklar puts his arm around his human fated mate, Princess Erisa, who rules his city-state with him.

I nod and scowl.

“Just be grateful, Prince Eklar, that we received the intelligence as rapidly as we did,” the General notes.

“I’d be grateful, General, if there were a little more intelligence in this room.”

There’s nothing like the threat of war to stir up resentment among those on the same side. It’s a good thing it’s only the two eldest brothers here — me and Elvion — and not the younger ones as well, or else we might be on the brink of war amongst our own principalities.

General Babo presided over the tattooing ceremony commemorating my first battle victory when I was eighteen, making him something of a Godfather to me. His expression suggests he still sees me as the punk kid on the inking table, not the royal Prince who’s second in line to the throne. 

He glares in my direction. Suddenly, he’s overcome with a look of awe. He stands and bows, and only then do I realize I’m not the subject of his deference. 

“Your Highness.”

We all stand as my father, King Tarkon, and my mother, Queen Ayndessa, enter the solemn chamber. They take their seats at the head of the table on their War Room thrones, hewn from millennia-old sandu trees that bear carvings of our Kingdom’s historic battles.

This attack, an unprovoked siege on a historic estate in Lakes and Rivers Kingdom, orchestrated by a disgruntled rogue militia, shames the legacy of all who have served for our cause, as King Tarkon himself can attest. He fought in the Battle of Twin Wood, depicted on the armrest beneath his right hand and in ink on his left shoulder. 

That battle secured the stronghold of Vinalia, the city I now govern, for our Kingdom. The record of it was tattooed on my own body when I took my post.

The King speaks. “I get no more pleasure from rousing you with such dreadful news than you get from it, my sons. General, could you please brief the eldest Princes?” 

“It would be my honor, Your Majesty. The militia led by Captain Feryx led an unprovoked siege on Trencher’s Reach two days ago, a stronghold in Lakes and Rivers Kingdom. It’s been disputed in the past, but settled territory for decades.”

“Does he have hold of any of it?” Elvion asks.

“No. Thank the Divine Ones.” The General sighs. “King Keilon’s armies drove them back, for good or for ill, but regardless, they retreated and never held the fort. The King’s Guard of Treetop was mobilized as well. Feryx, the leader, has been apprehended.”

Father stands, bringing the room to a hush.

“So, my friends, it has not come to war with Lakes and Rivers. But it very well may. We have two items of grave concern to consider. One, controlling our own militias, can wait. The other, staving off a war that Lakes and Rivers would be well within its rights to declare, cannot.”

A commotion in the hallway turns all of our heads toward the door.

“Traitors to your Treetop brethren!” a voice cries.

“Feryx? He’s here?” Elvion takes the words from my mouth.

“Yes,” King Tarkon answers. “We need to send a message, both within the Kingdom and outside of it. Any action that goes against the King will be dealt with by the King. Any threats to our allies will be treated as an attack on the King himself.”

“And King Keilon knows that?”

“Imminently, he will. Ambassador Ronklin is taking an orb to brief him as we speak. He’ll initiate a holo-call the moment he can. Captain Oro, is our holo-screen ready?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“What if Keilon thinks we provoked it?” I ask.

“King Keilon,” my mother reminds me.

“I plan to invite King Keilon to interrogate our prisoner. But he may require more convincing. After this call, we should know more about where we stand with Keilon.”

“You mean King Keilon?” 

My father whips his head toward me. “Listen to your mother. Don’t make enemies, and that includes your King.”

A grim silence overtakes the room. I realize this is the closest to war we’ve been in my twenty-eight years. I instantly think of Merina, my daughter, sleeping sweetly in the chambers down the hallway, the ones I occupied during my childhood in Vilaria.

Losing her mother is tragic enough for a four-year-old. She doesn’t need to know the privations of war as well.

“Sir, we have Ambassador Ronklin online. With him is His Royal Highness of Lakes and Rivers Kingdom, King Keilon.”

It takes a moment for the image to render. Tension fills the room as we await King Keilon’s face, along with the clues it will hold regarding all of our fates.

The clearer image brings no relief. An angry vein in King Keilon’s deep golden skin practically erupts through his burgundy tattoos.

Situations like this make me grateful for being the ‘spare,’ not the heir. I look over at Elvion, whose face is as inscrutable as my father’s. Their neutral expressions don’t fool me.

What can my father even say? I think to myself, grateful it’s not me.

“Your Royal Highness King Keilon, my dear friend and ally. I apologize for the dark circumstances that bring us to this call. I consider an attack on your realm an attack on my own.”

King Keilon cocks a skeptical eyebrow.

“I appreciate the sentiment, King Tarkon. There is no need to apologize to me…unless you were somehow…involved.”

I study my father’s face. I know he must be furious, but his face doesn’t betray anything. There must be some secret school that exists to teach heirs to the throne how to conceal their true feelings because it’s definitely not genetic. I’m sure anyone looking at me can read the dismay on my face.

“My King, please be assured, this was an act of treason within the ranks of Treetop Kingdom in addition to being a war crime against yours. It was a strict violation of my orders and an attack on a treasured ally.”

“I hope that’s true, King Tarkon. For your sake especially.”

“I value no alliance more highly than ours with the Lakes and Rivers Kingdom, Your Grace. We have captured the rogue who carried out this attack, and he is being held for interrogation. We will gladly allow you to question him and subject him to your Kingdom’s justice.”

“That can wait until the morning, King Tarkon. However, what cannot wait are the discussions that must take place between our two Kingdoms. Mediated discussions. Some of my kind are already calling for war.”

“We would be humbled to have you as our guests, or, should you extend us an invitation, to discuss it in your territory,” my father says. 

“I don’t believe either of those options will work.”

Those in the room look at each other questioningly. Where then?