Princess of the Void

They dress Grant in a black and scarlet tunic, with a high, asymmetric collar. A tight cut. He’s not sure if that’s just for the flattering drape or because he’s at least a foot taller than everyone else here. There’s no sleeves, but judging from the crewmates he sees along the way to Sykora’s cabin, sleeves are a rare commodity around here.

Two commandos in black lead him. Whispers and stares follow him. As he trudges the red-carpeted halls, he notices the clear divide in his captors. The men are smaller than him, but not vastly so. He’d guess the tallest he sees are around five feet. All of them have opaque glass masks over their faces, in various degrees of coverage, always hiding their eyes. Unlike Sykora, whose horns come and go, they seem to have theirs extruded permanently.

The women are much shorter, and barefaced. He sees a panoply of cool-spectrum colors, from magenta to midnight. But always their uniforms are scarlet and black, and always their eyes are red. And always as he passes, the eyes follow, gawking. He sees no other human in his journey. No other aliens of any kind.

They pause before a large door with a golden seal set into the center of its double panels. Two halberds crossed. A guard presses the seal, and speaks: “The alien, majesty.”

A voice pipes through an unseen speaker. “Let him in, thank you, Corporal. And then remain outside.”

The guard jerks his head to Grant. “Step through.”

Grant places himself before the seal and it spins to inversion as it sinks into the door. The panels slide apart and Grant is buffeted with humid, sweet-scented air.

Princess Sykora’s spacious cabin is appointed in scarlet and jet. Silk curtains with intricate millefleur designs and divide the space into thirds. The first, where Grant stands, serves as a gallery full of trophies. The skulls of strange beasts, ornate and alien relics, a wall full of exotic weapons. Drake’s pistol is here, slung on the wall, incongruous to him among the bizarre forms.

The second is dominated by a cylindrical pit within which a riot of overstuffed cushions and draping blankets reside. It’s as much a nest as it is a bed, and it’s huge. Grant’s stomach goes hollow as he surveys it. If he’s understanding Sykora right, he’s going to become well-acquainted with that bed.

The final section is some kind of kitchenette/bath-house combination that eschews carpet for onyx tile, and has a hexagonal tub set into its wall, which is currently overflowing with bubbles. Sykora lounges in the foam, naked as they day she was born (and the day they met). Her robe lies crumpled a few feet away.

She raises her well-hewn arms in welcome. “How do you like our cabin, Grantyde? Not exactly as decadent as the terrestrial royal houses, but comfortable enough for you, I hope. Certainly it beats our previous rendezvous, hmm?”

“Bat—uh, Princess.” Grant takes a step in.

“Ah—shoes, please.” She sticks her foot up out of the water. He steps out of his slippers and approaches.

“Princess Sykora. Listen. I’ve got a… a life down there. You have to take me back, so I can, I can tell someone what’s happening at that place—”

She sinks into the bubbles. “No.”

“You don’t understand. We—”

“You don’t understand, Grantyde. This isn’t your choice to make.” The water sloshes as she lounges back. “I told you. You’re mine.”

“What?”

“You’re mine. By right of my station, I claim you as my property and my husband. That world does not concern you anymore.” Her knees pop out of the sudsy water. “And I am quite excited to introduce you to what does.”

“What?”

“Did the translator not take? Why do you keep saying what? Surely you know what it is to own someone. Your people thought to take me and keep me in that little glass box forever. Me. The Princess of the Black Pike.” She bares her razor-sharp teeth in an unkind grin. “No. I take. I am not taken.”

“Are you… abducting me?”

“Yes,” she says. “You will never set foot on Maekyon again.”

“No. Wait—no no no.”

Her foot splashes with playful emphasis. “Yes, yes, yes.”

“I… I saved you. I let you out.”

“And in recognition, I spared your life and permitted your world’s backwater biosphere to remain intact, rather than cracking its crust.” She scrubs at the blood beneath her nails. “You will serve as—what was your name for Maekyon?”

“Earth.”

“Earth.” Her nose wrinkles. “Like dirt? That’s quite literal. You will serve as Earth’s reparation for imprisoning a Void Princess of the Taiikari.” When she says that, Taiikari, for an instant her lips and her voice form the same sound. “This is hardly sufficient punishment for such a transgression, and yet...” She taps her lower lip. “It’ll do. You thought to own me. Now I am your owner.”

“I—I didn’t do a thing. I’m nobody. I’m a fucking custodian. They aren’t going to miss me or beg you or—there’s no ransom.”

“Come over here and kneel.” Her voice is flat. “I’m tired of craning my neck.”

He hesitates. This is clearly a being used to getting what she wants, and he’s deep in her territory. He approaches the tub and takes a knee.

“I don’t want any begging, and I don’t want any ransom,” she says. “The only thing I wanted from your world is kneeling before me. A beautiful alien to fill my insides and warm my bed.”

“What?”

“Perhaps I should speak more directly while you get used to the implant.” She purses her lips. “I’m taking you as my lover. Husband means—”

“It translated.”

“Then why the what?”

“Because it’s fucking crazy.”

“No, it isn’t.” Her face is inches from his. “You excite me. Your voice, when you sing. Your face, with this bony nose and this strange scruffy hair around your mouth.” She scratches his beard. “You will serve as a fine seat, I think.”

His breath hitches.

“And you’re smooth. No horns or scales or fangs. Like you were made to be touched. And oh, you’re big. It surprises me every time.” Her touch strays down his chest. Soapy water trails down the silk. “You fascinated me from the moment I saw you. Now I possess you. You’ll make a splendid husband.”

Her hand lands on his thigh and squeezes. He flinches.

“You could lift me up so easily, couldn’t you?” she muses. “You could do it one-handed. You could do all sorts of things with me.”

She stands and steps out of the tub. Her skin glistens. There’s a flush along it from the hot water.

“I don’t want to.” He speaks over the lizard-brain parts of him that are clamoring to the contrary. “I don’t want this.”

“You do.” Her sturdy hips cock to one side. Her tail flicks downward and plucks a towel from a pile on the floor, catapulting it into her hand. “You’ve wanted me ever since you saw me in that cell you kept me in. And now that our positions are reversed, you shrink from me. But I’ve seen your desire. I see it now, though you shift to hide it from me.” Her red eyes dilate. “I smell it.”

“I wanted you when I thought you were…” Were what, he asks himself. When you were trapped? Helpless? But he refuses to shame himself. He’s not the bad guy. “I wanted you before I realized you were an asshole,” he says.

“An ass hole!” She laughs delightedly. The towel thwips upward and loops around the back of his neck. She pulls him forward with it, nose-to-nose with her. “We’re going to have some misadventures with this translation implant.”

“I mean what I say.”

Her laugh trails off into a smug grin. “I’m sure you do. It’s just not a common insult among the Taiikari. I might start using it.” She slips the towel across herself. “I look forward to our cultural exchange with great anticipation, Maekyonite. This will be fun.”

“For you, maybe.” He glares. “Where I come from, this is about the most evil thing you can do to someone.”

“You did it to me!” Her voice breaks into a growling snarl as her anger slips the leash. “I lost count of the days you did it to me. You stripped me and filmed me sleeping and pissing and weeping. And ran your little tests. And now the tables are turned, and instead of a fish tank, I am offering you my bed and a vaunted place at my side. You should be kissing my feet.” She leers. The horns are back, growing from her crown. “Maybe I’ll make you.”

“I didn’t do any of that,” he says. “I worked there for two fucking weeks. I didn’t even realize what I was signing up for. And I freed you.”

“You did what I told you to do. Nothing more.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

She takes a deep breath. She shuts her eyes. When she reopens them, her regal aloofness has returned.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says. “We are far from your home now. Far from any who could keep you from me. Farther than you have ever been. You still don’t understand your situation. Here, you are mine, to have however I wish. Any choice I give you is purely out of my generous mercy. Do not look away from me while I am speaking to you, husband.”

Her eyes flash. He refocuses on them with a scowl.

“The things I could do to you.” Her tail draws figure-eights in the air. “I could take you to heights that would melt your Maekyonite mind. I could drown you in such sensation that you’d forget even to dream of defiance, and beg to be my concubine. Or, if you’re truly determined to flee this marriage, I could release you into the void, and watch you stiffen and dessicate. Deal with you like I dealt with your coconspirators.”

He can’t suppress his shiver. How could he have misread this little tyrant so severely?

“Maybe,” he says, trying to keep his voice under control, “you ought to go prepare the airlock.”

Her blood-red eyes narrow. For a moment he sees that fire of anger spark up again. Then she blinks it away and the grin is back. “But where would the fun be in that?” She gives his cheek a light tap as her hand departs it. “No. I won’t hurt you, and I won’t compel you. Not into my bed. I admire this rebellion in you. This fire. It has a hypnotism to it, as fires do. I’m quite content to watch it burn low and flicker out.” She slips back into her robe. “And when it’s gone, and you need a newer, sweeter warmth, when you’re ravenous for me, I’ll have you, and have you, and have you. Until you forget your new language, too. Until the only things on your tongue are your bride’s name. And your bride’s cunt.”

He has never experienced such an intense cocktail of fear, anger, and arousal.

“Unless, of course, you want it now.” She nods toward the tub. “Still warm in there, darling. And room for two, even one as tall as you. What do you say?”

“I say.” He licks his lips. “No goddamn way.”

Her grin is sharp as a knife. He remembers seeing those fangs steeped in human blood. Drake said they drink it, didn’t he? “Good boy.”

The Princess stares at the prisoner. The prisoner stares right back.

Their glaring competition is interrupted by a chiming ring at the door.