Page 19 of Taken By the Alien Siren King

His laugh was a low rumble against my back as he resumed tracing those lines, this time with his mouth. Each press of his lips sent little sparks of pleasure radiating outward. I shifted beneath him, suddenly very awake and very aware of how my body responded to his touch.

“I didn’t expect you to be so sensitive there,” he said with another drag of his fingertips. “Not without the scales.”

The observation came with a hint of surprise that made me smile despite myself. Even after last night, there were still discoveries to be made between us. His teeth grazed a spot just above my tailbone, and I jerked, a bolt of pleasure shooting through me.

“Very sensitive,” he amended, and I could hear the smirk in his voice.

I rolled over to face him, taking in his disheveled appearance. He’d been summoned away after a second round of spirited…negotiations. His hair was pulled back in a messy knot, a few strands escaping to frame his face. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and stubble darkened his jaw. He looked exhausted but wired, like he’d been up all night and was running on pure adrenaline.

“Have you slept at all?” I asked, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw.

He caught my hand and pressed a kiss to my palm. “No. Vigas and I have been strategizing all night.”

“And?”

Frustration flashed across his face. “And the old bastard talked me out of storming the palace.”

I sat up, pulling the sheet with me. “You were going to storm the palace? Just like that?”

“Why not?” Lairos paced to the wall of reinforced glass. Restless energy seemed coiled in his movements. “It’s my palace. My throne. My people suffering under Nedaris and his Knights.”

“And you against how many of them?” I asked, trying to keep my voice level despite the spike of fear his words triggered. “That sounds like suicide, not strategy.”

He turned back to me, a dangerous smile playing at his lips. “I’ve faced worse odds.”

“And lived to tell about it through sheer dumb luck, I’m sure,” I muttered, running a hand through my tangled hair.

His laugh surprised me, genuine amusement replacing some of that tightly-wound tension. “Vigas said almost the exact same thing.” He crossed back to the bed and caught my hand, tugging me to my feet. “Come. If I have to wait to retake my throne, I at least want to show you the domain you’ll help me rule.”

I fumbled with the linen wrap, trying to recreate the intricate folds from yesterday. The fabric refused to cooperate, slipping from my grasp as I attempted to tuck and twist it into something resembling proper attire. Lairos watched my struggle with growing amusement until finally stepping in with an exasperated sigh.

“Here,” he said, his fingers deftly arranging the cloth around my body. The brush of his knuckles against my skin made it hard to focus on learning the technique. “Like this,” he murmured, securing the final fold at my shoulder. “Though I much prefer you without it.”

“And any would-be glancers?” I teased. “What would happen if they enjoyed the view too much?”

He hummed noncommittally as he smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from my hips, hands lingering. “Perhaps the kingdom could do without eyes.”

I snorted at the suggestion and headed for the door. He caught me before I could open it, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. His lips pressed softly against mine, a surprisingly tender gesture that sent butterflies fluttering through my stomach.

When he pulled back, his eyes sparkled with mischief as he opened the door with an exaggerated bow. “After you, my queen.”

We moved quickly through Stillwater’s corridors, his restless energy infectious as I kept pace. Guards and personnel stepped aside with respectful nods as we passed.

“This place was my salvation,” he said as we walked, his hand never leaving mine. “When my father sent me away, I thought it was the end of everything. Turns out it was just the beginning.”

He gripped a large wheel set into the wall, spinning it with practiced ease. The heavy door swung open with a soft hiss, and we stepped into a large bay where dozens of Khadians sparred with various weapons.

“Vigas knocked me on my ass right there, daily, until I learned to fight smarter instead of harder.” The pride in Lairos’s voice was unmistakable. “Said a king who relies only on his strength is a king who’ll die young.”

I watched two warriors circle each other with tridents and nets, their movements fluid and deadly. “They’re beautiful to watch,” I admitted. “Like a dance.”

“A dance where one wrong step means death.” His fingers tightened on mine. “Vigas made sure I understood that lesson well. These soldiers put their lives in my hands every time they enter a battle. They are owed consideration when I fight with words instead of weapons.”

I studied his profile, finally seeing why Vigas’s words had cut through his plan to storm the palace. Every move in this fight with Nedaris had to consider more than victory—Lairos had to account for the lives that would be lost reaching it.

The soldiers here weren’t just weapons to be wielded, they were his people. His responsibility.

But ever the irreverent royal, he broke the seriousness with a grin. “Took months before he admitted I might survive being king after all.”

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