Page 4 of Taken By the Alien Killer
“I don’t think anything about this is a story,” he says quietly. “Not one worth reading, anyway.”
Our eyes meet across the board. There’s something between us. Always has been. But it’s louder now. Hotter. Hungrier. I feel it in my fingertips, in the way my breath catches when he stares too long.
And just like that, the moment is broken.
“Starshine!”
My father’s voice—booming and oblivious—sails through the air from somewhere inside the estate. I flinch like I’ve been slapped.
Rayek’s gaze shifts instantly, like a predator returning to patrol.
“Your father,” he says flatly.
“Yeah,” I mutter, pushing away from the board. “My cue to go pretend I’m excited about monogrammed wedding goblets.”
I stand, brushing imaginary dust off my dress.
Rayek rises too, taller than the archways, broader than the damn garden statues. He doesn’t say anything. Just watches me.
I want to say something. But the words dry up on my tongue.
So instead, I smile. One of those tight-lipped, hollow things I’ve perfected over the years.
“Don’t go losing to anyone else while I’m gone,” I toss over my shoulder as I walk away. “I’d hate to think I’m not special.”
I don’t wait for his reply.
The corridors of the palace are quiet except for the soft click of my heels and the insufferable prattle of my mother.
“I was thinking the Feldspars should sit at the north end of the terrace,” she muses aloud, trailing lace-gloved fingers along the curve of a marble banister. “That way the breeze catches the lilies and the musicians don’t drown out the toasts. Or perhaps the center patio. Yes, something symmetrical.”
I nod like I’m listening. I’m not.
Everything she says glides right past my ears like birdsong—pleasant, harmless, utterly detached from the storm inside my chest.
“And Kaspian,” she continues, in that syrupy voice she uses when she thinks she’s being subtle. “He’s turned out so well, hasn’t he? Strong jaw, kind eyes, cultured accent. And he’s taller than his father now, did you know that? And clever! Just like his grandfather was before the alcohol.”
I press my fingertips into the side of my temple. “Mother, please don’t talk about his alcoholic grandfather while planning my wedding.”
She laughs—like tinkling glass over poison. “Oh hush, it’s not like anyone else remembers. That whole scandal was ages ago.”
She sweeps into a turn, skirts fluttering, her heels clicking in rhythm with her breathless optimism. “Honestly, darling, I don’t know why you’re dragging your feet. You’ll be beautiful. The Feldspars are thrilled. Chamberland will unite with Zarathe, and this whole region will finally stop holding its breath.”
“I didn’t realize I was personally responsible for the planetary lung function,” I murmur.
She clicks her tongue. “Don’t be flippant. This is legacy, Star. This is what we raised you for.”
Raised me for. Like I’m a wine meant for opening on a political anniversary. Like I’ve been corked and shelved and aged just right so someone else can swirl me in their glass and declare me palatable.
She doesn't notice my silence. Or maybe she does, and just decides to talk louder.
“We’ve got the floral techs arriving next week to design the centerpiece, and the composer’s already sent over samples for the procession. Oh, and your father—bless him—he finally agreed to wear the old family sword for the ceremony, can you believe that? He says it’s heavy, but I told him?—”
“Mother.” I stop walking. She halts mid-sentence, skirts rustling.
I take a breath, slow and shallow, and meet her gaze. “Can I… have a little time? Alone?”
She tilts her head. Her eyes, all amber sparkle and painted lashes, narrow just slightly.
