Free Alien Prince: (Bride of Qetesh) An Alien SciFi Romance by Juniper Leigh Page A

slaves are sold off, that’s it. Then they’re en route to the farthest corners of the galaxy. And who knows what kind of records they keep? If they’re sold off, we may never find them again.”
    I took the bowl from her hands and set it aside. “I know we are not so advanced a species,” I said, “but I also know that the Spire at the center of town is the ship that brought us here some 200 years ago. I know how its communication systems work, and I know that no one would deny me access to it.”
    “So you’ll help me hail the Atria , then?”
    “I will.”
    She threw her arms about my neck and hugged me tight. Startled by the sudden show of affection, I brought one hand up to gently pat her back before I pried her arms away. “We must go,” I said. “The trek to the village will take us two days, and we do not know how long your friends have aboard that vessel.”
    To prepare for the journey, I filled a satchel with dried meat and water skins, sleeping furs, and knives, and I slung my bow and quiver over my shoulders. Lorelei offered to shoulder some of the burden, but I wouldn’t hear of it. She was small and I was not. I would carry the load.
    We set out along the river, not talking much because Lorelei struggled just to keep up with my steady pace. We took frequent breaks, and sat basking like lizards in the sunlight, and spoke of nothing in particular. I relished the curve of her beneath the fabric of her tunic. I loved how the light caught a shine in her ink black hair.
    As the daylight began to wane, we came upon a small campground: two tents that looked like the bones of a gutted fish, their gaping mouths pointed at a dead fire pit, had been set up in a clearing by the river. This was a well-trodden camp with packed dirt floors all around the perimeter. We slowed as we passed, and I saw a tall, thin woman emerge from one of the tents, a basket of fruits in her arms. I recognized her, but from where?
    Then I saw her companion emerge from the opposite tent, and I broke into a beaming smile. Waelden. My old friend. I laughed low in my belly as I marched toward them, Lorelei obediently following at my heels.
    “Fancy meeting you here, old friend,” I called out when we were still some paces off. Waelden turned and held a hand up to his brow to shield his eyes from the daylight.
    “Do my eyes deceive me?” He shouted, a grin curling the corners of his mouth. “Is it really Calder Fev’rosk?”
    “The one and only.” We came to each other, reaching out with our right hands to grip one another’s elbows. But this customary greeting was altogether too formal for us old friends, and we embraced with a slap on the back.
    “Waelden Ramarek, this is Lorelei Vauss.” I gestured to the human girl, round and rare as autumn fruit, and she proffered a smile and stepped forward, her hand extended.
    “It is an honor to meet one of Calder’s friends,” she said, so formal, so polite. Waelden took her tiny hand and gave it a squeeze.
    “Calder, you old dog,” he said, a twinkle in his good eye. “I thought you swore you’d never mate.”
    “Ah, I haven’t,” I said, my face growing hot.
    “Uh huh,” Waelden grunted. “Well, you will remember my wife Vanixa.” The reedwoman made no move to shake my hand, or Lore’s. “Vanixa, this is Calder Fev’rosk—”
    “I remember him,” she said coldly.
    “Ah, so my lady has learned the language of her husband, I see,” I said, and she turned her dark eyes away from me and to Lorelei.
    “Who is this?” Vanixa demanded.
    “I am Lorelei Vauss,” she said, then rattled off some words in a language I did not recognize. The sudden shift surprised Vanixa, whose face lit up at the sound of what I can only imagine was her mother tongue. Vanixa made her reply, but then something in what Lorelei said next soured her again, and she gave a wave of her hand.
    “What is it?” Waelden asked. “What did she say?”
    “I said,” Lorelei interjected, “that the