Page 69 of You're Not My King!

His sad gaze dropped to the ground. “Oh.”

Maybe gallows humor wasn’t the best tactic. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Cesare.”

I hummed in appreciation. Cute name—it sounded Italian. “I’m Reuben. I would shake your hand, but….” I cleared my throat. Never mind.

There was a brief pause, but instead of surrendering to that awkward silence—which would have been so easy to do—I actually processed what he’d said and my brow furrowed. “You just got here? I thought drop offs from A&R were only once a year or did you mean?—”

“I was delayed,” the boy cut in, sniffling. “They waited for me to turn twenty-one.”

“Ah.” Poor fucker. Abducted by aliens so close to his birthday. I wondered what the reason was for them waiting for it, but I didn’t pry. Not into that, at least. “So, this is the first clan you’ve been through, then?”

He nodded. “I was picked up at the trading place and brought here. They said my skills were useless, so no one else would want me.” His voice wavered, and I noticed his bottom lip wobbling. “I… I just want to go home. I’m so scared.”

Ah, shit. He was full-on hiccup-sobbing now, and I didn’t know what the fuck to do. I was no good at the reassurance shit. My instincts told me to say that it’d all be okay, that he’d love it here, but I didn’t have the heart to lie to him. This place was unpredictable, nothing like my home with Vo’ak, and there was no way of knowing what was going to happen to him.

“I know it sucks, but just hang in there, alright?” Guards be damned, I reached over and awkwardly squeezed his hand, hoping it gave him some comfort. “I’ll try to get us both outta here.”

“Promise?”

Fuck, why had I said that? I couldn’t escape a paper bag if it was pulled over my head, never mind a psycho alien chief with a shit-ton of armed guards and oversized rat hitmen. I was relying heavily on the chance that Vo’ak was two steps behind and already hunting me down. The berries had obviously worked without swallowing, because there was no way I’d have made it ten feet from the spring without him sensing my distress otherwise.

Unless he was teaching me a lesson for being a brat, but I had to hope his possessiveness outweighed his pettiness.

But then, if the berries had worked, wouldn’t the tattoo on my wrist have faded? Maybe the effects didn’t work on Great Leaders’ mates? Or the tattoo was permanent even if the bond was not. At that thought, I felt oddly glad it remained, considering it was basically his collar. If I was to be stuck here, at least I had something of his that they would never be able to take from me.

Unless they chopped off my hand, of course.

Cesare was still waiting for my answer, and I instantly crumbled at the sight of those big brown eyes staring up at me with the last sliver of hope he probably possessed. I plastered on a fake smile. “Sure.”

Come on, Vo’ak. Don’t make a liar outta me.

One of my vermin escorts reappeared, unceremoniously snatching up the dangling section of rope and urging me into the hut. He ignored my yelp of pain, marching onward without bothering to check the state of the merchandise. Honor among thieves clearly didn’t apply to these fuckers.

Instead of bitching about it, I studied the near-empty tent, unsurprised to see it was just as plain and boring as the outside. Stumbling farther, I clocked the other rats hovering to one side, while two Ly’zrd guards stood at the far end, one on each side of the massive stone throne.

With who I assumed was the chief of this shithole lounging on top of it.

Oh, goody.

I was shoved to my knees at his feet before bony fingers threaded through the hair at the back of my head and pulled sharply, arching my neck. I bit my tongue to stifle the hiss, sneering up at the asshole who stared blandly down at me in return.

He was older than I had expected, and not at all the tough, brutish warrior in my mind’s eye. He seemed a little emaciated and haggard, his gray hair matted with blue blood, and many raised scars scattered over his thin face and body. One of his legs was hooked over an arm of the throne as his elbow rested on the other, head propped on his fist. He was the embodiment of a spoiled prince judging the quality of his birthday present, silent as the grave with a blank expression on his face.

I was almost offended.

“What the fuck is this?”

Against my will, my eyebrows rose to my hairline at his drawling tone. I hadn’t expected him to speak perfect English. Or any, for that matter. It threw me for a loop.

A heated discussion in a language I didn’t recognize ensued, and all I could do was pinball between the chief and the rat leader, pretending I understood a single thing they argued about. There was a disappointed monologue, a bit of pleading, then some snarling and growling before it was resolved way too quickly, with the arrows-for-hire being boredly dismissed, evidently annoyed with the outcome before storming from the tent.

Looked like they weren’t getting their money.

Pause a moment while I find my sympathy.

The chief hummed, eyeing me with what I guessed was hunger. “They brought the wrong human, but you are a delicious morsel, nonetheless.”

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