Page 27 of Alien Prince's Fated Mate

But I wasn’t one of them. I was human, an outsider.

Across the fire, Tharon spoke with a group of hunters, his bearing regal despite his torn clothes. A child ran up to show him a carved wooden toy. He crouched down, examining it with exaggerated interest, praising the clumsy craftsmanship.

“He’ll make a good father someday,” Mahra murmured.

My chest ached. I looked away from the domestic scene, focusing on my bundles instead. I couldn’t afford these feelings, this yearning for something I could never have.

But watching him move through his people, switching effortlessly between stern prince and gentle protector, made it harder to remember that.

Later, the sun slipped behind the mountains, painting the sky in deep purples that reminded me of Tharon’s flowers. After sharing another meal around the fires, Mahra led me back to her tent and I looked around more closely.

The interior glowed with the warm light of oil lamps, casting dancing shadows on the woven tapestries that lined the walls. Thick rugs covered the ground, their intricate patterns telling stories I couldn’t read. The air held the spicy scent of night-blooming flowers and herbs hung to dry from the tent poles.

The furs tickled my nose, too soft, too clean. Mahra’s steady snores filled the tent, a counterpoint to Tharon’s footsteps outside. Back and forth, back and forth, like a caged predator.

I rolled onto my back, stared at the tent’s peaked ceiling. Sleep danced away from my grasp. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Laren’s face, the way she’d looked at me before she ran backinto the Temple. Back to her captors. Back to the mindlessness inflicted by the Tomb.

I touched the scars at the base of my skull. The priests had put the first port in when I turned eight. By twelve, I’d served as their living conduit to the Temple's machinery. They’d praised my connection, my ability to interface. None of them noticed when I accessed the ancient databanks, learned about the Shakai from the original surveys of this world.

What good had that knowledge done? I hadn’t saved Laren. Hadn’t saved anyone.

Tharon’s steps paused. My breath caught.

“Rest,” he murmured through the tent wall. “I’ll keep watch.”

My face burned. Of course, he knew I lay awake.

There was so much I didn’t understand about this man.

Like the way he brought me flowers. A prince, a warrior, stopping to pick purple blooms because... because what? Because he thought I’d like them? Because his beast demanded he court me?

The leather pouch pressed against my hip, device safely nestled inside. I should focus on that, on my mission. Not on the way Tharon’s fingers had brushed mine, not on the heat in his gaze when he thought I didn’t see.

His boots crunched on pebbles - three steps right, stop, pivot, three steps left.

Guard duty. Protection. That’s all this was.

But I remembered his words. “No one will threaten you while I draw breath.”

The Temple had taught me not to trust, not to need. Every girl who relied on another found herself betrayed. The priests made sure of that. Better to stand alone than risk attachment.

Yet here I lay, surrounded by Shakai hospitality, letting a Valti prince stand guard while I rested in furs that smelled of spices and smoke.

My chest squeezed. I couldn’t afford this weakness.

Tharon’s shadow passed across the tent wall. My skin prickled, aware of his proximity even through the barrier between us.

I pressed my face into the furs and prayed for sleep.

The camp stirredto life around me as I emerged from Mahra’s tent, my borrowed sleeping clothes replaced by practical travel gear. The air held the crisp bite of morning, promising another clear day ahead.

A villart, smaller than the bagart we’d lost in the rockslide, waited near the central fire, already saddled and laden with supplies. The creature turned its scaled head toward me, flicking a forked tongue to taste the air.

“A parting gift,” Mahra said, appearing at my shoulder.

From her pack, she drew out a length of fabric that caught the morning light. The silk rippled between deep blue and green, like sunlight through water. Tiny crystals studded the edges in an intricate pattern that matched the leather pouch she’d given me last night.

“For hiding those Temple-marked places,” she said, fingers brushing near the scars at my neck. “And for keeping you safe on the road ahead.”

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