Page 1 of Alien Prince

Chapter One

Kyron

Surrounded by several versions of myself in my closet is like being stuck in a hall of mirrors. Each reflection is a different person, a different skin. But there is only one mirror and its reflection is bare.

The faces are real, but they aren't mine.

Not really.

Soleil Umbra's voice, smooth as honey yet devoid of emotion, echoes through my room's intercom.

“The suns will cross in half an hour.”

I snort in response to her reminder.

“Do not try to be humorous, Kyron,” my mother reprimands, as though I need a reminder of my duties and responsibilities.

“Of course, mother.” I respond with practiced saccharine obedience, muttering “bitch” under my breath. Truthfully, I couldn’t care less if she hears me. She's more than aware of my contempt for her and these fucking duties I’ve been forced to uphold.

My mother and her games are something I simply can't tolerate. Revered as the Queen of Astronomica, she is the reason I'm even in this closet of horrors.

Under her unyielding insistence, my royal attire is donned when addressing the inhabitants of Astronomica, as though my appearance bears any true significance to them.

Lately, my parents have been vacationing more frequently, leaving me to manage the continuous royal charade.

As I study the different versions of myself at my disposal, knowing which skin I must wear, my gaze falls upon a new female I've never seen before.

Uncovering someone new in my celestial closet is rare. My parents, being the monarchs, usually receive the freshest skins. Whoever placed her here must have known I would be drawn to her.

She fits my preferences perfectly. It’s as if she was made for me.

This new skin stands shorter than the others, with thick, earthy auburn hair, the same color as the soil that nurtures the large vividly bright pink fauna in the courtyard. Her eyes are a bright icy blue, like the glaciers on Earth before they melted and disappeared.

The definition of her muscles and the shadows on her fair skin captivate me like nothing has before. Her toned arms and legs showcasing her dedication to maintaining strong physical condition.

Her obvious might and will impresses me. She is clearly more than what she appears on the surface. I wonder; is her display a malicious act or an attempt to test the strength and endurance of those around her?

Sadly, this fine specimen is in my closet, which means she is not perfect.

Only those with deficiencies and mechanical enhancements are considered for royal closet wear. It’s far easier to possess a machine than a person.

As I observe her impressive silhouette, I'm filled with uncertainty. It's almost challenging. I sense a pull that extends beyond mere curiosity, a connection that is both physical and spiritual. Her icy blue eyes stare into me with the fire of a dying sun, almost as if she can see me. Which is impossible because weare invisible to everyone but each other when we are in our true forms.

Something about her insolent gaze ignites a spark within me as she looks the other way.

With her chin pointed up and her gaze affixed to the dark ceiling, I can’t help but admire her tenacity.

Her silent defiance intrigues me, an unnerving curiosity blooming in my consciousness. She’s not just a survivor; she is a celestial force, and I'm entranced by her power and strength.

But I can't focus on her in this moment. I have a duty to uphold for my parents and my people.

However, once my duties are fulfilled, I plan to explore her potential more. There's something about her that sets her apart from the others, but I can't pinpoint what it is, aside from her strange behavior. I'm eager to uncover the secrets behind her petulant expression.

When my mother’s voice echoes through the intercom again, I jolt back to reality. She reminds me that the suns will cross in just fifteen minutes, because clearly I have nothing better to do than to live up to my prestigious responsibilities before I can satisfy my curiosity any further.

I nod to myself. “I'll be there,” I say, and then I find the skin I've been looking for—or rather, whom.

A young human man, no more than thirty with dirty ash blonde hair styled to perfection and up to this century's standard of regal elegance, stands before me. As I draw near, my heart pounds violently against my nebulous chest, each beat echoing the unbearable weight of my family's expectations. The relentless pressure to uphold this deceitful facade of superiority threatens to crush me. The bitter taste of regret fills my mouth, a constant reminder of the life I never chose but was cursed with nonetheless.

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