Page 2 of Alien Prince

“My apologies,” I whisper, my voice shaky, even though I know he cannot hear me. “I wish there was another way.”

His dull, lifeless eyes do not flinch with even an ounce of remorse or desperation. Not anymore. Not like he used to.

In the beginning, there is always resistance, no matter who it is that I possess. Humans by nature are defiant and disobedient—no one likes to be controlled. But they learn rather quickly that resistance is futile. At least when they give themselves to me, I can provide them the escape they seek.

But now, when I slip into this consciousness, there is no resistance. The consciousness that we share is barely cohabitation. This skin is as used to hosting me as I am used to wearing it, and it shows. Thankfully I only don this image when I must be “Prince Kyron of Astronomica.”

“For the kingdom.” I steel my resolve. It starts with a touch, a sliver, a wisp of my essence penetrating his flesh

The man whose name I never bothered to learn nods slightly.

“For the greater good,” he murmurs lifelessly, the formal response to the god forsaken proclamation, his voice lost and empty. He is a shell of a man, but a beautiful regal shell, nonetheless,

The mirror across the space reflects my seven-foot shimmering starlit form for the fraction of a moment as I dissolve into a translucent glow. My body is invisible to anyone who's not celestial, Umbra, or my mate. But the shiver on his flesh, the emptiness in his gaze as he awaits me, and the trepidation as his voice shakes, tell me he doesn’t need to see me to know I’m here.

In this skin I am a prince. A high duke adorned in sashes and medals befitting my titles. But such titles are nothing but a sham, false entitlements for what is not truly mine, nor will it ever truly be mine. Only bone-deep lies continue to spread false hope into the people.

How can I convey the necessity of my actions when they feel so fundamentally flawed? How do I make these skins, these humans, understand that I am just as much a fucking prisoner of our barbaric system as they are? That my regal bonds are still, indeed, bonds. I am not free, nor will I ever be.

At least my skins have lived before serving me with their inevitable death.

Our people groan under the oppressive hand of the monarchy, and this ignites a fury within me that knows no limits. As I steal another curious glance at the new skin who looks so alive compared to the other grim, dull skins in my closet, I am both calmed at the prospect of uncovering her secrets and terrified that no matter what her history may be, she will never be who she was, for she will just bemine.

Or rather, my face. We truly are monsters dripping in blood and diamonds. In flesh and fantasy. My parents were the only survivors of the mass eradication of their planet, and they built an empire on stardust and dreams alone.

“We, celestials, are creatures of immense power and grandeur, born from the very fabric of the universe itself,” my father would say. “Upholding the traditions and the sacred order of our people is our duty, even if it means sacrificing our own desires and ambitions for the greater good.”

To him, I am a very real threat.

I dig my metaphorical claws into the skin in front of me, and the transition is seamless.

Donning the regal garb befitting my status, I am filled with a sense of awe and wonder. My form flexes into its new shell, relishing in the movement this skin provides. Steady arms, tactile fingertips. Fresh, warm blood. A sizable cock.

At this moment, I am not a mortal being, not quite a celestial. I am a mighty prince of immense power and grandeur, tasked with preserving and protecting our kingdom. Even if it is all anillusion, it is a necessary one, for without it, our people would be lost in the vastness of the cosmos.

Does anyone truly believe this shit?

A surge of power and control courses through me as the body of another comes under my control. It's like being caught in a whirlpool of emotions that threatens to pull me under. Suppressing any emotion, empathy, or compassion, I settle into the body, a cold and calculated process that demands complete attention and discipline.

There's no need for pockets, even though the suit adorning my skin has many,they've never been used. His body has a myriad of hidden compartments scattered throughout his augmented parts. His forearm, calf, and right hip conceal secret storage that are ideal for safeguarding weapons, drugs, or any other necessities required for accomplishing our missions.

I've thoroughly tested these compartments and can attest to their usefulness in both profitable and intimate situations. Protection is always within reach.

Given this skin's generous endowment, having proper precautions is essential when someone desires to bed the prince.

With his cybernetic enhancements, this skin is the perfect tool for achieving our goals in a world where technology and power reign supreme. I've made sure to add plenty of “upgrades” to the skins I wear most often, especially in areas that matter for more intimate encounters. After all, when you're a prince, you need to be prepared for all kinds of... diplomatic negotiations.

I stand on the balcony, gazing out at the slums that surround the ornate palace that the city was built around. The sight fills me with both sadness and anger directed at my parents, my siblings, and all who support this terrible situation.

The palace and its symbolic significance go against my conscience. I see the desperation and poverty that pervades the streets below. Our people, whom we have pledged to protect, struggle in despair and deprivation. Meanwhile, my family and I enjoy the luxury of an immortal life, parading around in their bodies as we see fit, discarding them when we are done like trash. It's abhorrent.

But it is my life.

“Fuck me,” I mutter under my breath as Boomer, my trusted advisor, approaches with a fitted suit jacket. His blue skin catches the light, all six of his muscular arms moving with an odd grace that still surprises me sometimes. “Let me guess, another royal decree from her majesty?”

Boomer's slight brogue fills the air as he responds, “Aye, the queen has requested ye make an additional announcement today.” He looks more like a space pirate than an ex-soldier turned political advisor, what with that eyepatch and his rugged features. One of his hands produces a tiny silver mic, ready to pin it on my lapel.

I roll my eyes, not bothering to hide my disdain. “Wonderful. Because clearly, I don't have enough bullshit to deal with already.” I let out a heavy sigh, steeling myself for whatever nonsense I'll have to spew this time. “Go on then, what's her latest whim?”

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