Page 39 of Alien Prince

She winces, her free hand grabbing her side, and that’s when I see it. Blood.

Thick, crimson blood staining her precious ivory skirts.

I want to help, to ask her what happened, but she grabs my chin, forcing me to look into her dark eyes.

Her grip on me hurts like hell and I can’t move, forced to endure her verbal lashing.

“A…mole?” I ask as the word settles on me.

She growls. “Yes, Sabella, do I need to spell it out for you, too?”

I purse my lips as she continues.

“I need you to do what you do best,” she gripes.

“What is that?” I ask, afraid of her answer.

“No one knows the gossip of this god-forsaken place like you.” She says, and for a moment I am remiss to believe she is actually paying me a compliment.

But soon enough, her killing blow strikes.

“I don’t care if you have to let the town crier fuck you over the stove. You will find out who he is and you will deliver him to me with an apple stuffed in his fucking mouth. Do I make myself clear?”

I blink, afraid to speak as the shame festers in me once more.

That’s all I am to her, and all I’ll ever be.

A pawn. Something for her to use to her advantage.

How the hell am I supposed to uncover a spy? I have rarely been outside, for Andromeda’s sake!

She tightens her grip on my neck.

“Speak, Sabella.”

I nod, swallowing harshly. “Yes, mother. I understand.”

She relents, letting me go, her hand going right for her side. The crimson stain is larger now than it was before.

“Go to your room, and stay safe. There are rebels in this building. They should be dispelled soon enough, but until Raphael collectsyou, I need you to stay put.”

I nod, understanding dawning on me.

Is one of those rebels responsible for hurting mother?

“Go!” she barks, and I don’t have to be told twice. I pick up the pace, leaving the corridor and sprinting to my room. A band of guards runs past me, and I feel like a fish, swimming in the wrong direction.

But an order is an order, and I must obey my queen.

When I finally make it to my room, I shut the door and lock it. The banging gets louder and there are shouts outside my room. They echo and then there are sounds of guns.

I curl up in the corner of my room, amidst an array of pillows, the festering need for a drink almost overwhelming.

But I’ve got nothing here, unfortunately.

The sounds outside my door escalate into shots, shouts and heavy banging. I close my eyes, focusing on my breath, waiting for the moment my brother will come in and tell me it’s all been some false alarm.

We’ve had drills like this before, and he always comes to collect me. Why wouldn’t he come now?

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