Page 6 of Alien Prince

Kyron

“You’ve done it now, Kyron,” Eros, one of my younger brothers, says as his royal skin jogs up beside mine. Most of us were given skins with blond hair and green eyes to maintain the illusion of shared humanity and genetics by our mother, but Eros' hair is much more golden than my ashy tones.

While my skin has emerald green eyes flecked with gold, his are royal blue with waves of silver and white, giving him an almost ghostly appearance. Genetic anomalies do happen, and Eros is a detail meant to make us appear more human.

“You know Motheradoreswhen you deviate from the script during the midday greeting,” he adds, throwing his hands over his chest and fluttering his eyes with puckered lips.

Dumbass.

“Yes, I am quite aware,” I reply, unable to suppress a smile at the thought of our mother hearing the speech.

It is with no such honor we decreed this day be blessed by royal blood. ‘Tis not what you can do for your country, but what your leaders can do for you.

The line is designed to make our masses believe that serving their country means they are full of honor, instead of the truth that they are mindless drones, force-fed lies about our greatness so that we may remain in power.

Astronomica is not the only empire in the galaxy, just the largest and, by sheer chance, the strongest. Our people are oblivious to the existence of others, thanks to my parents' tight borders. Only the royals and select members of the guardare allowed beyond the walls for boring meetings and political alliances. I am the legal heir to the throne, but we are infinite. My father will never truly pass, and when his royal skin decays, he will take mine, removing me from the public eye until a new “child” is born. When the royal blessing reaches their teenage years, I will return with a new sense of defiance, and so the cycle continues.

We round the corner and are greeted by a dragonkin warrior, the most sacred and trusted of all the royal guards. Zarek, the impressively large dragonkin, stands beside the large doors, looking no different from his brothers in arms, easily mistaken for a human at first glance. However, upon closer inspection, you notice his shimmering opaque scales of green, gold, and red covering his arms, legs, and back, and scaly like that of a dragon. His tail is thick, muscular, and covered in thicker scales, with spikes at the end, ready to be used as a weapon if needed. His large, membranous wings which are sheathed at the moment can create gusts of wind strong enough to knock enemies off their feet.

The dragonkin men and women have vowed to protect and defend us with their lives, and their loyalty and bravery are unmatched. Their loyalty and devotion to our family have been tested time and time again, and they have always emerged victorious.

“She is ready,” Zarek says, and that’s all the cue my brother and I need before we step out of our skins. As our glimmering forms exit the bodies, a few guards step up to guide our skins to a seating area where they will wait for us. I see the once green eyes of mine fade to a milky gray and wonder if this skin’s lost his sight completely when not in use. A part of me feels awful, as the idea of skin deterioration is never an easy pill to swallow. I'll continue utilizing this skin until it becomes entirely unusable. The likelihood of finding a new, comparable identical older skinto replicate the aging process, is slim, so I'll have to make the most of what I have.

And while part of me feels remorse for using this man as a meat suit, the other part of me, the one my parents would likely take credit for, I feel a sense of pride in knowing that this unfortunate skin must submit to my presence, allowing me to bask in the temporary illusion of vitality. However, this feeling is fleeting, and only lasts for a moment.

However, my thoughts are broken once the large onyx doors to my mother’s office swing open and the scent of moonlight and lavender assault my senses. It appears that our dear mother is ready to berate us with her unrealistic ethereal bullshit. Eros and I glide into the grand chamber where our Queen awaits, the inky darkness enveloping us, only the twinkling of enchanted stars strewn across the ceiling casting a pale shimmer across the room.

“Mother,” Eros greets, bowing low with his usual dramatic flair. I repeat his actions, if only out of habit and necessity. There is no sentiment or intimacy in our interactions with Celeste Soleil, the shining star of Astronomica. She's all business, all the time, but that's to be expected from someone who's never around. The hard glass daggers she metaphorically shoots at me from her eyes tell me she's in quite a mood, but that's nothing new.

Though I suppose I am to blame for that, it pleases me to see her off her game. It's the least she deserves, the least any of us celestials deserve.

“Kyron, your speech today was—” The queen pauses, her voice melodic yet empty. She lifts her slender hand and ethereal stardust trails behind her movements as if the very fabric of the universe responds to her whims. She seems to search for the right words to say, but instead, she just swirls her hand andcontinues to give me a hard stare that could kill if we weren't infinite.

“A bit different,” I say, finishing her sentence.

“Yes,” the queen replies with icy indifference. Her expression is cold and distant, like an unreachable star, and her eyes seem to pierce through me with their unwavering gaze. It's the same way she's been since the day I was created—emotionless, distant, and detached.

There was never warmth or comfort, no tender hugs or loving kisses. My mother's expectations were cold and hard, with no hope for a future filled with love and affection.

“The midday greeting has remained the same since the beginning of our kingdom,” the queen intones, her voice ringing with the authority of a thousand lightyears. She closes her blinding, starry white eyes and exhales with a sigh that echoes through the expanse of the cosmos, another sign of the sheer disappointment I have caused her.

“What possesses you to consistently improvise such falsehoods instead of promises? To disrupt the order we maintain and the oaths we make to our citizens each day?” Her words are laced with a regal grandeur, every syllable carrying the weight of a hundred galaxies.

“Do I have to be here?” Eros' voice cuts through the budding tension. He has taken to lounging casually across the floor beside my feet. In his celstian form, the varying shades of violet and navy swirl like a galactic amoeba. Until a few moments ago, he looked rather bored in his skin. Now, his glow has been freed, but it does not shimmer the same way mine or even our mother’s does. The fear of being in the middle of yet another pointless argument has infiltrated his usual aloof air.

As our mother ignores him completely, dismissing her advisors, as the giant doors close with a heavy thud. There’s asharp edge to her voice, like she’s commanding the attention of the cosmos.

“Kyron, I implore you to refrain from taking such liberties with our sacred traditions. Your latest act of rebellion may have cut me deeper than you may ever know.” I cannot help but wonder what happens when an infinite being emotionally breaks.

“No promises.”

My mother's form shifts from shades of purple and blue galaxies to vivid hues of red and pink. Through the years, I have learned that this is a clear indicator of her moods, as the very fabric of the universe seems to respond to her emotions.

As her body trembles, a deeply repressed part of me feels guilty for having caused her such distress. Even in this moment, it seems she has control over me. “Kyron,” she says.

“I will endeavor to try.” It's a lie, of course, but I'll play nice to get out of this meeting.

Anything to avoid one of her famous guilt trips.

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