Page 1 of Alien Kraken's Prize

PROLOGUE

Bridget

“No, no, no, no,” I mutter, my eyes darting around, shock and trepidation turning to steely resolve.

The shuttle that was supposed to be taking me to the Starlight Lottery Hub nearest my assigned position isn’t making the normal sounds of a healthy ship.

Nope.

The normal sounds, if there are any left, are currently being drowned out by the crew screaming at each other in various languages, the full-on klaxon of the emergency alarms, and the immense noise of my own breathing.

“We’re being boarded,” someone screams.

“Of course we are,” I say cheerfully. That’s the shock, I think. The tentacle I absconded from my station with wriggles in fear, the tip of it slapping my neck. “Sorry, buddy. I thought we were on our way to a better place. I thought our luck had turned.” My tone is bright, my smile slapped on like a doll’s, and it’s all I can do to follow passenger protocol and buckle myself into a space suit.

Most of the rest of the passengers have lost their heads completely, and I watch them from behind the clear material of the bubble helmet like they’re exhibits at the curiosities shop I just left behind.

“I hope Aileen is having better luck,” I say, the words sounding hollow in the mask.

The tentacle wriggles into the suit lining, its self-preservation always astounding for a creature without any sort of obvious brain.

“We’ve left the brain behind,” I say in a sing-song voice.

Is this what a nervous break is? Hm. I’m oddly calm. Completely detached.

So when the space pirates make it on board, sorting us into groups for what purposes I couldn’t guess, I just smile up at them stupidly as they inject something into my suit’s life support system.

The tentacle goes limp first, and that’s when my brain screeches back into existence.

“Oh, we are completely and totally fucked,” I tell it.

Then I lose consciousness with the wriggly tentacle wrapped around my waist.

CHAPTER

ONE

BORUMOR

It is notan easy thing to rule fairly when those you govern despise you.

Even now, they look on me and my throne with clear distaste, their tentacles stiff with displeasure, the gills of the fishmen practically unmoving.

I sigh, resisting the urge to massage my aching temple.

I am so tired of their shit.

“A commoner,”they whispered as I ascended the throne last year.“A disgrace to all of the Kalamatri.”

Even now, I can hear the echoes of the nobles’ disgust in the way the air bubbles around them.

The difference is, I don’t care.

So, instead of rubbing my temples or clenching my jaw or glaring at them, I simply raise my eyebrows and wait.

“We must discuss your marriage plans. It is high time you produce an heir,” the Duke of Neslina says, looking down his imperious nose at me.

“Is it?” I ask, bored with this conversation.

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