Page 32 of Tricked By the Alien Prince

Oh. We must be near his home. He did mention that it was near my destination. A strong desire to see where this male grew up, to meet his friends and family, suddenly hits me. I push it aside. It’s not like we’re a couple. We just had some good sex, and he’s just helping me out. That’s all. Still, for a moment, I squeeze his hand just a bit tighter. I came to this planet wanting a fresh start, and despite my relationship with James, I never truly lost that naive, childish goal. I want a home. I want to feel like I belong, and more importantly, I want that person who will return my love and loyalty—someone who puts me first.

“Let’s go inside and feed you. You do need your strength, after all,” Volan says, wiggling his eyebrows at me. Despite myself, despite the somber quest that I am on, I laugh. Being around him makes me... happy. And that’s dangerous because happiness leads to mistaken emotions, such as love. I can’t fall in love with the alien. As much as I want to, a little voice inside whispers.

We emerge into a large cavern, dotted with plenty of bioluminescent plants that bathe the entire area in a soft blue glow. A channel of water has been carved in a near-perfect line from one rock wall to another—though I have no idea how they managed to figure out that sort of plumbing down here, especially given that I haven’t exactly seen evidence of any advanced mining equipment around.

Unlike the other caverns we’ve passed, the ceiling is low. From almost every inch of the ceiling, vines dangle down in clusters.

I step further into the room, my curiosity driving me forward. I’m safe here. I know, almost without a doubt, that Volan won’t let anything happen to me.

I trust him, implicitly.

I shake away the thoughts, the implications, as I stare at the gourd-like fruit that hangs heavily, weighing down the fleshy vines.

I shudder, my mind immediately associating these vines with bug eggs.

“This is sobra fruit,” Volan explains, stepping past me to pluck a few of the potato-sized balls from their stems. He presents them to me, and it takes all my considerable willpower not to recoil as he thrusts them at my face.

Their fruit’s skin is green, and not in a pleasant way. Eggs. If these are alien insect eggs.

“Oh, please tell me the scampers didn’t make these,” I beg him. My stomach fights between hunger and nausea, and I’m not entirely sure which one will win. I’m pretty sure I want to draw the line at eating bug eggs though. Chickens and birds are fine, but bugs? Yuck.

“It’s fruit. It grows from the plant,” Volan says slowly, as if I’m a child that needs the basic concepts taught to them. I glare at him when I notice the teasing glint in his eye and the tiny curve of his lips.

“It thrives in these caves. The flesh of the fruit is quite nutritious.”

He deftly slices open one of the fruits, revealing yellow flesh. It has a strange cross-like section of flesh, interspersed with what looks like seeds deep inside. And the flesh is slick, slimy even.

“Eat the flesh. The skin is quite bitter,” he instructs. He pops one in his mouth, not at all disturbed. Then he has the freaking audacity to moan!

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” I say, turning up my lip as I stare down at the object he’s placed in the palm of my hand. It’s cool to the touch, and really, really doesn’t look appetizing in the least.

In the end, hunger wins out. I need to keep up my strength, I rationalize, as I force myself to take a bite out of the potential alien insect bug fruit.

My eyes widen as the fruit hits my tongue. It’s not gross. It’s actually delicious. A bit like a lychee in texture, the flesh sweet rather than whatever I had been imagining. The seeds inside pop, delicious juice exploding, just like eating a pomegranate. The ugliest fruit in the universe somehow tastes amazing.

“Dispose of the skins there,” Volan points to a hole dug into the rock floor near the corner of the room. “One of the farmers routinely comes and disposes of it properly.”

As we sit down to eat our fill of the fruit, me devouring them as fast as I can peel them, I glance around the room. The area looks primitive—all carved rock walls, not even tiles. Yet, clearly they’ve used advanced machinery to carve out the plumbing. Volan’s people even know about diseases and bacteria, and the way he talks is of someone far more intelligent than I admit I’ve been giving him credit for. He’s not some barbarian alien simply running around swinging a sword every opportunity he gets.

My breath gushes out of me when I meet his gaze. He picks at his food, savoring each bite, while I rush mine. He’s slow, methodical and carefree. I’m all rushed, desperate, and twisted out of shape.

“You do not need to tell me, if you do not wish to,” Volan states, voice soft. It doesn’t hold any of his usual taunting, or even his warm humor. The male sitting before me is calm, and appears entirely ready to listen to whatever tale I am about to unfold.

Am I seriously going to tell him? I haven’t spoken to anyone about this, not even my friends. All this time, they’ve thought me some brilliant scientist, some genius capable of coding high-end programs and inventing miraculous things. Little do they realize that I’m a complete and utter fraud.

I open my mouth, and then close it again.

“I have no idea where to start,” I whisper. The enormity of my history spans out before me. Chapters of events, years of my life, all tangled up with different people and different circumstances. Everything that’s led me to this moment.

“You said your device was not a gift,” Volan prompts.

It’s a good enough place to start, I realize. I don’t have time to share every memory with him, even if I want to tell him my life story, and hear his in return.

“The thing is, my mum knew she was dying,” I tell him, my voice coming out stronger than I expected. “We tried to save her for years, but her disease… there was no cure. All we could do in the end was make her comfortable.”

It’s the way Volan reaches out, grasping my hand, that makes my eyes prickle. He’s paying attention to me, really listening. I don’t feel judged right now. I feel... safe. Safe enough to finally tell my story.

“All her treatments cost a lot of money,” I explain. “At first, we could afford it. My mother came from a prominent family and was the sole heir to a large fortune. No one even questioned the idea of spending money on her treatments. But over time, she didn’t get better, and the costs started to pile up.”

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