Page 67 of Tricked By the Alien Prince

“Ready?” Tanis asks quietly.

My answer comes as I slam the doors open, striding forward with determination.

The throne room stretches vast and cold, illuminated by the collective glow of dozens of courtiers’ luminae. They cluster along the walls, pressing back as we enter. Their lights pulse with fear and uncertainty. Males and females both; individuals that us warriors should have been protecting, not letting them fend for themselves.

And there, upon his raised throne, sits my father. His face betrays no surprise at our arrival. His own luminae are hidden beneath layers of formal robes, as always.

“So,” he says, voice carrying across the silence. “The misguided son returns.”

“I return to claim what you promised me,” I reply, striding forward. My warriors spread out behind me, weapons ready but not threatening. “Or have you forgotten your word about ceding the throne?”

“To one worthy,” he snaps, lips curling up in a snarl. “Not to a fool who would destroy everything we’ve built.”

“Built?” I laugh, the sound harsh. “We’ve built nothing, father. We’ve only hidden, trapped in a prison of our own making. We could have left with the other tribes. We could have sought out new lives. Instead, we cowered in darkness, letting our people suffer, while we clung to power that should not be ours.”

“I protected them! I’ve protected you! It’s all I have ever done.” My father roars, surging to his feet. His robes fall open, revealing luminae pulsing violent red. “You know nothing of protection, of sacrifice! I watched them die - all of them. My mother, my brothers, my friends. The outsiders took everything from us!”

Understanding floods through me, and I look upon my father with new eyes. All these years, his fear has ruled him. Ruled us all.

“We’ve become what we once hated,” I tell him. My voice softens, hoping that he will hear me this one last time. “We cage others. Force them to fight. Take their freedom in the name of protection. How are we any different from the pirates that once enslaved us?”

“It’s necessary,” he insists, but doubt creeps into his voice. “I’ve created order from the chaos. I’ve given our people hope and safety.”

“No.” I take another step forward. “You took away their hope and safety, allowing fear to dictate your action. You’re so afraid of the light that you’ve forgotten how to see it.”

I notice how his guards surround him, inching closer to protect him should I attack.

“You’d give it all up, risk everything and everyone? All of this because of one human female?”

“For hope,” I correct him. “For a future where we don’t have to hide. Where we can be what we were meant to be - protectors, not jailers. Up there, on the surface, is where we should be. Making sure something like this doesn’t ever happen again. We should be protecting the other tribes and helping them rebuild.”

The courtiers watch in complete silence, the tension thick enough to cut with a blade. I can feel my warriors behind me, ready to act at my command, but I hold my ground. This isn’t just about taking power—it’s about changing the very heart of our kingdom.

“You all believe this?” He asks, disbelief crossing his face as he gazes at me and my hastily raised army. It seems like he’s only now starting to really understand what’s happening - the limits he’s pushed all of us, me included, to.

His voice is strained as if each word costs him dearly as he speaks, “You just don’t understand what I’ve saved us from. The outsiders… If you do this, you don’t know what they’ll do to you, to our people… They took everything from us.”

For the first time in my life, I see past the crown to the broken male beneath. He’s not a tyrant - he’s a survivor who never learned how to stop surviving. The realization softens something in me, even as it strengthens my resolve; we will not be dictated by our past traumas, not anymore.

“I understand all too well,” I interrupt, not uncaringly, taking another step forward. “I’ve seen what fear does to us. What it’s done to you. To all of us.”

Hope is such a fickle thing, but I can’t help but desperately wish that he will do the right thing, by our people… and by me.

“How many souls have died in our pits, because we forced them there? How many tribes have we forced into submission? We call it protection, but we’re the ones they need protection from.”

The courtiers murmur, their combined luminae casting shifting shadows across the walls. My words strike truth they’ve long ignored.

“Even though she’s an outsider, Maya showed me everything we could be,” I counter. “She fights for her people despite her fear. She seeks truth despite the cost. She showed me that true strength isn’t about hiding from what we fear - it’s about facing it. Our people are warriors, protectors, and it’s time that we actually protected.”

All these years I’ve wanted his approval, needed it like I needed air to breathe. Now, standing before him, I realize I don’t need it anymore. What I need is for him to understand. “Being hurt doesn’t mean we have to hurt others. Being afraid doesn’t mean we have to let fear rule us. I know this is hard, but you need to step down as king. We are asking you to step down. We—I don’t want to fight you. I just want our people to be free of this darkness we’ve wrapped ourselves in.”

For a moment, neither of us speaks. I watch as emotions battle across his face—anger, fear, pride... and beneath it all, a terrible weariness.

“Father, please,” I beg him. “I can do this. We can do this. Together.”

For a long moment, he doesn’t move. I see the war in his usually stoic face - pride battling fear, love fighting against decades of pain. Then, slowly, he stands. His hands release their death grip on the throne. One by one, he unwraps the layers of robes that hide his luminae. They no longer pulse; his inner light burned out. A male that’s sick, pushed beyond our natural limits until his body is giving out. He’s been suffering just as much as I have, perhaps more so, in his misguided attempts to lead us.

He steps down from the throne, approaching me, steps weak and unsteady. His own body faltering, collapsing under the years of grief and misery.

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