The Alien King's Mate part 26

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LILIAN

The hall floods with onlookers as Deroin and his king battle. I stumble away from the violent scene, nearly tripping over my skirt as marble and gold explode.

The two men are destroying the palace floor tiles and walls as they summon their element. Sharp, six-foot towers of gold shoot up from the ground, trying to impale the men. The fight doesn’t last long, but it feels like an eternity as I watch every move.

Vulcan throws daggers of gold that Deroin evades with a backflip. He creates a triangular cage of gold around Vulcan to contain him, but Vulcan punches his way out with a growl that makes the entire palace tremble.

The crowd roars in the background. I want to shout, too. I want to ask them to stop.

All of this is unfolding because of a painting? It’s madness. The painting wasn’t even erotic. It was a few vague lines scribbled on parchment.

“Vulcan, please!” I finally manage to yell, but I can’t be heard over the sound of rumbling rock and the chattering onlookers.

Vulcan ends the fight quickly after that, raining heavy golden balls over Deroin that knock him out. His body hits the ground with a deafening thud, and he passes out. At least, I hope so. I hope he’s not dead.

Vulcan walks through the rubble for a while. The dust hasn’t settled yet. A mural that had been painted on the wall is now cracked. A chandelier has crashed from the ceiling, the palace floor tiles are uprooted, gold is scattered everywhere, and a man is bleeding.

Vulcan retrieves the painting and walks over the rubble. His eyes are glowing gold as he approaches me. And for a second, for a slight moment, I fear him.

I feel like I’m looking at a stranger. Just like when I first met him at my therapist’s office. Broad shoulders, a determined gaze, and long horns that glint like his eyes. He had plans for me since day one. A vision I couldn’t picture. After our dates, I thought I had begun to understand him, to see what he sees in our future. I was wrong. Vulcan isn’t my friend. He’s a king, and I’m his possession.

That’s his master plan. Owning me so not even a simple drawing of me could be owned by another.

“Carry on,” he tells the crows. His voice was low but charged with darkness.

When the crowd remains rooted, he yells, “now!” And they disperse like he’s coming after them.

Then his eyes find me, and the drawing crumbles in his fist. “Let’s go.”

I glance at a fallen Deroin. Two guards are already looking over him.

Vulcan walks away without another word, expecting me. I follow, but not behind him. I walk beside him. I won’t walk with my tail tucked between my legs as if I did something wrong. No matter how quick his steps come, I keep up. We’re walking three feet apart. The space crackles with tension. Even the people we pass on the way notice. They keep their eyes low, but I know they’re looking at our retreating backs.

Gossip will flood the palace tonight.

Vulcan closes the door behind us in my room and drops the painting on the ground.

“Why did you paint this?” He grits, trembling with rage. He’s like a sun in this dark room that’s only lit with moonlight.

I stand by the window with my arms crossed over my chest. “I saw the shadows my body cast on the canvas and felt inspired. I painted a few fucking lines on a piece of paper. A simple painting with few details. Now it’s your turn to answer. Why did you practically kill that guy for buying a worthless painting?!”

“It’s not a worthless painting! Not to that perverted bastard. He was going to masturbate to your image, defile you.” He runs a hand over his left horn and grits his teeth. He takes a step backward as if considering returning to Deroin and finishing the job.

“He could masturbate to the mere memory of me if he wanted. You can’t control that. He doesn’t need a few lines on a drawing to do this. It was not a nude photograph, Vulcan. It was a vague painting. You shouldn’t have lost your temper over it!”

He points at me. “You haven’t been a royal for long. You don’t understand his slight. He disrespected your image and our bond, and it’s my damn duty to protect them. I did what I had to do and won’t apologize for it. The next time you pick up a brush, it better not be for another painting that will get a man killed. Because that’s what I’ll do to men that disrespect our bond. I’ll fucking kill them.”

My stomach rolls with disgust. “I’m not your duty. I’m not a possession to be claimed. And if you ever deny this, I beg that you return me where you found me. To Earth, where I was a person. A human. Not a doll.”

“We’ll see about that,” he snarls, opening the door and slamming it behind him as he leaves.

I slump on the edge of my bed.

What the fuck was that? What just happened? How could the night start with excitement brimming in my belly as he came to take me on a date? How could it quickly devolve into fear as he attacked a man over a painting? How could I declare something so absurdly simple: that I’m not a possession, as if it must be said?

This argument was volcanic. Hot enough to melt gold. Nothing will be the same again because Vulcan showed me he’s not a harmless alien king who sends me coupons and covers his horns with silly cones as he takes me on dates. He is deadly. A weapon with consciousness and a dangerous ego.

I look at my palms and see that I dug my nails into them so deeply that I created marks. I can’t remember the reason why. If I made them out of fear or determination.

I don’t want to fear anyone, especially not Vulcan.

We’ll see about that.

What did that mean? Where do we go from here?

I sigh and stand, walking to the window and pressing my fingers against the glass. It’s a clear, starry night. But the palace is foggy and dark.

A/N: Who is wrong and right in this situation?

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