Ransom

“She killed a guard.” He is panting from the effort of running, and the drums are so intense at this moment that hearing him is somewhat difficult. It takes me a moment to realize what madness he is spouting. Astaria weighs half what we do, perhaps a third. She is a generously proportioned human, but even the largest human is nothing compared to our greater physiology. We are not only bigger, we are stronger in every discernible way. The notion of Astaria having done anybody any harm makes me chortle into my berries.

“She killed a guard? With what?”

“Her bare hands, or so it would appear.”

I laugh outright, a ho ho ho emanating around the bridge, joined with many other similar ho’s.

He has the audacity to frown. “There’s a dead guard. I do not think there’s anything funny about that, sir.”

The messenger is a blond. I don’t know his name. He has not distinguished himself enough for me to know it, but I shouldn’t be surprised. Pale-hairs have a reputation for being cocky little bastards. “Bluebrow, have this wretch whipped for his insolence,” I say. “I am not laughing at his demise, but at the notion that little scrap of human could ever hurt one of us, let alone kill one.”

“And yet, there he lies. Come and see for yourself.”

“Bluebrow…”

Bluebrow cuffs the messenger over his ear. He is young and he will have to learn better manners next time he speaks to me or things will go very poorly for him.

Sure enough, the guard outside Astaria’s cell is deceased. Yes, she is being held in a cell, not a lavish chamber. I did not want to give her anything in the way of comfort. I wanted her to earn that. In my realm you get nothing for nothing. She will earn everything she is given with acts of obedience and service.

The cause of the guard’s demise is not obvious. He has a peaceful demeanor that suggests he did not anticipate his passing.

The princess is gazing out between the bars with a winsome expression on her features more suited to looking at a starry meadow than the scene of an unfortunate tragedy.

“Look away, princess,” I caution her.

That smile appears on her lips again. That same smile I saw moments after her abduction, the one that sent a chill down the spine of this hardened warlord. It has the same effect for a second time, and the cocky messenger’s comments return to mind.

“Did you do this?”

I find the question escaping my lips, though surely she could not have done it. She is behind bars and the guard was well armored. She had no weapons that I can see, and her soft human fingers without so much as a claw could not have made any imprint on him, let alone harmed him. I myself have handled her, pulled her from her precious little nest of soft furnishings and undeserved riches. She is helpless and harmless.

“Do you think I did that?” She emits a giggle.

“I do not. But human females are usually traumatized by the sight of dead bodies. They don’t usually stare at them the way you are staring, princess.”

“Unless they have seen so many of them it hardly matters anymore," she says with that uncanny brightness. “I am not as tender as you might imagine, Mr Alien.”

She is not using the terms of address I told her to use. She is also looking very proud of herself, though I cannot imagine she truly was the cause of this scene.

“Take him away,” I order the other guards. “To the medical bay. Have the doctor uncover what happened to him.”

Astaria’s fingers are wrapped around the bars of her little cell. She looks so perfectly out of place in there, still covered in her dresses, still made up with the powders and creams that make her fine features appear almost doll-like. She is an uncanny creature.

The drums have stopped. The ship feels still. We have lost one of our own, and though I may have seemed callous about that as it was announced, it certainly casts a pall over the proceedings. We managed to infiltrate high levels of hostile security without injury only to lose a member of the crew standing around on the ship.

“I thought I was supposed to be the fragile one,” Astaria comments. “Here your kind is, barely able to stand before a princess. Terrible shame.”

“Your concern is so kind,” I reply. She is looking to wind me up. This is a game of words, one that females of their species show particular preference for. But she is still caged and I am still her captor.

“Is this why I have been taken? To sit in a metal box and watch each of you expire?”

My fingers twitch with desire. This girl needs to be whipped. Harshly. She needs to have this veneer of regality ripped away. I will enjoy making her feel small and helpless, human and pathetic. How dare she taunt me? I reach for the door with every intention of thrashing her to tears and beyond.