“Come with me.”
He reaches for my hair and gives it a tug.
“Where are we going?”
“The nobles and officials are trying to get me to select a mate from among their daughters. I’d appreciate the company. There is not a soul in the chamber who does not want me mated and married, producing screeds of spawn to command Megaris and any other worlds we might colonize.”
My heart sinks. It feels as though he has crushed it in his big, clawed alien hand and dropped it down into the void of my soul.
Of course Krush is going to have to find a mate. What is a king without a queen, or at least a harem full of willing mates?
I follow him because the collar around my neck forces me to. I am about to see something no human has ever seen. A royal korabi mate selection. That should be interesting. I just have to pretend that I haven’t fallen in love with the king myself. How hard can it be?
Lagging behind him a step or two, I am treated to the sight of the rear of him. Korabi fashion is… sparse, if I had to pick a word. They have incredible bodies, and they like to show them off. None more so than Krush, who is not wearing pants in the traditional sense of the term. Or any kind of shirt, for that matter.
He looks incredible strapped for display, thick lines of a biogenic fabric holding itself against his golden skin. He is practically naked, but for a cloak which he holds in one clawed finger back over his left shoulder. His manhood is covered, but not much else. I imagine that it would not take much in the way of effort for him to release that monster rod. I wonder if that is what’s intended, if this is a formal meeting, or something more akin to an alien orgy.
He leads me into the same room where my capture was first revealed to him. It looks quite different now. It is not covered in the dust and shame of a recent human escape.
The scene is set for quite a spectacle. The korabi are dressed in the fanciest of ways, fine gold and silver robes everywhere, exposed chests for both males and females. Korabi women are every bit as striking as their male counterparts, and even more brightly and broadly colored. I think they must paint their bodies. The way they shimmer and shine with iridescence not seen in the males speaks to a kind of feminine flair I have to admire. This is an artistic and cunning species. My own seems very bland and samey by comparison.
The room falls silent as Krush leads me in, hop-stepping on these hateful crutches. The sound of them squeaking with my every swing is clearly audible across the entire great hall. There have been many attempts made to humiliate humans by the korabi. We have been stripped and beaten; we have been made to mate before the eyes of strangers. None of it really compares to the simple shame of a squeaky crutch. If the korabi ever understand how the slightest social faux pas can completely unravel humans, we will be destroyed.
Krush takes his throne and tugs me down beside him. My crutches are swept away. I am left to cower next to him, a captive human on a chain, immediately blissfully irrelevant to the proceedings.
“King Krush, we are honored to present the finest females of the korabi empire!”
The korabi speaking is a fascinating creature. He is wearing what I can only describe as an archaic and barbaric outfit, complete with animal teeth strung about his biceps and his neck. His eyes are an incredible gold. His hair is raven, much like Rath’s. His skin is like marble, and obviously trammeled with augmentations. He is absolutely the only creature in the room wearing animal furs and parts. He glows like a sharp-toothed alien barbarian shaman beneath the heavy fall of his animal coat.
“Thank you, Tusk.” Krush only barely tries to sound enthused, and rather immediately fails.
It is interesting that the alien who looks like he should be out destroying mammoths is the one presenting the king with all his mates. I find myself very curious about this one they call Tusk.
But Tusk quickly steps aside for what I can only describe as a fashion show where the clothes don’t matter. There are many dozens of these beautiful, ornately dressed korabi women, all silently pleading for Krush’s carnal attentions.
They want to be the mothers of his children. They want to be the female of his days and his nights. They want him to protect them. They want to serve him in Every. Way. Possible. Hells, even I am turned on by some of the more alluring displays. The way some korabi noblewomen can move their hips is dazzling.