1. Mia

The line tosee the Orc king moves forward and Orgel, the alien holding the rope that binds my wrists together, tugs me along behind him. Barefoot, I stumble on the rough cobblestone path, stubbing my toe before falling to my knees.

Fuck!

I'd curse out loud at the pain if I could speak. But Orgel grew tired of my complaining and forced me to drink some nasty tasting tea that paralyzed my vocal cords. This wasn't the first time my smart mouth got me into trouble, and it wouldn't be the last.

I don't understand why the tea doesn't also paralyze my ability to swallow or even breathe, but one of the many things I've learned since being abducted from Earth over a week ago is that alien shit is weird and unpredictable.

"Get up, you lazy whore," Orgel hisses, dragging me back to my feet. "I told you not to dishonor me before the king."

In my opinion, Orgel is the one dishonoring me. I'm the one with hog-tied hands, greasy hair, and two newly bruised and bloody knees. But I'm tired, hungry, and really need to pee, so I fall in line without arguing.

Another thing I've learned over the last week is that I need to pick which battles to fight. And right now, even if I could give Orgel a piece of my mind, I"m not in a position to win a fight or an argument. As much as I"d love to tell the asshole alien exactly what I think of him, I need to be smart. Bide my time. Wait until I actually have a chance of coming out on top. For now, I"ll grit my teeth and do what I have to in order to survive this nightmare.

Soon, we're off the cobblestones and inside the enormous palace's throne room. The soaring walls meet a domed skylight that serves as both ceiling and roof. The scorching midday suns—seriously, what kind of planet needs three suns—beats down on us, making me almost grateful I'm only wearing the panties and thigh-length cotton nightgown I had on when Orgel and his alien buddies abducted me from my bedroom.

A bead of sweat trickles down my back as I pray for even the slightest breeze to cut through the oppressive heat. Haven't these guys heard of air conditioning?

The opulence of the spacious room seems more fitting for a Regency era duke than a barbarian-like alien king. It's in stark contrast to the simple and sometimes crude buildings we passed as we wound our way through the kingdom's streets on the way to the palace. And the pungent smell of sweaty bodies—a mixture of musk, dirt, and something faintly tangy that makes my nose wrinkle—is an unpleasant reminder that I"m not in the company of English gentlemen.

Giant, ornate statues line the perimeter of the room, and exotic alien birds squawk and twitter in gilded cages up front near the throne. The floor is still stone, but it's smooth like marble or granite and polished to a high shine. It's surprisingly cool, which feels good under my battered, aching feet.

Menacing guards armed with swords flank each side of the line, their muscular green bodies rippling with every subtle movement. I"m not sure if their purpose is to protect those of us in line from the many male orcs milling about or to keep us all in order. Either way, they"re as intimidating as hell. A shiver runs down my spine as one of the guards meets my gaze, his thick lips curling into a feral grin that promises untold horrors if I dare step out of line.

Near as I can tell, I"m the only woman in the room, which doesn"t exactly put me at ease. Being the lone female in a room full of leering, alien brutes isn"t the oddest thing I"ve experienced since being abducted by Orgel and his buddies, but it"s probably the most unsettling. Their hungry gazes rake over my body, lingering in places that make my skin crawl. I try to stand tall, to not let my fear show. But inside, I"ve never felt more vulnerable or afraid.

As we get closer to the king, I overhear some of the simple requests being made. One subject asks to leave the confines of the kingdom to meet his cousin at the spaceport. His request is granted, although it surprises me that nobody can leave here without permission. Another seeks additional medication for his elderly father who isn't feeling well and is told to see the healer. The man seems satisfied with that result.

A younger male tells the king he is the apprentice son of the weapons maker and wishes to become a warrior instead. "There is no greater honor than forging the knives and swords that allow our warriors to protect our great kingdom," the king tells him. "Once you become a master weapons maker like your father and your grandfather, and your grandfather's father, if you still wish to give up your honorable trade to fight, return to me and make your request again." Seems reasonable, if you ask me.

The process seems rather mundane for a society of orcs, although I realize these aliens aren"t the same kind of creatures as the mythical monsters depicted in Earth"s books, movies, and video games, even if they do share some of the same physical characteristics. Like mottled green skin and tusks. It"s still hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that I"m on an alien planet, surrounded by orcs who look like they stepped out of a Tolkien novel.

Finally, after waiting in line for hours, it's Orgel's turn to address the king, and he drags me along behind him as he approaches the throne.