Stolen by the Zandian - Renee Rose Page 0,2

is the second incident of this nature under your command.”

“Yes, my lord.” I bow my head. Veck. “It won’t happen again.”

There’s silence for several seconds.

“No, it won’t recur.” The king raises his hand and gestures. “I’m replacing you as the Spacecraft Training Commander.”

His words hit me like a blow to my gut. “But my lord–” I break off. A Zandian does not contradict or argue with his king.

“The team has lost confidence in you.” Zander’s voice is even, but it sends chills into my horns.“ Can you think of a good reason I should not remove you?”

In my mind, I replay the cries of the crew and then their quick response. Luckily, the accident–as they go–was minor compared to what could have happened. But I didn’t miss the expressions on their faces afterward.

I blink and meet his gaze. My voice is dull. “No. I cannot.”

“Captain Rhob will take over, effective immediately. You will spend the necessary time to brief him. Then we will find you a position that better suits your talents.”

“Understood.” I keep my expression impassive, but flames of shame and regret lick my skin.

The king regards me. “We have no time for your deviations from protocol, Khrys.”

“Yes, my lord. I will do better.”

“See that you do.” He looks at me for a second. “You are dismissed.” He turns to his assistant, perhaps because he is truly busy but possibly to teach me a lesson about my place in his regard–which is clearly as low as a Zandian can fall.

I stride from the building, cursing my impulsivity. “Veck, veck, veck!” I stop and punch a tree, shredding the purple skin on my knuckles and causing lines of blood to well up. “Veck it all.”

Honor is everything to a Zandian warrior, and I just lost what was remaining of mine.

I wipe the blood on my tunic and stare at the setting sun. My hand throbs, and I welcome the pain. I should cut my vecking arm off to teach myself a lesson about being a stupid idiot.

“You all right?” My friend Gabin stands a few feet away, perhaps cautious about approaching me in such a wild and unpredictable state.

I don’t look at him. “You heard.”

“I did.” He shifts; I hear gravel crunch under his boots. “The crew will forgive you. They already have.”

“King Zander reassigned me.”

“Oh.” He steps closer. “I see.” He pauses. “Is there a way this can be a positive change for you?”

“Yes. It’s a great thing when an expert training captain is removed from duty. We should have a festival. Celebrate my fall from grace.” I glower at him. Once, sarcasm would have been foreign to me, but now that we have humans on Zandia, I’ve picked up the technique.

His voice holds reproach. “I thought perhaps the job was not a perfect fit.”

“A Zandian does the job he is given and loves it because he is serving Zandia.” My tone is stiff. “My father wanted me to be a training captain all his life, like he was. He sacrificed everything to get me into it and then died saving my life in the raids. Zandia has spent much time and effort on my training.”

“I know.” He comes closer.

“I’ve betrayed my father’s memory. Let down my fellow Zandians.”

Gabin stands beside me for a second, and neither of us speak.

I sigh. “I must go clean up.” I look at my hand. “Then I’ll speak to–“ my wrist holo blinks green with an incoming message from– “Captain Rhob. He’s eager to get started.”

Gabin claps my shoulder. “Khrys, you’re a good Zandian. You’ll find your place.”

He means well. But the words twist a dull knife deep into my gut because they only cement into my mind what I and every being know: I don’t fit.

“Regards,” I snap and stalk off. I don’t have the energy to show appreciation for his support.

Back at my domicile, I rinse my fingers and apply the healing salve created by one of the humans who works with Dr. Daneth, and in seconds, my wounds have sealed over.

The holo blinks again–veck that Captain Rhob. Of course, I correct myself, if I had such eager intensity for the job myself, I would probably not be in this excruciating situation of needing to train my own replacement. It’s my own fault I didn’t apply the right focus to overseeing my trainees. I don’t know why I can’t seem to stay razor sharp when I’m with the students in the craft–I know the rules; veck, I wrote them!

I shake my