“Well, let me tell the both of you thank you for your aid,” Eivaley smiled, regally gesturing over Conor and Brakul reclining on the sofa across the messy coffee table and Stitch lingering at the table's head.

The gesture somewhat lost any sense of dignity it might hold because Eivaley was no longer wearing her posh dress that Stitch had tossed out when she arrived. Instead, her ruby scales were concealed by a pair of tight black spandex shorts that let her thick, prehensile tail slip out the back. She had also donned a button-up that Stitch stole from Conor's overnight bag.

Why the doctor thought the Princess needed to wear Conor's clothes was a mystery until the human's eyes drifted to her barely contained, pink-cream-colored cleavage. If Eivaliey were wearing Stitch or Brakuls clothes, her fatty tits would be pouring right out.

Not that Conor would mind that. Possible client or not, Eivaley was easy on the eyes. She had healthy glistening scales, a build with just the right amount of plumpness and firmness to show she was no slouch in physicality.

Her green eyes pulled Conors from her chest; they were hypnotic, bathing him in an ocean of emerald jewels.

Her short reptilian snout and stout horns running from nose to mid-back did nothing for him, but the little golden trinkets in them looked good. They were only still there because Stitch failed to remove them; apparently, they were going through some nerves, so he did not want to risk hurting her.

For Conor, physical attraction to non-humans was the status quo. He had never seen other Humans in person and found them dull from the pictures he had seen. On the other hand, Aliens had uncountable possibilities; from how their emotions worked to their physical differences, it was far more enjoyable.

“It’s no problem,” Brakul sneered. “You looked like you needed the help.”

“I certainly did. I cannot express how much I appreciate it; without the brave champion here, who knows what might have happened?” Eivaley smiled, looking back over at Conor, holding her vision on him just long enough that he noticed it

“I will ensure you all are compensated well for your actions. I'm certain Daddy would give you anything you wanted for saving me,” Evialey continued, reaching for the cup of water Conor had given her and sipping from it.

“We certainly appreciate that—Your Highness,” Brakul unconfidently said, likely having forgotten the standard word for royalty.

Coner and Stitch glanced at one another with a knowing look. Brakul was trying to butter up Eivaley by appealing to a tradition she is used to and leveraging her naivete.

“Where is dear old dad anyway?” Brakul questioned, leaning back and crossing his legs.

The question was pointless; Brakul had already used his contacts to learn all he could about the ruby Kurlatra. Through them, Brakul figured out that Evialays Father should be on the far side of town. He was safely in the Porencial district, a location for the city's most affluent, influential, and most guarded members of society.

The residents of that district were essentially the city and planet's pseudo-nobles. It was no shock that a genuine off-world lord would stay there.

If their information was correct, which it usually was, her father should be staying with Nefuril—one of the mob heads in the city's upper districts. Nefuril's reach extends to dozens of systems, hundreds of worlds, and thousands of space stations.

Conor had never been able to confirm it while doing some wet work for Nefuril, but they allegedly had most of the gangs in the city under their thumb, keeping them there by flooding drugs into the market and keeping what Heavalun called Police out of their business.

Conor had seen the Police respond to locations and then pack up without doing anything his whole life, so he could believe it.

A part of Conor had wondered if the old lord wanted to feel like some billy badass and prove he could rub shoulders with genuine high rollers, cutthroats, and warlords.

“Oh, daddy should be—-” Evialey trailed off, nervously twiddling her thumbs, likely feeling her proud image had been tarnished by not having an answer. “I’m not sure. Torkla, my assigned champion, handled all of that.”

Conor raised a brow and crossed his arms, watching Evialey look at him as if she were expecting something. He knew it had to involve whatever Champions were. She spoke of it as if it were some kind of mantle or station.

When she had first called him that an hour earlier, Conor assumed it to be her noble senses getting the better of her and it just being a queer bit of veneration—now he knew there had to be more to it.

“Oh, don’t worry about that, my dear.” Brakul began, then gestured wide at Conor and Stitch. “We will figure out where your daddy is and take you there—-presuming you are willing to hire three lowborn thugs like us to do so.”

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

That overboard display of grandurism earned Brakul a subtle tap on his leg from Stitch. The man and Conor both feared Evialey would see through him or just not accept because it was more of an offer, not a strong arm.

“Of course I would!” Evialey nearly shouted, shooting up and planting her palms on the table.

The sudden sharp movement caused Conor to react immediately. He reached out and stood between Brakul and Evialey, ready to slam her to the ground. While Evialey was likely not as strong as Brakul, she still had claws several centimeters long and was a relative unknown to the human. And as far as Conor saw it any unknown poses a threat.

Eivialey and Conor stared at one another for a moment, neither sure what to do because, for him, that was a wild overreaction. To her, Conor was her new champion, and she wanted to follow his counsel.

“Can you please sit back down and not look like you will attack my friend?” Conor said, being the first to break the silence.

“Of course—I’m sorry about that; I am just excited, is all,” Evialey replied sheepishly, sitting back down.

Once both were back in their seats and Brakul had wiped a smug grin off his face, Evialey continued. “As I was saying, yes, I am more than happy to contract you all—however, I cannot pay. My cred-sticks and non-signing jewelry went missing,” she finished by flicking her tongue angrily at nothing, clearly perturbed at the loss of what was likely several fortunes of crit.

Just as they planned, Brakul looked slowly at Conor and Stitch, receiving a nod from each of them, just to keep up the rouse that this was not all planned from the start.

“Don’t you worry your head about that. We can work on credit since you are a princess; I’m certain your daddy will see us taken care of,” Brakul assured.

“I assure you money is of no issue,” Evialey nodded.

“Perfect,” Brakul clapped, then gestured to Stitch. “We just need the good doctor here to give you a clean bill of health, and then we can get you home. How long would that take?”

Stitch straightened himself and tapped on the blank datapad, looking sagely between Evialey and the empty screen. He made obtuse and pointless facial expressions as he went along, selling the idea that he was actually reviewing something fairly well.

The conmen already knew Evialey was the picture of health after Doc pumped her with nanotech last week. They just needed him to sell her on a day or two so they could fake looking up where her father was and plan her extract.

“Well—Another check-up, a good meal, and a night's rest should do the trick,” Stitch said. “When I last checked her vitals earlier, she seemed reasonably stable, but I want to ensure the lovely ladies' state.”

“Would another day or two here be alright with you?” Brakul questioned.

Evialey looked back at Coner, expecting him to answer; to oblige her, he tilted his head up and prised her onward, seeing no harm in encouraging her.

That call would change their dynamic from nothing to something Conor had never seen coming. He had just given her justification and played into her game.

“I would not mind spending time here and getting to know my Champion here,” Evielay smirked, brushing the tip of her tail across Conor's shin.

Conor did not make any reaction to stop what she was doing because Brakul had not yet fully sealed the deal, so she wrapped her tail tightly around his ankle and playfully tugged at it. Brakul noticed her tail tugging at Conor’s leg, and the bright idea fairy hit him like a truck.

“Well, since we have a deal. Is there anything Conor could do to make you feel more comfortable?” Brakul chuckled, tilting his head at Conor and offering him up on a silver platter to the interested alien.

“Would he be able to escort me out to purchase some fresh attire? And possibly a few other things for the trip?” Evielay asked Brakul as if Conor did not even have a voice.

“Oh, of course. I know Conor would be more than happy to spend some alone time with you,” Brakul smirked, tossing a credit stick to Conor. “Gear her up, and don’t worry about cost—treat her.”

Before Conor could argue about it, Stitch had stood up. “Evielay, would you come with me?”

“Of course, sir,” she replied, finally letting Conor's leg go and turning to follow the doctor.

If Conor was not annoyed by Brakuls volunteering him, her plump ass swaying back and forth would have been a distraction, but now was not the time to think about railing that reptilian until she could not walk.

“Why the fuck did you volunteer me?” Conor said once Eivilay and Stitch vanished down the hall.

Brakul leaned forward and flipped his hand lazily. “Look, man, she has clearly taken a liking to you. We have to use that.”

Conor started to open his mouth to explain that he did not want to go out shopping, of all things. Brakul pointed at him. “And don’t think I haven't seen you looking at her, too. Just remember, no matter what she is a mark, don’t get attached.”

Conor had plenty of experience manipulating people with Brakul, but “to get your bag and get out “ was a lesson the Jurintik man had tried to hammer into him, ultimately failing to make it stick. Conor was too much a bleeding heart and was willing to connect with others.

Conor stood up and stepped toward the main entrance, wanting to smoke and not hear more of Brakul preaching. “I won’t.”

“You said that last time,” Brakul replied, calling out times when Conor gave too much effort, which resulted in them having less pay.

Having nothing to use to argue against the results from the past, Conor waved Brakul off and stepped outside. “Send her out when she is ready,” He said before closing the door.

Once outside, Conor lit a cigarette and leaned against the wall, readying himself to try to follow Brakuls's orders—a task that would be more difficult than he could ever imagine.

Eivilay was a young woman who was alone and likely afraid. Yet here, Conor was ready to continue manipulating her. It was not right, and he knew it.

“Fuck,” Conor said, leaning his head to look up at the oppressive building overhead.