Royal Protocol 1

The rear hatch of the runner slowly lowered, and Ba'dqeel exited the craft first, looking around the hanger bay. There were only a few Nycteromyian flight deck hands hustling around the runner, preparing it for its next fight. The rule was that his personal craft needed to be ready at a moment's notice and these men were making sure that that was the case.

There was a whooshing sound coming from one end of the bay as the hydraulic doors opened, revealing a security team entering at a fast pace. Each one had a helmet on, their face obscured under the metal with only their ram-like horns on prominent display.

Each one carried a laser rifle in their hands while a metal sword hung at their hips. The metal was forged from the molten lava of their home world, leaving a weapon so strong that it could cut through anything and was unable to be broken or damaged.

"Sire," grunted the captain of the guard as the ten males stopped in front of Ba'dqeel.

"I need an escort to the med bay," said Ba'dqeel, looking each male up and down. Everything on this ship belonged to him and him alone. He had handpicked each crew member for their performance and loyalty, but right now, he didn't trust any of them.

Anyone could be a spy for his brother or an enemy faction, and he wasn't about to expose his mate to anyone when she was so vulnerable.

"Make sure the corridors and lifts have been vacated. If anyone should approach, kill them. I don't care who they are," continued Ba'dqeel. He could feel the tension rising in the males around him, but they didn't so much as move a muscle.

"Of course, Sire," nodded the captain calmly. A little too calm for Ba'dqeel.

"I don't think you understand, Zua'the," growled the ambassador, his need to protect the hirini riding him hard around all the strange males. Logically, he knew that the males could be trusted; they had proven that over and over again in the hundreds of revolutions that they had been together.

But logic was taking a back seat at this time.

"Should anyone approach us on the way to medical, then they need to be killed. If there is more than just the primary healer in the med bay when we arrive, the others will die. Whoever looks at He'dtaalh too long will die. Do you understand?"

Zua'the's eyes narrowed as he looked at his long time friend. He had never seen Ba'dqeel acting this way before, and he was concerned. "Has something happened to the Hier?" he asked, cocking his head to the side to try and see inside of the runner.

"Nothing has happened to him," sneered Ba'dqeel. "Someone will leave to fetch the Little Prince in a few chwila."

"You left him planet side?" sputtered Zua'the, forgetting for a moment who he was addressing. "That goes against protocol."

Ba'dqeel froze from where he was scrutinizing the men and stared at his friend. They had attended the same education centers since they were younglings recently released from the hatchery. They had done everything together for the past 800 years…

And still, he wanted to rip the spine out of the male in front of him.

"Whose protocol?" asked Ba'dqeel softly, and Zua'the realized for the first time just how volatile the situation was. His friend was ready to kill him over a question that would usually just make him roll his eyes.

"Ba'dqeel!" hollered He'dtaalh from inside the runner. "We are out of time! We need to leave now."

"Royal Protocol 1," hissed Ba'dqeel. The soldiers in front of him snapped to attention, their weapons poised and their eyes scanning the hanger bay.

Zua'the bit his tongue as he let his training take over. Royal Protocol 1 only happened when a member of the royal family was injured to near death.

But if the Heir was still on the planet, and Ba'dqeel was just fine, who was injured?

Taking point, the rest of the men fanned out behind him, like an arrowhead pointing in the direction of the med bay.

"We're ready," called out Ba'dqeel, and Zua'the could hear the faint footsteps approaching the ramp.

That was the moment he was hit by the most incredible scent ever.

His teeth elongated, and his ram-like horns doubled in size and grith until he could feel the strain on his neck for a moment before his muscles bulked up to support the new weight. His eyes flashed orange as the colors, smells, and sounds around him heightened.

He felt primed for battle but had no idea where the enemy was, but he knew they were around.

Spinning around and crouching low, he opened his mouth to let out a snarl, his canine teeth shining in the harsh lights of the hanger bay. "You too?" sighed Ba'dqeel as his eyes narrowed on his friend. "At least I don't have to worry about you anymore."

"What the fuck is going on, Ba'?" growled Zua'the as his muscles continued to expand, the veins in his arms jumping out against his leather-type flesh. He could feel his dark purple markings rearranging themselves over his arms, chest, and legs. The burning sensation was both painful and comforting at the same time.

"What is going on, old friend, is that we are going to the med bay. Anyone who even attempts to stop us will be killed," repeated Ba'dqeel. He hadn't experienced as strong of a reaction as his friend to their mate, but he could imagine what the other male was going through.

"Understood, Sire," grunted Zua'the as he went back to his position at the head of the arrow. His sole focus at the moment was getting to the med bay and figuring out just what was going on.

"Eyes forward," grunted Ba'dqeel to the men. "Move out."

The group stalked out of the hanger bay, He'dtaalh and Ba'dqeel in the center of the formation. While their horns stood proud and tall over top of the soldier's around them, their bodies were well hidden from sight.