Clav

I'm going to go ahead and jot monster-fucking down as the best sex I've ever had. I mean…goddamn. I'm not a bad looking dude. In college I had large cocks stretch me to my max, but none of them can compete with Abaddon's eggplant. I'm still sore when I wake up, and somehow being sore makes me want another round. My morning wood hardens at the memory of last night.

A loud rumble jolts me fully awake. The bed sways back and forth from its chains hanging from the ceiling, and I swear it's going to fall and shatter on the cavern ground. The mountain is trembling, like it's about to erupt. My heart pounding, I cling to one of the gold chains, praying to whatever force rules this realm that I'll live. The tremors finally cease, and outside, I see a few orange rocks tumbling down the cavern face to the valley below. It's still dark out, and I'm not sure whether I'm thrilled or crushed to wake up to find this is all real.

I can't believe I actually fell asleep. But after all the filthy things Abaddon did to me, my body was exhausted and I had the best sleep I've had in months. After the final fucking, Abaddon took off out the window and disappeared into the night. Clearly not the cuddling type. But I didn't really have time to overthink him leaving me like that before a deep slumber took over. Ironic, that I would sleep better in the heart of an active volcano with bat-beasts nearby than in my own bed. But Abaddon fucked me raw and wore me out in the best way possible.

A chill sweeps in from outside and I pull the plush fur blanket up to my chin, trying not to think about what giant beast this hide was stripped from and if my past-self skinned it himself. The only comforting thing in this room is the fire crackling in the hearth, fighting off the cold mountain chill.

I close my eyes. If I fall asleep this time, maybe I'll wake up in reality. To the smell of coffee instead of sulfur. To the autumn sun peeking through my pastel pink curtains that I've had since I was a child. The frilly curtains that Mom—Mandi—sewed for me, because I wouldn't stop begging for curtains that matched my walls and bedspread. Dad laughed and said my room looked like someone took a bottle of pepto and dumped it in my room. He was totally right.

It never seemed to bother my parents that I was a bit of a fem-boy. Well, a major fem-boy. I feel lucky for that, since a lot of folks at Dad's church think masculinity has to involve neutral colors and rugged strength.

What was Mom thinking when they took time from their bone carving to sew those curtains? Was there any measure of maternal love in their heart, the sort where they simply couldn't say no to their son's dreams? Did they roll their eyes and give in just to make me shut up about it?

My heart sinks. I can't help but believe that any time they gave in to my wiles or showed me any measure of affection, it was simply to indulge the needs of a princeling. It was their duty to serve me, wasn't it?

I climb down the ladder from the raised bed, landing on the cave floor with a thud, and pull my discarded jeans and pink button-down shirt back on. I grab my vest, too, thought it's rumpled and filthy after that swim in the bog last night. A few candles are still lit against the wall, a dying flame flickering from the large log in the hearth. I stare at the skull upon the mantle, where the candles flicker.

Abaddon claims this is my father's skull. Whom I killed. But I can't imagine myself as this terrible prince who ruled a sordid kingdom. I can't imagine taking someone else's life, much less my own father's. Unless…if he's the one who ordered the human sacrifices, maybe I could see myself ending him only to spare the humans. But Abaddon told me I upped the human sacrifices after my father's death.

So maybe I was as ruthless as Tarsus claims, after all.

I groan and drag my hands down the length of my face. I have so many questions, and no one to ask them to. What I would give for a biography on my past life, just so I know what people expect of me. Another frigid mountain breeze whisks in from the valley, and goosebumps spread across my skin. Crossing the room, I take a closer look at my father's skull. A few of the teeth are chipped, as if he didn't go down without a fight. With a trembling hand, I reach out and wrap my cold fingers around the dome of the skull, gently lifting it off the mantle, half afraid the owner of this skull will return to their living form and avenge themselves.

Releasing a shuddering breath, I stare into the empty pits of the skull. Another breeze whisks in, but it's not as wild and uncoordinated as the last. This breeze is warm as it caresses my skin, but it makes more chills spread across my body nonetheless.

I swear I can almost remember…something. A black marble palace fashioned into the shape of a giant skull. A crown made of rows and rows of razor-sharp teeth that point toward the sky. A throne constructed from…bones. I can smell burnt wood-smoke, can hear the chants of warriors, the steady beat of drums, and the blood-curdling screams of…sacrifices.

And despite the chilling memory, something new, yet familiar courses through my blood. It's like fire, passionate and reckless. A light seems to grow in the pits of the skull sockets, drawing me deeper into some ancient memory, some other life. The sounds of the wind and the roaring fire fade as my heartbeat echoes in my ears like the drums of war—

A knock at the entryway makes me jump, and the skull rolls from my hand, clattering on the cavern floor. Dawn must have broken when I was lost in that…memory? Trance? Whatever the fuck it was. And now faded light slants into the room.

", you awake?" Mom—Mandi pulls aside the tapestry and peeks in, smiling when they see that I'm already up.

"You made it," I breathe. I want to hug them. But they've lied to me all my life, abandoned me to that bat, and I'm realizing that I don't even know them. Not really.

"Of course I made it . I'm still your guardian."

Guardian. Not mother.

A human wearing something that resembles a potato sack steps in behind Mandi, carrying a tray of food. The human doesn't make eye contact with me as they lay a tray on a stand, then scurry out, as if afraid I'll fry them on the spot. And no wonder. Abaddon threw a human into the pit of the volcano just last night. I close my eyes, cursing myself for finding him so attractive. I fucked him. Multiple times. A murderer.

"Eat up," Mandi orders, completely unbothered by the skittish human, then moves to pull open the ancient wardrobe across the room. They're Fae now. Tall and beautiful and…young. Why would they care about a human life? "You need some protein."

I take a closer look at the food. The fried egg takes up the whole plate, with a massive red yolk that looks like oozing blood when I pop it. I scrunch my nose.

"What the fuck is this?"

Mandi looks at me from my closet. "Wyvern egg. And wyvern milk, milked straight from the mother this morning."

I wince and push my plate away.

They click their tongue. "Come, now, . Over-easy eggs are your favorite. Wyvern eggs have ten times the protein as the ones you ate back home. And loads of iron. It's the perfect breakfast before battle."

They say that so casually my stomach twists. Right. The battle. Why couldn't I be transported to a faerie realm where everyone is living at peace with one another? Can I come back in a year when this stupid war is over? Jesus.

My stomach gives a low rumble, reminding me that I have to eat, and I study the eggs again, like I'm studying a specimen in science class. I'm convinced the yolk is straight up blood. And when I dip my utensil into it, it actually tastes…like blood. The strong flavor of iron invades my mouth, and I quickly wash it down with the thick, creamy milk, which is, indeed, still warm.

Nope. I can't eat this, no matter how much my stomach rumbles. Grabbing the only thing that looks mouth watering—a warm, buttery croissant—I down the thing, erasing the other flavors with fresh-baked dough and cinnamon. The edge of my hand tingles all the way up to my pinky as I eat, as if I lied on it all night. I try to shake the pin needles out, but it only makes it worse.

"Do dragons usually nurse their egg-born babies?" I ask, taking another sip of milk. It's actually not bad when not mingled with the flavor of blood. The milk holds a certain honey-like sweetness.

Mandi rolls their eyes. "Always one to question. Don't try to find the science behind it. This is a new world, and your mortal science has no place here. Yes, dragons lay eggs, and yes, they nurse their babies."

"Kind of like…a platypus." Interesting. I set the glass down. "So... where is this wyvern, anyway? Somewhere in the palace?"

"In the field with the others." They return with an armload of clothes. "Now get dressed."

I slowly begin to undress, and Mandi assists me into the tunic and then layers me in the black metal armor with twin bat wings carved on the breastplate. I guess some part of me still feels like this is a dream. I'm not…I'm not as scared as I should be. Maybe it's all the epic fantasy books I've read, but marching into battle feels familiar, somehow.

"This is surprisingly light," I say, lifting my arm with the armor strapped around it.

"And fireproof, too."

Oh, wonderful. Fireproof. Which means there will be fire on the battlefield. Nothing about this scenario screams victory on our part.

I help them adjust the strap around my rib cage, but I can't seem to get my pinky to cooperate. The numbness has become more pronounced now, as if it was lying beneath a heavy boulder all night. I finally lift my hand to examine the appendage, and a breath whooshes out of me. My pinky has turned an ugly shade of blue. I shake my hand again, growling in annoyance.

"Everything okay?" Mandi asks as they cinch the strap.

"My hand is asleep. Not my whole hand—my pinky. I can't feel a thing." I try to bend it, but even the muscle in my pinky doesn't respond. Now panic grips me. Not because of the looming battle, but because I can't move my goddamn pinky.

Mandi straightens, their silvery eyes wide. I'll never get used to their fae appearance, the way they look twenty years younger. They grab my wrist with slender fingers and inspect my pinky, which is swiftly turning gray now.

"Who did you make a pinky promise to?" they ask in a lethally quiet voice. They glare at me. "And then break it?"

I start to laugh—when I realize they're not kidding. "A pinky promise? I don't know—someone in kindergarten?"

"No one since then?"

I open my mouth to respond when—oh wait. God, no.

"I promised Tarsus I wouldn't come back," I whisper in horror. "He had me pinned down, made me pinky swear never to return to the faerie realms. I thought it was the dumbest thing ever."

"You pinky promised?" Mom's grip tightens painfully around my wrist. "What did I tell you about making promises? And a pinky promise!" With my wrist still in one hand, they pinch the tip of my pinky between their thumb and their index finger, and give it a little tug, completely removing my pinky from my hand.

The room begins to spin, the ground shifting beneath my feet as I watch my pinky being plucked from my hand without me feeling a thing. I would think it was an illusion, but when they release my wrist, there's no pinky there. Just a pink nub of freshly healed skin where my pinky used to be.

"Sit down, you're turning green," Mandi snaps, guiding my hind side to the edge of the bed.

I think I might throw up. Darkness begins creeping to the edge of my vision.

"What...what did you do?" I manage to say as they force my head between my knees. The darkness slowly ebbs away.

"I did nothing." They march across the room. I lift my head just in time to see them toss my pinky out the window.

"No!" Leaping to my feet, I race to the window, gaping while two giant lizards—or are they baby wyverns?—fight over my discarded appendage. Stars explode across my vision, and I try to blink them away. "I could have had it surgically put back on."

"No. It was dead. You made a pinky promise, and you broke it. Such is the punishment for being a liar. Be happy it wasn't a promise sealed with a kiss that you broke, or it would be your lips that rotted off. And your tongue, depending on how deep a kiss it was."

I whirl around and gape at them in horror. "What the fuck?" I stare at my four-fingered hand, my eyes wide and my stomach turning. I realize I'll lose much more than my pinky by the time this battle is over, but still...

"It's just a pinky, ." Mandi tilts my chin up and arches a perfectly shaped brow. "The finger you use the least."

"On my dominant hand!" I squeak.

"Be careful about making promises in the future, yes? A pinky promise should never be broken."

Mandi shoves leather gloves over my hands, hiding my missing pinky. Then they place a black helmet with a long black ponytail over my head. I twist my neck, trying to get used to the metal covering my head. This armor was clearly not catered to people with sensory issues, but at least it will conceal my terror on the field.

As soon as I step out of my room, a host of advisors are waiting for me, including Abaddon. Like me, he wears armor of thin metal that allows for free movement. Slits are built into the back where his wings flare out. The advisors all greet me with a bow. Thank god my shocked and terrified expression is hidden. With a curt nod, I proceed down the hall with long, purposeful steps. They ask me questions that I have no answers to, but thank God Abaddon answers for me.

He should be the sovereign. By all that is right and fair in the world, he should bear the title for leading my kingdom in my absence. He seems to actually care for the people, instead of hiding behind his palace walls doing nothing while the continent suffers from the smoke and ash of the volcano.

We step outside where an army of a few thousand bats awaits.

"Long live the Spine Sovereign!" someone shouts when we step out, and then others chime in, until they're all shouting, "Long live Sovereign icle!"

I shudder with the enormity of their attention—their expectation of me. I almost smile and nod my thanks, but then remember my supposedly cold heart. Instead, I lift my chin and stride through the parted crowd to—to my waiting…

"D-dragon?"

"Wyvern." Mandi corrects. "Dragons have four legs."

Sure enough, the black wyvern—who's about as tall as a giraffe—stands on only two hind legs as it stretches its head toward the sky and impatiently flaps its giant membranous wings. It's saddled and armored, as if I'm, like, expected to ride it or some shit like that. I halt in my steps, but Mandi gently takes my arm and tugs me along before too many people notice.

I lean toward Mandi. "How, um, am I supposed to steer this thing?"

"Same way you steer a horse, dear."

Except a horse won't eat me whole. I'm beginning to see all the reasons for those horseback lessons as a child. All the reasons for those battle stories growing up. And fencing lessons? Seemed bougie in the town I grew up in, for someone living in an old haunted house, but I get it now. It almost seems like Mandi has been preparing me for my return all this time, knowing I would one day come back. They are certainly at home here, greeting bat-folk they haven't seen in two decades.

My hands are slick with sweat by the time we arrive at a massive wyvern with black scales. When the dim light breaking through the clouds above catches those scales just right, they almost appear iridescent.

"Remember," Mandi whispers to me when I stop before the beast and gape. "The bats have your back. They are your subjects, and will obey every command. Don't be afraid."

I nod. Fine. I won't be afraid. I'm going to die today. Nothing scary about that. Time to accept that fact. And maybe it's better I die by falling off a large dragon—I mean wyvern—than by the sword of some dick regent.

Mom helps me climb the ladder built into the saddle. The wyvern shakes its massive head as its hawk-like eyes dart around its surroundings like a bird of prey. I chew my lip as I cling to the reigns of the beast and scan the armies. All these people are counting on me. The fate of the continent is counting on me.

Abaddon soars my way, then lands on the ground in front of my wyvern, tucking his wings in tight.

"Abaddon," I say, breathless as I scan the armies awaiting my orders. "Tell me everything this Tarsus has done to you and my people. Tell me why you think I should kill them."

"Besides kicking you off your throne, cursing you, and claiming the empire for themself?" He says, his voice so deep and authoritative that it makes me shudder, "Tarsus is not doing a gods-damned thing to stop the volcano from wiping out their people. And they have the power to. They know my colony lives within these caves, but they are doing nothing to spare us…or their Spine Fae. Who will also get wiped out. They want the power the throne provides, but they don't want the responsibility of protecting their people that comes with it."

And there it is. The red. The red that makes fire roar through my blood as all the sounds drown out in the heat of my fury. The red that makes me do stupid things.

I decide in that moment, I have to live. I can't just show up and hope that's enough. No, I'll conquer this evil ruler. I'll take them down and take my place on the throne. It's the least I can do after abandoning my people for over two decades. And once I take my throne, I'll not only somehow, magically, by means unknown by me, stop the volcano from erupting, but I'll also stop the human sacrifices.

That thought alone spurs me on, gives me at least one thing I understand that is worth fighting for.

I'm going to save the bat folk. I'm going to save the humans. I'm going to save everyone from the volcano's wrath. Renewed fervor spills through my veins, and I pull my sword from the scabbard, but it's heavier than I anticipated, not to mention I'm not used to not having a pinky—and it falls to the ground.

Fuck.

"Too heavy." Abaddon chuckles, his ears twitching in amusement. "Where's your obsidian dagger?"

I blink, trying to remember. My hand finds it in my belt, where Mandi tucked it this morning.

"Here."

"Good," Abaddon says. "That dagger has the ability to turn your enemies to ash with one scratch."

My eyes widen at the reminder, my brain screaming at me for carrying such a lethal weapon.

"Use it on Tarsus the moment you see them. And don't half-heartedly try to stab them, . You have to sink that dagger into their throat with all your strength."

I think I'm going to throw up.

"Remember, me and my armies are sworn to protect you," Abaddon says, seeming to sense my panic. He flaps his wings, stirring up the dust, and rises several feet above me, shouting, "Long live Sovereign icle!"

The eager response of cheers feeds my courage. Is this what Abaddon meant when he said my mere presence would give them the strength they need to win?

"We will march out," I shout, using that anger that Abaddon fanned. I'm shocked when everyone falls silent. "We will be brave. And we will win this battle. Success will be ours." I flash a wicked grin. "And so will the world."

Their cheers roar through the valley. I jerk the reins of the wyvern, gripping the leather saddle as it soars into the sky, following the swarming bat army as the colony takes flight. All I can do is try my best, and hope that it's enough.

But when the sun crests the horizon, painting the sky blood-red, I can't help but think of how the battlefield will look much like the sky pretty soon, coated in the blood of the very people I'm fighting for.