Clav

I'm pulled from oblivion by an incredibly rude nudge in my ribs. My head is pounding, the side of my skull still sore from where the bastard struck me. I crack my eyes open to find myself on some cold black marble floor, surrounded by a circle of at least twenty soldiers, all with spears drawn and aimed at me. As if I were the worst threat possible.

My fucking glasses are gone, and beyond the guards, everything is blurry. I can make out that we're in a giant, roomy dining hall with a shit ton of people sitting around rectangular tables, but I can't tell whether they're all fae, or creatures like the bat-folk, or what. It honestly looks like a mixture of both.

Pushing myself up, I try to ignore the tensing warriors as I scan my surroundings. The smell of beer and roasted meat permeates the air, making my stomach tighten. My armor has been removed, and I'm wearing my jeans and faded pink button down. They must have taken my vest. Hell, even my shoes are gone, my bare feet pressing into the cold marble floor.

Someone clears their throat, and I squint past the guards to find who I'm guessing is Tarsus based on the blur of long white hair and large antlers, reclining upon a throne. I wish I could see their expression. There's no mistaking the golden haired boy sitting beside him like a fucking human pet is Aden.

The sight of Aden is like a knife to my back. I trusted him. I laughed with him. I fucked him, and now he's sitting at the base of the throne of the fae who wants me dead. But when Tarsus held the sword to my throat, Aden stepped in and stopped them. So I guess I have him to thank for my life right now. I reach up, feeling the scratch the blade left.

Taking a deep breath, I face Tarsus' form on the throne. "C-can I have my glasses, please?" I hate how small I sound. How pathetically weak. But honestly, I don't even care because I'm fucking terrified.

"You can stop with the act now," Tarsus' curt voice echoes through the silent room, making me flinch. "As you humans say: Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice…" They wave their hand lazily in the air, the rings on their fingers catching the light as their voice trails off, then they take a sip from their gold chalice.

"I never lied."

They chuckle darkly. "Your missing finger would tell us otherwise."

I curl my four fingers into a fist, hiding the evidence of my deceit. And the memory of our pinky promise is like a kick to my gut.

"I didn't mean to lie," I correct, though at this point, I don't think they're going to care one way or another.

"That was a poor gesture, terrible acting." Tarsus straightens in their throne and sets the bowl aside. "Sacrificing your right pinky to uphold your facade. And for what?"

I can feel my heart rate pick up, but I take a deep breath to cool my rising temper. Losing my shit here will only prove their point. That I'm the bad guy.

"Who are you to accuse someone of acting? I thought your little pet there was my friend." Aden shifts uncomfortably and turns his head away, though that little gesture of shame does nothing to make me feel better. I only feel worse. Ultimately, Aden did save me.

"Watch it," Tarsus says in a low, lethal voice. "I let you go at the faire, didn't I?" Their words are clipped, their fluid voice even and controlled. "I could have ended you there, but I showed mercy. It was you who returned to kill me."

I rub my hand along my arm, trying to brush away the chills as I look away. "I don't know who you think I am, but I'm not that person."

They snort. "You just led an entire army of bats onto the field to kill me, so it's kind of hard to believe you don't want me dead."

I level a glare at them. "Unless the bat was lying, it was you attacking us."

They flash their teeth. "Only because Abaddon was on his way to take Aden and throw him into the volcano. But you knew this."

My back tenses, my skin crawling at the thought of Abaddon throwing Aden in. I look at Aden, wishing terribly that I could see his expression, but dammit, everything is a blur without my glasses.

"You'd say anything to make me think you're the good guy." I jerk my chin to Aden. "Look at poor Aden, sitting by your feet like a pet, not uttering a word because you'll no-doubt flog him."

Tarsus huffs. "Ask him yourself if you think he's being held captive."

As if Aden would answer truthfully if he was. Gods, I wish I could get Aden alone and talk to him, without his lord overlooking his every word. But after what happened last time, I don't think Aden wants anything to do with me.

Still. I have to know. "Aden?" I squint, trying hard to see his expression.

He's casually reclining on the marble stairs, legs outstretched before him. "Yes?"

"Tell me the truth."

He's silent for a beat, his face not turning away from mine. "You lied to me, . I have nothing more to say to you."

Tears sting the backs of my eyes from the unfeeling nature of his voice. This is the man I met at the library, who helped clean up my mess from the floor. The man I ate turkey legs with while watching the jousting tournament. I lost him. I lost him…because I pinned him down like a god-damned psychopath. But then…he kept things from me. Fury ignites a fire within me, replacing that longing.

"You're the one who didn't tell me about your partner being a…fae."

"I absolutely did tell you." He releases a short laugh. "I said I was dating a fae, a witch, and a vampire."

Fuck. He did say that, didn't he? I thought it was an adorable joke due to his kink for fantasy creatures. I had no idea he was serious. He's been open and honest with me from the start.

Aden tilts his head. "You used me, you fucked me, and then you tried to kill me. Anything you say now…I know it's an act, icle. And I'm done playing your games."

icle. That's who I am in this world. Whether or not it's true, that's how everyone sees me. I take a deep breath, remembering my hand clamped over Aden's mouth. "I'm sorry for losing my shit on you. I was, like, having a bad day, okay?"

"Just like you," Tarsus croons. "Taking lives because of a bad day."

"No—it's not like that—"

"Apologies are a little late now, aren't they?"

"If you're going to kill me," I seethe, glaring between them through my tears, "then get it over with."

Tarsus chuckles. "I hate that it's come to this. If you'd come clean and been willing to talk to me without this mask you wear, I might actually trust you." They wave their hand dismissively in the air. "But you've lied too many times. Nothing you say now will change my mind. You're conniving, and I can't believe a word that falls from your deceptive mouth."

A snap of their fingers makes me flinch, and they pull something out from behind their blanket of hair, placing it on the ground. I don't need my glasses to see the small black hairball grow into a massive tarantula the size of a St. Bernard, right before my eyes. It looks just like the one Tarsus rode into battle on, though quite a bit smaller.

"What the fuck?" My voice is damn near hysterical now, and I don't even care.

"Remember Weaver?" Tarsus asks, gesturing toward the hairy black and gold tarantula.

I almost laugh. "The thing that ate my dragon."

"Oh my god. For the last time. She did not eat your wyvern."

"Oh. Okay." I swear I'm about to piss my pants when the thing scurries toward me, stopping just behind one of the guards who has me trapped in their circle.

"Do you remember her?" Tarsus asks again. "Besides seeing her on the battlefield?"

My tongue darts out to wet my lips. "Am I supposed to remember her?" My question isn't meant to sound sarcastic. What I mean is, if I'm supposed to remember her in order to live, then fuck yes I'll make myself remember her. But my question comes out sounding more condescending than anything, and it makes Tarsus stand from their throne in obvious anger.

"Well. She damn well remembers you. It was you who chopped off one of her limbs."

I flinch. "I must have been a real bastard." My hands are sweating at my sides.

They chuckle and shake their head. "The worst bastard."

Laughter ripples through the room. My face heats up, panic clawing out of my throat.

Tarsus gestures toward one of the guards. "Ulna, you know what to do."

The tall, muscular guard standing between me and the harry spider glares at me. At least she's standing close enough that I can see her expression, though I wish I didn't. Her stone-cold glare is chilling enough to turn my blood to ice. Her white hair is cropped short. She could easily snap my body in two with one hand.

"With pleasure," she sneers.

Her hands tighten around her axe. The crowd roars with cheers as Ulna leads me up a flight of stairs. Mugs are crashed together in salute before they guzzle the drink down, then slam the mugs back onto the table. Whatever fun they plan to have with me only makes the atmosphere more chaotic.

Ulna guides me up the marble steps to a balcony that runs the circumference of the hall, Weaver scuttling at her heels. Below, servants are pouring into the hall, refilling beer mugs. I cast one more pleading look at Tarsus, but the prick only lifts their mug in salute, before drinking deeply.

"Weaver is a friendly arachnid," Tarsus shouts, their voice echoing through the obsidian hall and silencing the cheers and hollers. "But she's highly attracted to things that run. As in, she dives straight into kill mode. I will give you a head start, and at my signal, she will chase you down."

And what? I wonder. Suck me dry? Spin me into a coma like Frodo? My breaths come in short spurts. Ulna releases me, and I glance Tarsus pleadingly, but they must really, truly hate me because they only laugh and say, "You'd better get a move on, Sovereign icle, because Weaver has been waiting for this day for decades."