Clav

I don't know how many hours creep by in this pit, illuminated only by the eternal faelight coming from the crack in the door. It could have been hours. It could have been days. Who the fuck knows? I've always been one to miscalculate time. One thing I do know—my tongue is dry and swollen with thirst. That prick didn't even slip me a sip of water after I asked. I haven't had anything to drink or eat since before the battle, and I'm parched, hungry.

So hungry.

Every now and then I fall into these light slumbers where strange nightmares haunt my dreams. I dream of dancing in a ballroom filled with fae and demons. I dream of skulls on the mantle in some ancient room, bones hanging from the ceiling, clicking together like some nightmarish wind chimes in the breeze. Of dried lavender burning and orchestral music playing in some faraway place. The chill hanging in the air awakens me, but when I open my eyes, the room spins so fast that I hunch over and puke on the stone floor.

I'm dehydrated. Cross country taught me the importance of hydration, and the symptoms of going too long without water. I'm feeling it. Nausea, dizziness, my mouth dry as sand. I considered drinking my own urine like those survivalists tell us to do, but, well, I haven't peed in a while.

Tarsus does know mortals need to drink every few days, right? Surely Aden told them, at the very least. But then, Aden was playing his fiddle to the tune of my death. He hates me just as much as Tarsus…if not more. And who could blame him? When I thought he was taunting me, he was actually trying to warn me, enlighten me, tell me a truth my own mother kept from me for twenty-three years. And what did I do? Pinned him down and slapped my hand over his mouth to silence him. The fear in his eyes is still a spear to my chest.

My stomach drops at the realization that I have no one on my side. Assuming Tarsus is telling the truth about wanting to stop the human sacrifices, then Abaddon didn't tell me the whole truth. Only the parts he wanted me to know, which was that the volcano is erupting and Tarsus isn't doing jack shit about it.

Everyone here is the enemy, it seems. Nobody is redeemable, save for Aden. Which means that if I'm truly the Prince of Ruin, if deep inside I really am the intended sovereign of this empire, then I need to find a way to take back my throne and rule all of them. I want to stop the human sacrifices and stop the volcano. And if the only way to enforce my will is to get back my throne, then by the gods, I'll do everything in my power to make it happen.

Darkness presses in on me at the grim realization that I'm completely fucking alone. I'm done. I'm done trusting anybody. They want me to be the ruthless sovereign that scares them all shitless? Then that's what I'll become. Even if it goes against my nature.

I just need to figure out how to get my powers back. Because as a human, I'm nothing compared to these monsters.

*

The metal door budges open, and Ulna steps in. I'm not sure whether to be relieved or not. No emotion appears on her face. Her arms are the size of tree trunks, brushing against mine as she unlatches my chain. She leads me through the winding dark corridors, up, up, up the many stairs that lead out of this earthen prison. My legs are sore from the battle and from running from the tarantula. Every now and then the floor shifts beneath my feet, and I have to press my bound hands against the stone wall to steady myself, hating how weak I must appear to this Fae general.

"What day…how long have I been locked up?"

"Two days."

Fuck. The halls begin to spin again, and I stumble forward, but Ulna grips my elbow, keeping me from falling head-first into the floor.

"Did we know each other?" I ask her.

She pauses ever so slightly before saying, "I thought I knew you."

"What happened?"

Her back remains rigid, her spine straight, and she's quiet for so long that I figure she's blowing me off. But then, she finally speaks.

"You used to be a love-sick dreamer with stars in his eyes. But the moment you took your father down, you turned into a vengeance-stricken nightmare. Always on edge, never appeased, never present." She finally looks at me with those cold silver eyes, her silver armor glinting in the faelight lining the walls. "You had become your blood-thirsty father."

We arrive at double oak doors with gold trim, guarded by twelve guards. A guard announces our arrival, and we're led into a massive room of black marble floors and bone-white walls and a long white table with white chairs around it, exotic silver dishes splayed across the surface. A massive window runs the length of one wall, allowing the gray light outside to spill into the room. I imagine that on a clear day the sunlight would flood this room.

The smell of roasted meat and freshly baked bread hits my senses, reminding me that I haven't eaten a full meal since that turkey leg I shared with Aden. Was that…three days ago? I would hardly call that croissant I had the morning before the battle a meal, but at least I had water then. Still, two and a half days without water and three days without food… no wonder my brain is foggy as shit.

Tarsus sits at the head of the table, their little pet, Aden, at their right side. I take my place at their left, my hands still bound at my front. The grimaces on both their faces don't go unnoticed by me, and no wonder. My rumpled button down shirt still has the remains of my puke on it. I've been wearing the same clothes since I left the human realms. My prison is dank and damp, and my chest is congested with fluid, making a wet cough erupt out of me. I suppress another cough, not wanting to appear weak when I'm here to scare these little shits into thinking I am, in fact, their fae king and they should fear me.

Deep blue shimmering eyeshadow is dusted across Tarsus' eyelids today, and gold lipstick paints their generous lips. Their antlers look extra polished today, nothing like they were on the battlefield, sprayed with blood and mud. Decorative chains loop around their antlers, matching the many hoops in their pointed ears.

I haven't decided yet if they have some immeasurable talent with their use of foundation or if their skin truly is that flawless. The hair at their temple has been braided back into a half ponytail. Behind their blanket of pale white hair that falls down their back, a tarantula about the size of my hand peaks out, and I shudder. The tarantula wiggles its pedipalp at me in greeting, as if it hadn't had me running for my life two days ago.

Aden, may God bless him, scoots my glasses across the table. I pick them up with my bound hands and shove them on my face. Holy hell, I've taken these things for granted. Everything is so crisp and clear and I want to cry for being able to see again. But crying will make me look weak. These guys will never believe I'm innocent, so it's time to start playing their game.

"I always wondered what you would look like as a human," Tarsus says before popping a red berry into their mouth.

"Remove these binds," I order in my most ruthless voice, but fail miserably. My voice is husky from the dryness in my throat, the force of my order weak from lack of food. All of this only serves to bring a grin to Tarsus' features.

They look at Aden. "You see what I told you? He was in there all along." Tarsus meets my gaze as they chew that berry. "You almost had me fooled."

Sure, I did.

"What do you want with me, step-sibling?"

Their brows shoot up. Them being my step-sibling was information Abaddon provided me with. It seems convincing enough to make Tarsus believe what I want them to believe.

"I want you to eat."

I blink, taken aback when a plate is set before me, filled with fried eggs—thank the gods, not the bloody wyvern eggs—and bacon and toast. Coffee, water, and orange juice are also set before me, and I immediately reach for the glass of water with my bound hands and chug every drop down. Fuck, I can't believe I took water for granted all this time, too. I almost tell them thank you for the very human breakfast, but then remember how they made me suffer in my cell for two days. No way in hell am I going to go down the Stockholm Syndrome rabbit hole. I'll show no gratitude for how they treated me.

"Take his binds off his wrists," Tarsus tells Ulna. "He's powerless enough with the copper collar on."

Ulna removes the shackles, and I give her a grateful smile, to which she scowls.

Tarsus casually smears butter across a piece of toast. I'm tempted to shove everything on my plate into my mouth, but decide it's more important to play the composed prince than the starving beggar. Picking up my eating utensil with a trembling hand, I scoop up some scrambled eggs and begin to eat. A moan escapes me as my eyes fall closed. This is fucking delicious.

When I open my eyes, I find Aden watching me, their smile tucked between their teeth, as if I were the most amusing creature in history. I manage—but fail—to glare at him. Instead, a small laugh erupts out of me, because I legit must look ridiculous right now.

"About time you fed me," I say, smothering my laugh as I successfully level a glare at Tarsus. "I am still in a mortal body, you know."

Tarsus takes a bite of their toast. "You need to know who rules these lands." They point their utensil to my finger. "Doesn't matter how many swears you break to return here, I'll always be the ruler."

I swallow that bite and pick up my coffee. "You can go to hell."

"If your mortal dad is correct," Aden says with a smirk. "We're already ruling hell."

I roll my eyes and ignore him while I finish off the rest of the food on my plate in silence. Who knows when I'll eat again? Only after my plate is cleared and all three glasses are once again drained, do I wipe off my hands and face with a napkin and give Tarsus and Aden my full attention. I can already feel the strength returning to my body, feel my mind clearing.

Aden shoves the last bite of eggs into his mouth, and then this fucking bastard who was playing the fiddle to my death last night has the balls to fucking wink at me.

"You can go to hell too," I snap at him.

His chewing slows, a sly glint in his eyes telling me he's not a bit phased by my words. I want to say something hurtful, but all I can think about is how I fucked him and then lost my shit on him. He deserves to hate me. An apology almost leaves my lips, but I bite it back. I'm playing the role of a ruthless king, not sweet Thorne. Besides, I already apologized and it did jack shit in my favor.

"So, let's cut straight to the chase," I say, looking at Tarsus. "You truly want to stop human sacrifices?"

"It's why I sent you to the mortal realms, yes," Tarsus responds, leaning back in their chair and crossing one leg over the other, their robes shifting. "I cursed you away, then swore never to meddle with Shadow Magic again. I immediately put a stop to the human sacrifices once you were gone. But the volcano has been slowly building her wrath over that time, until recently—when she erupted and never stopped. She demanded Aden be thrown in, or she will end this world with her wrath."

My stomach is tight.

"That was only one week ago, but her wrath is already affecting our lives. An endless cloud of smoke blocks the skies, ash covers the land. Mother Terra has cursed our plants from the roots up, killing off our livestock and wildlife, leaving all the fae with limited food. It won't be long before she snuffs us out of existence."

I stare at my plate, my appetite gone. "Is that why you went to war with Abaddon?"

"I marched out to fight Abaddon because that poor excuse of a bat wants to throw Aden into the volcano to end Mother Terra's wrath, and I won't let him."

More news that was left out of Abaddon's report, and I accidentally let my mask slip. "I didn't know that." My voice is quiet when I glance at Aden. His brows furrow.

"I mean," I clarify. "I want my throne back. But I also want to end the sacrifices."

"Sure, you do." Tarsus lifts a glass of juice to their lips and chugs, then slams the glass back on the table. "You want to end the sacrifices until you get your throne. And then it'll be back to the old ways."

I lean forward. "I've been a human for over two decades. I can sympathize with them."

"Right."

"Aden," I say, directing my gaze to someone who might listen. "You spent time with me. Knock some sense into this prick's mind."

Aden meets my gaze with his solid green ones. "You showed me your true colors after we fucked."

I flinch. Gods. My hand was around his mouth as I pinned him down. I wouldn't trust me, either.

Heaving out a frustrated sigh, I drag my hands down the length of my face. Nothing is going to get through to them. They won't tell me why I'm here or what they intend to do with me.

I need to find the throne room. Maybe just sitting my ass down on the—what did Abaddon call it? Throne of Bones?—will restore my powers, and I can control my empire again, in whatever way fae kings control their empires.

The exit is behind me. Down that hall was a branch to a larger hall, which could lead to the throne room. Guards are fucking everywhere and fae are no doubt much faster than humans. This is an impossible task. But for all I know, Tarsus might kill me tonight.

I glance at Aden, who gives me an odd look in return, then look at Tarsus, who's finishing off their coffee. Ulna stands behind my chair, at the ready. My heart begins pounding, but I make a break for it.

I leap out of my chair and dart for the door. I can hear her footsteps behind me, but I won the cross-country state championship, goddammit, and I'll not be outrun.

I race down the hall, dodging guards' hands as they reach for me, then dart down a larger hall. One of these has to lead me to the throne room. Somehow I feel like I'm going the right way, as if some innate instinct is telling me which ways to turn. Down a massive ballroom stairway, down another hall, and finally, I'm staring at the Throne of Bones.

The throne is more majestic than I could have ever imagined, forged of bones that look very…human, and topped with antlers that are three times my height. And mounted above the throne—just like in my vision—is a wyvern skull.

This place seems so familiar, heeding some ancient memory that I can't quite place, and it slows my pace as I stare in awe. But shouts sound behind me—far too close for comfort—and my feet remember to run. I dart up the steps to the platform and plant my ass on the throne.

My breath freezes in my lungs and I squeeze my eyes shut while I wait—wait for my ancient power and memories to return, wait for my body to be transformed into a fae body, wait for something to happen that's similar to all those books I read.

But it all must be too good to be true, because when I open my eyes…nothing has changed. I'm still the gangly human with bubblegum-pink hair who needs fucking glasses to see anything past ten feet.

The guards have stopped at the foot of the throne, gaping up at me, as if I'm untouchable up here. As if they realize that maybe I'm their sovereign after all, with or without my powers. Tarsus and Aden stumble in, both stopping short at the sight of me on my throne. I perch on the edge and place my hands on the carved bone armrests. But still, nothing happens. No memories, no magic, no immortal body.

My eyes meet Aden's. I don't know why his are the ones I seek out. As if, even though I lost his trust, he's the only one I still trust. Tears blur my vision and I slowly shake my head. Something deep in my chest cracks.

"Nothing happened," I whisper, then look at Tarsus. Why the fuck am I here if I'm nothing more than a sitting duck. "I'm still mortal…and I still don't remember a fucking thing."

For the first time, Tarsus isn't glaring at me with hatred and vitriol. For the first time…their silver eyes glint with sorrow and longing, as if they, too, are reliving some memory by seeing me seated upon the throne.

I have no place in the human realms—that life was a lie. I have no place in the fae realms—my powers won't be restored. Everyone here, besides the bats who sacrifice humans, wants me dead.

Hunching forward, I clutch my waist and release the tears, the sorrow that has slowly been building since the night I lost my shit on Aden.

TARSUS

Seeing icle upon his throne—even in his weak mortal body, even hunched over sobbing—sends a flurry of emotions through me that I'm not mentally prepared for. It reminds me of that short period of time when we were more than step-brothers, after he took his father's throne, but before he partnered with the bat-folk to increase human sacrifices. After we made love a hundred times, but before he betrayed me.

He looks unsure as he perches at the edge of the Throne of Bones and curls his long fingers around his waist. It's at that moment that I realize…he might actually not remember anything. Because everyone in Faerie knows that the way the heir to the throne gets their powers is from the crown of their empire being placed upon their brow after their predecessor dies. But he appears to think he should have received his power simply by sitting on the throne, not by wearing the Crown of Teeth.

"Nothing happened." His voice is soft when he lifts his head, his red-rimmed eyes meeting mine. The sorrow I find there breaks a piece of me along with it. "I'm still mortal…and I still don't remember a fucking thing."

It's the first time I see him as Aden must see him. As a human who doesn't know a thing about our world or what's going on. He's either an excellent actor, or Aden was right all along. And I'm determined to find out the truth as soon as fucking possible.