Aden

Clavicle joins us for breakfast the next morning. I'm pleased to see him well rested and clean for once. This morning, Tarsus told me everything that went down last night. That Clavicle still intended to act, and that he'd asked Tarsus to fuck his throat again, then Tarsus asked me if I was disappointed in them.

"The only thing I'm disappointed about," I responded as I pulled on my straight-leg black jeans, "is that I wasn't there to watch."

Tarsus just stared at me, contemplating. "I fuck him, knowing full well the villain that lives deep within. But you…you trust him too much, ."

After pulling on a black t-shirt, I stepped toward them. "Let me show you the Clav I've come to know," I said, caressing their cheek. "Give him a chance."

Tarsus snorted. "A chance to what? Fool me again?"

"Do it for me."

They blinked and looked away, a muscle clenching in their jaw.

"You owe me that much, at least," I added.

They finally gave in, begrudgingly.

Now, Tarsus' usual pout appears on their face as they watch Clav takes his seat across from me and reach for a croissant roll.

"So?" Clav's voice is much too cheery for a prisoner. "What's on the agenda for today, Babes?"

I smother a laugh. Babes. A quick glance at Tarsus tells me my partner is not a fan of their prisoner calling them or me babe, based on the deepening furrow between their brows.

" seems to think a stroll through your city might help ring a bell," Tarsus mutters.

"Or at the very least," I add, "it could let you know what you'll be fighting for when you speak to Mother Terra."

"Oh." Clav's expression falls, and he pauses his chewing. "That."

It's clear Clav doesn't want any part of approaching Mother Terra. Maybe it's the fact that she detests humans, and right now, he's every inch a human. Maybe it's because all of this is too much for him, and the thought of facing a fae goddess would push him over the edge.

Reaching across the table, I place my hand on his wrist. He lifts his gray eyes to mine.

"Don't think about Mother Terra right now," I say. "After our meeting with the Cadre last night, it was decided that from now on, until you give us reason to decide otherwise, you are our guest."

His half-grin returns. "That's why I was bumped up to the presidential suite? Because of the Cadre?" He barks out a laugh and takes another bite of his croissant. "Remind me to thank them later."

I lean back in my chair and take a sip of my coffee laced with cream and sugar. I love having cheery Clav back. "For the first official day as our guest, we decided to take you on a tour of our city."

Clav pinches his lower lip between his teeth. "And I get none other than the ruler of this land as my person tour guide? I'm beginning to like it here."

Tarsus makes an annoyed sound in the pit of their throat, but thank the gods they keep their mouth shut.

*

An hour later, we're all three strolling down the main street of Jawbone City. It's a joy to watch Clav take everything in. Honestly, if Tarsus isn't convinced Clav doesn't remember anything by the shocked look on their face as they study the city, then I don't know what would convince them.

The gray morning light dances off the russet surface of the slow-moving river as we cross the bridge into the busier part of the city—the teeth—as most folks call it. While the dome-roofed homes make up the southern part of Jawbone City, jagged-roofed stores and cathedrals and hostels make up the northern end. And the Red River weaves its way between the two sides of the city like the gums between teeth and jawbone. Behind us, the Skull Palace looms, the moonstone dome glinting in the sunlight, the large black windows like eye-sockets as it stares down at its city, protecting it.

The weather is mild today, and if the sun could break through the everlasting clouds hovering above, it would be a lovely, late-autumn day. The trees would be gold and orange, the leaves preparing to fall as winter approaches. Due to the mild weather, the market is alive with activity. Intricately woven tapestries wave in the autumn breeze, the colors vibrant against the gray skies. Merchants call out their deals and prices, each trying to one-up the other.

A minotaur is standing outside his shop making taffy. We pause and watch as he pulls the taffy from the bar and throws it back over before pulling it back again, his biceps bulging. A female minotaur exits and, seeing Tarsus, gives us all a free bag of taffy. Clav stumbles back from her as she approaches. I get it—like Abaddon, the Minotaurs are massive, standing nearly eight feet tall and roped in brute muscle. Their polished horns curve upward toward the sky, sharp and deadly, while the gold rings in their noses catch the light.

I notice Clav's fingers are trembling as they clutch around the bag when we leave their shop.

"Pretty cool, right?" I ask, loving that I get to be the one to witness his exposure to the fae world.

"It's…remarkable."

Tarsus snorts in disbelief.

"How can everyone just go about with their lives, knowing they're going to die soon?" Clav asks.

Tarsus locks their hands behind their back. "Because they don't know."

Clav shoots a look at Tarsus. "You…never told them?"

Tarsus doesn't meet his gaze. "I don't want their last days to be lived in terror and fear. I want them to live their last days to the fullest. Making taffy and playing instruments." They jerk their chin to a human street performer, playing a tambourine while dancing in a low-cut red dress while onlookers toss money into the bag at her feet. "To them, the volcano is just a little hiccup, a natural disaster that is temporarily affecting our crops. To them, it will pass over."

"But…wouldn't you want to know if you were living your last days?"

Tarsus meets his eyes now, and even I feel the pain in them as they say, "No. I wouldn't."

We continue on through the city, Clav taking in all the strange fairies and sprites and goblins and centaurs and nymphs as they bustle about their day. Folk stop and bow in reverence when they see Tarsus passing through, the regent's violet robes threaded with silver flowing around them, the chains on their antlers glinting in the light.

Even if Tarsus wasn't prince regent, they would demand this sort of reverence, this sort of awe from everyone around them. They exude elegance and dignity, carrying a quiet grace that makes folks stop, lean in, and listen to whatever they might have to say. It's what drew me to them in the first place.

Everyone except Clav. Clav, whose fingers have linked through mine at some point while we were walking. Clav, who flirtatiously shoves me when he cracks one of his silly jokes. He spots a bookstore, and practically drags me along with him as we cross the busy road, Tarsus rolling their eyes as they begrudgingly follow behind.

"Holy shit," Clav says, his gray eyes taking in the three-story cozy shop with wooden balconies running the perimeter to the third floor. "A real fantasy bookstore. What sorts of stories will I find here?"

"Only ones written by humans," I say with a laugh.

His eyes meet mine in surprise, before understanding dawns on him. "That's right. Only humans are creative enough to make up stories."

"There are plenty of history books you can find written by fae down that corridor," Tarsus mutters. "We're not all useless."

I shove Tarsus lightly. "I never said you were useless. But your kind is immortal, flawless, and bears powers no human could ever imagine to wield. Give us something to be proud of for once."

For the first time today, Tarsus' mouth curves up in a half-smile as they behold me, their silver eyes softening while they look down at me. "You have more to offer than your creativity, . You have…everything. The whole package." Leaning down, they cover my lips with theirs. I wrap my arms around their neck while their arms slide around my waist, pulling me closer.

"Aw," Clav says. "Didn't know Tarsus had a soft bone in their body."

They still. Their lips on mine, Tarsus glares at Clav. My mouth breaks into a smile as I pull away from the kiss, watching Clav saunter away with their victory.

"I'm going to kill him," Tarsus mutters as they stare after him. But, for once, the words aren't laced with enough hatred to make me believe them.

It's high noon as we walk along the Red River that carves through the city like a snake. Though the volcano smoke continues to churn above, ash hasn't fallen from the sky in nearly a week, and most of it has been swept up. Restaurants have placed their outdoor seating back on the sidewalks by the river.

We sit at a table on the outdoor patio of one of my favorite restaurants. It's owned by a family of humans who started their business shortly after Tarsus freed them. The two men were cooks in the royal palace before they were free, where they fell in love. Now they're older, near their fifties—still strikingly handsome—and have three goblin children who they adopted, all three of whom run around causing adorable chaos. The human couple offers us free service every time we visit, but Tarsus makes sure to leave a large tip that would cover twice as much as what the meal would have cost us.

"Would you like the usual?" Marcus asks, brushing back a few graying strands of his hair before pulling the pen from behind his ear. He has a full gray beard covering his strong jaw.

"The usual for me," I respond, then look at Clav, glad that no one recognizes him in his human form. Marcus and his husband, Brian, would be running for the hills if they knew the cruel sovereign who sacrificed half the humans in the palace was in their midst.

"What do you want?" I ask Clav. "They have your usual Ren Faire foods. Fries, turkey legs, pork chops…"

"A turkey leg sounds great."

Marcus' pen stills on the pad as he stares at Clav, as though recognizing him, but he closes his eyes momentarily and shakes his head, as if telling himself Clav isn't the same person as that heartless king who ruled in the palace where he used to work. How could he be? As far as everyone knows, Clavicle fled decades ago.

Tarsus orders bovine bone broth with extra bones, and Marcus leaves to fill the order. Tarsus watches Clav closely, their eyes narrowed.

"Why did you order the turkey leg?" they finally ask. "You know Marcus makes the best gods-damned coagulated pork's blood. His specialty was the only reason you didn't include him and his partner in the mass genocide."

Clav's face goes pale, whether from the mention of the pork's blood or the genocide, I'm not sure.

I pinch Tarsus' leg, and they wince. "Today is supposed to be fun, remember?"

"I knew Marcus?" Clav asks. "He would have been, what, in his mid-twenties?"

"He was one of the few humans you knew by name," Tarsus says. "But you were far from pals. It'd be hard to forget the eyes of the person who sacrificed your parents at the volcano."

Tarsus' words hit me like a punch in the gut. They'd never told me Marcus' parents were among those sacrificed to the volcano by Clavicle. I guess this restaurant was a bad choice, after all, but how was I supposed to know Marcus' parents were killed by Clavicle? All I wanted was a restaurant that had food similar to what we have in the human realms.

"I'm sure if you asked him," Tarsus says coldly, "he would confess to you still haunting his nightmares."

"I saw it in his eyes." Clav's gaze falls. "The way he looked at me…" He shakes his head. "Is that how everyone would look at me if they knew who I was?" When Clav's eyes meet mine, there's a sheen of tears in his eyes that he's clearly trying to fight.

"Only the humans," Tarsus responds coldly.

The rest of the meal is spent in tense silence. I immediately regret coming here. Showing the city to Clav at all. Seems like everything has a black mark on it, left by Sovereign Clavicle all those years ago. There's no escaping the haunting spirit of a king who slaughtered one-hundred humans during his first month as king.

"I'll do it."

Both Tarsus and I stop eating, both of our gazes snapping to Clav, who has barely touched his turkey leg. He tears his eyes from the blood-red river and looks between us.

"For all the pain I've caused you, the pain that still haunts the humans in this city…I'll willingly speak to Mother Terra, and hope she listens to me in my mortal form."

Tarsus' eating utensil clashes onto their plate, and they look at me. I shrug.

"If you're serious," Tarsus says carefully.

"Then we'll leave at dawn to meet with the Cadre. Wolfsbane is the only one, apart from Abaddon, who knows the way to Mother Terra's lair."