Page 33 of Prince of Ruin

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 luckyfor 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.

“Clav, 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 Clav. 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 lastnight. I close my eyes, cursing myself for finding him so attractive. I fucked him. Multiple times. Amurderer.

“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, Clav. 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’mstudying 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.”

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