Page 8 of Prince of Ruin

That. Voice.

So low, so cold, so…deadly. Almost too big for this world. The familiarity of it is something I can’t quite place, but dredges up a far-off fear and…longing?...deep within the marrow of my bones. Slowly, I turn around to face the most beautiful person I have ever seen, who looks like they stepped straight out of fantasy booktok.

Besides being lean and exceptionally tall, like pro-basketball player tall—they have high cheekbones, generous lips, and silver eyes that are made to stand out more than they already do from the thick black eyeliner. Contacts. Those must be contacts, the way the silver glints in the evening sunlight. Their lids are dusted with shadowy silver eyeshadow, and their pale, narrow face is clean-shaven. Silky, straight white hair falls down their shoulders, some locks from their temples braided back into a ponytail. By their violet robes trimmed with gold threads, not to mention their pointed ears and ridiculous polished antlers with gold chains interlinked between them, it’s clear they’re one of the world-famous Ren Faire’s biggest fans.

I openly gape at this cosplayer before me, but they’re looking at me with the familiarity of someone they know, as if we used to go to school together and passed each other in the halls every day. As if someonelike them would notice the likes of me, much less want to beseenwith me. But I would recognize this person anywhere if I knew them, even in costume. Their eyes narrow accusingly, their lips twisting up in a sardonic smile that makes my stomach drop ten stories.

“You didn’t expect to find me here, didyou, Clavicle?”

Tarsus

On the day I banished him from the fae realms, I desperately hoped I’d never have to lay eyes on Sovereign Clavicle again. I truly wanted him to live a long, mortal life stuck among the humans he loathes so much.

And then I wanted him to die with them.

It was a good punishment for the things he did, the people he hurt. A clever punishment.

But coming face to face with the Prince of Ruin now, with his piercing gray eyes locked on mine, makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up on end. My chest tightens with fear—and something else I dare not hearken. I clench my fists at my side to stop their trembling while attempting to summon the courage I promised I would exude if I came face to face with my step-brother-turned-lover-turned-enemy again.

Despite him being transformed into a short, weak human with ridiculous pink hair, Clavicle looksalmost identical to the fae version of himself. The version that fucked me for ten wonderful years…before fucking me over. Considering his thirst for human blood, he seems to be enjoying himself quite a bit for a fae surrounded by humans at a silly festival. The smile behind his eyes almost looks genuine.

But he’s always been good at lying.

Aden fell for the act of the cute pink-haired man who reads the same monster-fucker books Aden does. And, honestly, I can’t blame Aden for falling for the act, despite the many warnings I gave him. He didn’t know the version of Clavicle that I knew. Aden never saw Clavicle’s brilliant smile while he shoved innocent humans into the pit of the active volcano, laughing chaotically as they screamed to their deaths before the lava boiled them alive. Aden didn’t witness the many times Clavicle would sit on his Throne of Bones—which was constructed from the bones of human slaves—and sweetly invite a courtier he didn’t like closer, only to plunge his obsidian dagger into their chest, making their bodies turn to ash and dust.

Aden didn’t witness Clavicle storming into the throne room all those years ago, his father’s severed head clenched in his fist with fresh blood still dribbling from the jugular as he marched to the Throne of Bones to claim his spot as king.

I never told these details to Aden, because I didn’t want him to cower in the presence of Clavicle.Clavicle would enjoy that too much. For the brief time the Prince of Ruin knows Aden, I want him to see the brave Aden I know.

But this. This lousy, nervous wreck of a human standing before me…has Clavicle honestly become this pathetic? Or is it just another clever act of his? Though I can’t completely lie to myself. That tight fitting vest and low cut button-down are…mouthwatering to say the least.

“Um,” Clavicle’s nervous chuckle brings me back to the present. He shoves his black-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose with his knuckle while fidgeting from foot to foot, as though he werenervous. The very thought almost makes me laugh. Almost. “I think you might have me confused with someone else?”

My brows pull down, my teeth grinding together until a headache brews. I haven’t seen the bastard in twenty-three years, and this is how he greets me? Like he doesn’t even know me? His whole playing-dumb-act is almost convincing.

“Cool costume, by the way.” Giving an awkward smile, he stuffs his hands into his pockets and turns to leave—thecoward—but I clamp my hand on his shoulder again and spin him around with ease, taken aback by how fragile he is in his human body.

“Bro!” His gray eyes flash in fear—heshouldbe afraid—and he jerks his shoulder away. “Do you need something?”

I’m not used to him being this…weak. He’s usually taller than me, his antlers bigger and thicker than mine, his power as a king and sovereign drawing the attention from everyone around. But even as a lanky human, he’s still attractive in his own way, bearing that same fierceness that drew me to him in the first place.

He stands up straighter, as if that does any good. As a fae, I’m a full foot taller than him, and my antlers have another twelve inches on top of that.

I fold my arms over my chest and huff out a laugh of disbelief. “Clavicle.Sweetie.” I arch my brows in mock pity. “Don’t try and convince me that you’ve forgotten.”

He runs his eyes over me in a way that appears to be full of awe, but I know it’s only meant to be insulting. “Forgottenwhat?”

I tilt my head and offer a lethal grin. Fine. I can play along. “That you’re the Prince of Ruin who promises just that.Ruin.”Like you ruined me.“That you killed your own father, skinned him alive and stretched his skin over your battle drum. That you sacrificed humans to the volcano as your primary source of entertainment.” I shake my head, arching both brows pointedly. “Any of that ring a bell,Babe?”

“Don’t call me that.” His face scrunches with disgust, as if being mybabewas the worst thing that could possibly happen to him. But there’s no denying the blush that tints his cheeks, the pleasant surprise that ignites in his eyes when I called him babe. It’s what Aden always calls me, and I thought, what the hell? I’ll play around with this traitor, since he’s clearly playing around with my boyfriend.

He glances around, his lower lip pinched between his teeth, clearly nervous. The way his tongue juts out to wet his lips makes my cock twitch. Gods-dammit. I was supposed to be over him by now. Especially after what he did to me.It’s been twenty-three fucking years, gods-dammit. But there’s no denying that every night since that awful night that I banished him, Clavicle has haunted my dreams. And my nightmares.

“Is this some sort of role-playing shtick that I’m supposed to just go along with?” He chuckles, like he’s nervous, and runs his fingers through his hair. I noticed a tattoo of some beast's skeleton printed on his arm. “Yeah, I’m, like, really not into role-playing. Sorry, man.” He starts to turn again.

“Clavicle, stop.” My commanding use of his name stops him in his tracks, and he turns to look at me.

“It’sClav.” He says with a bite sharp enough to slice iron. He tilts his head, gray eyes hardening. Onanyone else, that tilt of his head would look like confusion. On him, it’s deadly. “And who the fuck areyou?” He looks me up and down—and this time there’s no mistaking the insulting way he assesses me. “Some overdressed compilation of Gandalf and Bambi?”

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