Ouroboros II | The Wolf

17 | Ira Proposes A Terrible Deal

The Prince wasn't a prince, despite what Ira had long been picturing and assuming. From her darker than midnight hair which hung to her hips--to the shape of those hips beneath the gauze-thin fabric of her pearl-white peplos--and her voice that sounded both as soft as tulip petals and as sharp as rose thorns. No, definitely not a prince.

"Angels," Ira cursed. "You're the Prince?" 

Words he should have chosen more carefully flew freely from his agape mouth. Mayvalt cleared her throat and snapped her elbow forward, knocking Ira in his ribs. He hissed a wince and forced his blue eyes towards the furry white rug. 

"I-I mean of course you're the Prince. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Royal High-" 

"Enough." Astaroth huffed, lifting up her flattened palms to silence him. 

Ira sighed in relief and nodded, glad to be released from the useless pleasantries before he collapsed to his knees in a spine-snapping bow. "Yeah, I'm done." 

"I gather your shock must come from your petty Heimrian beliefs, Knight." Astaroth pointed. As she spoke, her voice fluttered to fill the room like an all-consuming smoke. Easing down from her lips which hovered feet above Ira's curled yellow hair and inches above Mayvalt's fuzzy antlers. "That Princes are to be men, as Faun are to be He-Goats." 

Ira's heart inflated to the size of a ripe grapefruit, taking up permanent residency at the back of his throat. "No, not at all. I was merely shocked to have been served tea by the Lad--L-Lord of this manor. I'm as Faunish as-" 

"As a petting zoo goat." The Prince finished. "I heard it all, do reconsider the lies you had rehearsed to tell me." 

Ira's eyes fit into slits and made daggers that pointed at Mayvalt's winced face. She turned the same shade of purple as the hideous velvet settee and hunched her shoulders up until her black leather jacket consumed much of her curved throat. 

"And I do hope you tell me something--and soon. My curiosity is so consuming, it begs me to ask will I discover your secrets if I peel you apart piece by piece?" The Fifth Prince shivered, wrapping her arms around her torso. "Does someone beyond me know? Who? I shall find them--I must know what they know. They can not know more than me. So, tell me what they know!" 

Ira's tongue became snakish, curling and slumbering in his mouth. It refused to emerge from the barrier his teeth made for it. The Prince's gaze was too strong, sparking his skin where it touched. Mayvalt pushed her neck up, resembling a turtle peeking from it's rough shell, and forced her shaking words out into the heavy air. 

"We come from Heimr." She said. 

"Obviously!" Astaroth snapped. She folded down onto her knees, grasping the tea pot by it's curled silver handle. She dumped a river of warm brown liquid into Ira's used cup and tossed the drink back into her mouth. Ira glanced at Mayvalt, who seemed at just as much of a loss. The He-Goat girl nervously lowered herself onto the settee, sitting on the curled edge. Ira cautiously followed suit. "You must tell me more than that to even pretend to engage me. I have heard that same story a flock-amount this week." 

"The others!" Mayvalt hissed under her breath. 

"This week?" Ira said instead. "They left a day-" 

"Yes, a week since those Heimr-reeking sheep found their way to my door." Astaroth interrupted. "You two are not so good at whispering or at keeping secrets." 

Mayvalt huffed and Ira burned red under her glossy black pupils. His mind spun in loops, trying to account for the time he had missed that no one else seemed to mourn. Mayvalt had said something like that, hadn't she? She had alluded to Hell time. Just how large of a gap were they dealing with?