Chapter Text
Once upon a time, in a land quite unlike our own, a dragon held dominion over the north. Its dark scales gleamed like obsidian, its wings stretched so far that they could engulf a farmer’s field in shadow, and it wielded a pair of cursed, chartreuse eyes. This dragon lived upon a dark mountain where lightning illuminated the sky and thunder shook the earth. It terrorized every living thing in its path. When hunger rumbled in its belly, it would fly until it spotted life. But this was no violent brute that burned villages and demanded maiden sacrifices. No, this dragon needed only to lock eyes with another being. The creature, be it man or animal, mesmerized, would lose control over itself and feel nothing but an all-encompassing need to throw itself into the dragon’s jaws.
Hectares of land lay empty. The dragon left no creatures uneaten. Curling briar filled these places—clinging to homes, threading through forests, and encircling lakes.
The dragon reigned over a silent kingdom, one it was determined to expand.
A great many kings and wisemen came together to determine how to destroy the fiend menacing their people. Countless men had tried to slay the monster. The same fatal end befell each one. Attacking from afar with trebuchets or arrows had no effect—any projectile would stop in midair and hurtle to the ground without coming near the dragon. One man suggested setting the briar aflame, but this did not even pressure the dragon to leave its mountain. The fire burned but for a moment before it extinguished.
A malaise of hopelessness spread through the continent. Each day, as the dragon ate, it expanded its territory. It was only a matter of time before the behemoth turned what had once been a vibrant place full of people and animals into a wasteland.
As those heading nations despaired, one young man refused to accept this fate.
Rollo Flamme lived in a city bursting with beautiful flowers. It was the capital of his homeland and a place that he loved dearly, but fear had taken root amongst the populace. The dragon’s unstoppable appetite would bring it to this floral metropolis within the next year. The architecture, the people, and everything else that dwelled there had mere months before they would perish.
But Rollo Flamme would not abide anyone or anything destroying his precious home. Others could cry. Rollo would act.
First, Rollo went to the king of his country. The king was a muscular man with a thoroughly stupid smile and small stature. He sat on a throne covered in furs, with two gawdy horns crowning the top. Far more fitting for a barbarian than any royalty.
Rollo bowed deeply, following protocol despite his immediate disdain.
“Your majesty,” he began, eyes on the floor. “I seek to slay the Dragon of the North.”
The king hummed thoughtfully for a good five seconds too long. “You and everyone else. Other, beefier men have tried and failed. But I did hear of something interesting…”
Rollo, still bent over and beginning to regret it, jolted. “And what might that be, your majesty?”
“There’s a signet ring. What was it called again?”
Silence. A stretch of it that went on for ages. Rollo’s back was beginning to ache.
“Oh!” The king smacked his fist into his hand. “The Ring of Chernabog. There’s special writing on it, one only the wisest of men can read. If you find that ring and get someone to translate it for you, you can defeat the dragon.” He let out a single laugh. “But no one’s found it yet and anyway, it’s just a rumor. Better to move further south—we’re changing the capital so it’s down there, you know!”
But Rollo paid him no mind. He stood up straight and left without another word. This idiot could offer him nothing else.
A wiseman named Mozus Trein lived on the outskirts of the city. Rollo visited him often and it seemed that it was time to make another trip.
Mozus’ chateau stood tall, its aged walls covered in ivy. A single tower loomed above the rest of the home. According to Mozus, it was his cat’s domain.
An odd man, but trustworthy.
When he arrived, Mozus welcomed him inside. The space was not a complete mess, but dust and cat fur lingered in corners. Mozus had once said that he had previously relied on a housekeeper and… yes, neglect coated far too much of the house. Why hadn’t he arranged for a replacement?
Regardless, Mozus listened intently to what he had learned about the ring.
“I have not heard of this Chernabog,” he said. “Nor his ring, but there is one thing I know for certain.” Mozus got up from his armchair and crossed the room over to a bookshelf. “When it comes to objects like this, men often know nothing. But the birds of the air, who can see the world from above, can guide you, provided you understand their language. I can teach you.”
Humbled by this, Rollo was momentarily quiet. Then, “I cannot thank you enough. Allow me to tidy your home in exchange.”
This was more for his own satisfaction than anything else—the prospect of remaining here long enough to learn how to speak to birds would be a distressing proposition otherwise. Either way, Mozus accepted.
Weeks flew by, eating into the time Rollo’s homeland had before the dragon destroyed everything. Each day, it advanced ever closer, drawing the helpless into its maw. Rollo distracted himself with his studies and his cleaning, often waking up well before dawn and falling asleep late into the night.
When Mozus deemed Rollo ready to heed the advice of any bird he might come across, he prepared a traveling bundle for him.
“If you find the ring, bring it here. I will be able to translate any inscription. Though it may take some time…”
As did everything.
“Thank you. I hope to bring good news and the ring soon,” Rollo said.
Mozus bade him farewell and Rollo set off.
He did not head north as not even birds were immune to the dragon’s thrall. Instead, he went east, toward the sun. Swaying fields and cool forests dominated the landscape.
As he traveled in this direction, Rollo paid careful attention to the speech of birds. Thus, the world around him was almost never silent. Unfortunately, their discussions were mundane at best. The majority of their cries were filled with raunchy and unpleasant entreaties for mates or the rebuffing of competitors from their territory. When a wayward pigeon or sparrow crossed his path, Rollo tried to engage it in conversation, but they often had no information about any rings or of someone named Chernabog. Indeed, they had no interest in such things. Instead, they would pester him about whether or not he had any seeds.
It took about a week of traveling before Rollo heard anything that might prove useful.
One evening, Rollo sat down against a tree to rest his feet. He dabbed at his forehead with his handkerchief before bringing out his supper—a loaf of bread a farmer had given him—and savored it. As he ate, two birds with colorful, dramatic plumage settled in the branches above him.
They began to talk. About him, of all things.
“Oh, how dreadful. This wandering fool has made it this far and has not stumbled on what he seeks. But the Ring of Chernabog is not so easily found,” said the first bird, its yellow and purple feathers shining in the setting sun.
The other, a sleek bird of prey with keen green eyes, chirped in reply. “He should find the fae prince and ask him for help. He would have no trouble putting the Roi du Mouchoir on the right path. I wonder, might he have the ring himself?”
“If not, he knows who does,” the first bird said, preening his feathers. “But it will be difficult to find the fae prince—he wanders as much as the fool sitting below us.”
The other gazed out into the horizon. “Oh, it will be easy. Where he is currently, I am not sure. But he will come to the glittering spring to wash his face when the moon is full, as he does every month.”
The first cocked his head. “Why do you know that?”
The other made a sound approximating a laugh, but did not answer.
“Well,” said the first, “that spring is only a day’s flight away. Shall we find him ourselves?”
“Yes, why not?”
The two took off. The first, with its long, elaborate tail feathers, led the other, sharper bird away from the road. Rollo leapt up and hurried after them. Their strange taunting meant nothing if they could lead him to the ring! Even if this prince didn’t have it, he might at least give him information as to its whereabouts. It was the most promising information he had encountered so far.
But the night soon bled into the sky. The waxing moon was nearly full, meaning they had little time to get to this fae prince. Much to Rollo’s frustration, the birds settled in another tree, tucked their heads beneath their wings, and drifted off to sleep. Rollo, too anxious to close his eyes lest his guides depart while he was unaware, sat awake and alert until the sun rose. The second bird came to life in the earliest hours of the morning. He took to the sky, circling the tree until suddenly diving down to the ground, catching a mouse in its talons, and soaring back toward the clouds. When he finally settled on a branch, he stared Rollo directly in the eyes as he devoured his prey.
Unsettling. Rollo couldn’t abandon the one hint he had, but did these birds have to be so strange?
The first bird, with less of a taste for meat than his companion, fluttered to the ground and scratched at the dirt.
Rollo watched all of this, aching to get a move on. Why were they making him wait? His stomach twisted as the birds ate their fill.
Finally, past noon, the more beautiful of the two turned to the other. “The moon will be full tonight.”
“Yes,” replied the bird of prey. “Let us head to the spring.”
The first took off to the south and the second followed close behind. Rollo hurried after them. Finally!
They darted this way and that, forcing Rollo to run. Sometimes they flew beyond his sight, making Rollo’s heart nearly pound out of his chest with the anxiety that he had lost them, but they always returned. These winged rats were testing the limits of his patience.
Across fields, past roads, and through meadows, these birds eventually led him to a forest. The sun had set, leaving a red stain on the horizon. Rollo, his feet heavy and legs aching from the day’s journey, was beginning to wonder if these fowl had made sport of him and brought him to the middle of nowhere. They would regret leading him astray if so…
Just as his thoughts turned dark, the birds dove into a bush and disappeared. Gritting his teeth, Rollo forced his way through the greenery to try and catch them.
On the other side, a clear, shimmering spring surrounded by wisteria trees waited. Rollo gaped at it. The two birds, now sitting atop the shrubbery, chirped behind him, the tone chiding as though saying, ‘I told you so.’
Well. They had gotten him here, hadn’t they? Not that it excused their lackadaisical behavior.
All he had to do now was wait. Thank heavens. Relief spread through him, but also brought his exhaustion to the forefront. He had spent half the day running after the birds and he hadn’t slept the night before. His eyelids weighed on him.
The spring bubbled forth from the earth itself, impossibly clear. Dangling purple flowers enclosed the space. Rollo sat against one of the trees and turned his gaze to the birds. They had yet to leave.
“The moon hasn’t risen yet,” said the first. “Does this fae prince like humans?”
“I suppose we will find out.” The second had a strange look in his eye. “The better question is, will this human see through the prince’s wiles?”
The first fluffed his feathers. “Doubtful.”
The second laughed. “Oh, I think he’ll be all right. As long as he’s clever.”
“The same could be said about anyone.”
They chattered for some time, but Rollo lost interest. What sort of wiles were they talking about? What use did a fae prince have for a stream in the middle of nowhere, anyway? Perhaps the water was enchanted. Or, being a prince, this fae was capricious and inexplicable. Both were plausible.
As the sky assumed its velvety blanket of midnight blue, a moon heavy with light revealed itself. Soon after, there was rustling beyond the trees.
Rollo slipped into the underbrush.
Out of the forest on the other side of the spring stepped a man. Obsidian horns crowned his head. Jet black hair spilled past his shoulders and framed his pale face. He stood tall and elegant—the very picture of a prince. His clothing, made from expensive, dark fabrics, clung to his body in a way that implied something filthy about the fae.
From behind a tree, Rollo watched him, his throat going dry. He had never laid eyes on a man like this before. This prince was so beautiful and handsome that it made Rollo’s heart ache.
Though he did not know it yet, Rollo had instantly, painfully fallen in love with him.
The prince approached the water, each of his steps silent. He gazed up at the stars. Rollo held his breath, waiting for something.
But what was the prince doing here? The fae were an elusive group and Rollo knew little about them. Did they all have horns?
Before Rollo could give that more thought, the prince began to remove his clothes. His skin, bathed in the light of the moon, was smooth and without blemish. Rollo, mouth agape and his fingernails digging into bark, couldn’t tear his gaze away as the prince set aside his upper layers.
It wasn’t Rollo’s fault that he stared! Who wouldn’t gawk at such a display? A prince shouldn’t be allowed to do something like this—did he not have a castle where he could wash in peace?
His mind went blank as the prince took off the rest of his clothing.
Perverse! Disgusting! Rollo bit his lower lip. He would never admit it, but he could not get enough of the sight of this handsome prince.
The prince made to enter the water, but paused. He then turned toward Rollo’s hiding spot.
Rollo froze.
But it was too late. Without another move, the prince was suddenly in front of him, still naked and unbothered by this fact. Rollo yelped.
When had he gotten so close?!
He was still nude! A naked man was close enough for Rollo to touch him!
Rollo glanced up at the prince. Their eyes met. The prince’s were an unearthly, glowing chartreuse. They gave Rollo an odd feeling in his stomach. There was a spark lurking in those eyes, one that would scorch his soul if he wasn’t careful. But, at the moment, that did not sound terrible… Would the prince like it if he caught fire?
“Hello, child of man,” the prince said, his voice low and sultry. “I ought to punish you for trying to observe my secret doings in the moonlight. But I will forgive you because you are a stranger and know no better. And…” He reached out and brushed the back of his fingers against Rollo's cheek. “The way you blush is charming.”
That touch left tingles in his skin. Rollo spluttered.
“You—! Th-This isn’t my fault, you shouldn’t wander about naked if— Charming? What are you…?”
“How amusing you are,” the prince said with a smile. “Shall we bathe together?”
It was one thing after another—this person wasn’t even giving Rollo a chance to breathe!
“A bath? With you?” He blinked, straining to keep himself from looking the prince over again and failing. “That would be… indecent.”
The prince chuckled. “Join me. I insist. You have traveled far, have you not?” He gestured to Rollo’s dusty clothing. “Come, relax with me.”
Why was this happening? The birds had warned him about wiles, but at the same time, this prince likely knew where the Ring of Chernabog was. Spurning him here could mean that he would never learn about the ring’s whereabouts.
Thus, he did this for a reason. Not to get closer to the prince. What a ridiculous assertion that would be.
“If you insist…”
“I do. Come then, human. I will wait for you by the water.” With that, he returned to the spring.
Rollo hesitated a moment, his head spinning. Was this a good idea? But his hands moved of their own accord, taking off his clothes and tossing them aside as though he never intended to wear them again.
What was wrong with him? This was the behavior of a hedonist! It was entirely unbecoming of a man like he was… or like he was supposed to be.
But giving the prince what he wanted would make him more inclined to reveal his secrets, wouldn’t it? Surely it must. So, with his heart pounding in his throat, Rollo moved over to the spring like a puppet on strings. He soon stood beside the prince.
“Hmm…” The prince’s green gaze swept down Rollo’s body. He then smirked. “How indecent.”
His entire body might catch fire at any second. To avoid that fate, Rollo hurried into the water. The prince followed suit.
The temperature was horribly pleasant—Rollo had hoped that a shock of cold would chase this heat away. Alas, it was not to be.
Rollo sat with his back against the edge of the spring. The prince, without missing a beat, settled beside him, showing him the folly of having entered first.
“It seems to me that he will fall to his wiles,” the first bird said far above his head. “Let us return home.”
Rollo winced. They were still here? Thankfully, the prince showed no reaction to those words, so he might not be able to understand.
“Be careful, Roi du Mouchoir!” called the second. “Do what you must, but know that you will forfeit your life if you give him three drops of your blood.”
Blood? Why in heaven’s name would anyone want his blood? This was the first time they had addressed him directly, though, so it had to be important… but it was so difficult to focus with this man right next to him! It took a great deal of willpower to keep himself from rising to attention.
Their feathers beat against the sky and they departed.
“Tell me your name, son of man,” the prince said, his body only a handspan away from Rollo’s.
“Rollo Fla—” his voice cracked and he cut himself off to clear his throat. “Rollo Flamme… What is yours?”
“Malleus Draconia.” Malleus leaned closer, as though he was going to whisper. “Why did you come here, Flamme?”
Prince Malleus Draconia. Rollo racked his brain for any memory of that name, but found none. To which country did he belong?
“I seek an item to help my home avert disaster.”
Malleus let out an impressed hum. “So you are a hero in the making. It is no wonder, then, that you are so striking.”
A strangled noise died in Rollo’s throat. He stared hard at the grass growing on the bank of the spring as his heart raced in his chest. Striking indeed! It was ludicrous for a fae as attractive as Malleus to call him that.
“How do you find me, Flamme?”
“F-Find you…?”
“Do you find me handsome? You refuse to look at me… Why is this?”
Rollo took a steadying breath. He turned to Malleus and immediately regretted his decision. Malleus was staring at him, an intense expression on his regal face.
The silence was thick around them. Ugh, he had to say something!
“You are… too much.”
“Too much?” Malleus asked, tilting his head.
“For me. I cannot look at you for long.”
“Hmm… Akin to the sun? Do I shine too brightly for you?”
Rollo didn’t respond. He fidgeted, his hands itching for his handkerchief. But he had abandoned it along with his clothes.
A hand rested on Rollo’s knee, the sudden touch sending a jolt through him. His thoughts jumbled about in his head—God, they were skin against skin, now! This was happening far too quickly!
And, unfortunately, his body reacted. He was hard. Throbbing, aching for any sort of friction.
The clear water did nothing to hide his shame, so Rollo had to cover himself with his hands as his cheeks burned.
“Oh…” Malleus said, moving so close that he now leaned into Rollo. “I see. You are quite pleased with me, are you not?”
Rollo grimaced, but it would be difficult to convince Malleus otherwise. “I… have little control over it…”
“Indeed.”
Malleus slid his hand down from Rollo’s knee to his upper thigh. The contact forced a gasp out of Rollo and he shuddered.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked, breathless.
Malleus smirked. “My, I seem to have little control over my hand.”
So brazen! Maybe he should let him do what he wanted. It would benefit both of them, would it not? And it would be so easy…
Rollo bit the inside of his cheek. He had to focus. “We should not do this.”
Malleus paused, his face angled to get a look at Rollo’s crotch. “But you react so well.” He glanced at Rollo out of the corner of his eye. “Am I misinterpreting your interest? A fae would not be so opaque with their desire.”
Was Malleus willing to sleep with him this very moment? Rollo could not think about it or he would doom himself.
“Ideally, we humans marry our lover before… before…” Rollo pressed his lips into a thin line. “Before,” he said with finality.
“Oh, that cannot be true.” Malleus huffed. “I suppose you are shy. That has its own appeal… Well, I will not push you. For now.”
For now? Rollo swallowed hard.
“At any rate,” Malleus said, retrieving his hand from Rollo, though he did not put any other distance between them. “Let us bathe. Then… Come spend the night with me. It would be better to sleep in a bed than on moss, would it not?”
It had been some time since he had last slept indoors, let alone in a bed. He found himself nodding before he could think it through. Still, it would offer him more chances to ask about that ring, so it was for the best.
Or so he hoped.
And thus, they washed. Malleus insisted on scrubbing Rollo’s back, and requested that Rollo repay the favor. He stiffly agreed. While having Malleus’ hands on him was exceedingly frustrating, having to touch him was worse. His wet, raven hair curved around his neck as though beckoning Rollo to run his fingers through it. Beads of water eased down Malleus’ back, tempting Rollo to wipe them away and kiss along his spine.
No matter how he tried, he couldn’t stop thinking of Malleus in this lewd manner. Was it because he was a fae? Were they all like this?
He was bewitched. There was no other explanation. This was the first time anyone, man or woman, had such a perverse command on his thoughts.
A growing part of him lamented that he hadn’t let Malleus do with him as he pleased.
In the end, Rollo did not fully calm down until Malleus used some magical power to dry them and they put on their clothes. At least it had happened eventually.
Malleus stood before him and Rollo looked him over once more. Through the haze of his arousal, he had been unable to see beyond the sensual flesh that made up Malleus. Now, Rollo hoped to find a ring on his finger or any jewelry at all, but he wore none.
What if the birds had given him poor directions? What if this was all some sort of ruse, a practical joke where Rollo found himself trapped in Malleus’ clutches purely so those winged rats might laugh at his misfortune?
But Mozus had directed him to the birds. And, either way, he could not blame them for a catastrophe that had yet to happen.
Malleus held out his hand as though expecting Rollo to kneel and kiss it. “Flamme. Allow me to take you to my home. You must hold onto me, otherwise you will be left behind.”
“…Where is your home?”
“Oh, very far from here. We will travel there by magic. Walking would take quite some time…”
This was it. He could either reject both Malleus and the birds’ advice or he could go with him. But this was not a real choice. What else could he do but seek the least bit of a lead? He had no others.
So, Rollo reached out and took Malleus’ hand.
The instant he touched Malleus, the world changed. The cool forest and the spring melted like candlewax and dribbled into nothing. In its place was a cloudy sky, a castle hewn from dark rock, and wind at his back. No lanterns nor torches flickered. His clothing did nothing to stop an immediate, all-encompassing chill to assault him. Rollo shivered.
“It can get cold here,” Malleus said, gazing at something over Rollo’s shoulder. “Is it not odd? We are much closer to the sun at this height…”
Rollo followed Malleus’ line of sight.
At first, only air greeted him.
Acres and acres of land stretched far below, a sea of black. Rollo could not make sense of it in the void of the night, but what he knew for sure was that it was far away and that no one was up and awake with a candle burning.
They were on top of a mountain. Rollo stood at the edge of it, his heel a mere finger-width away. His stomach flipped.
He lurched forward, colliding with Malleus’ chest. Why would he take him to such a dangerous place?!
“My, you must be cold.” Malleus smiled. “I will have a bed prepared for you which will be wonderfully warm. Shall we?”
Grimacing, Rollo looked at the castle behind Malleus. The architecture was severe, resembling sharp weaponry more than a fortress built for defense. Nothing about that building communicated that anything within would be comfortable. But the ring could be inside. It would be far easier to ask about it after a night’s rest.
“Yes,” Rollo said. He would have taken a step back from Malleus had there been enough room to do so comfortably…
Malleus led him to a maw of a door that yawned before them but revealed nothing but darkness. Fear trickled along Rollo’s spine.
“…Why does your home look like this?” he asked.
Malleus turned to him. “Like what?”
Did he truly not understand how unsettling the castle was?
“Never mind.”
They passed through the threshold and Rollo braced himself for sharp protrusions, fetid smells, and floors sticky with heaven knew what. But he encountered none of this. No, the interiors were lavish and comfortable. The carpets were plush and the walls occasionally held clusters of precious gems that illuminated hallways and rooms. They passed dozens of doors inlaid with silver to get to their destination.
Why had he brought him to the rim of that part of the mountain rather than directly into the castle? What a showoff.
At any rate, Malleus directed him to a chamber with an immense, fluffy bed and deep purple walls. It was only upon seeing it that his exhaustion swelled once more.
“Thank you for accepting my invitation, Flamme. I do so hope that you have a good night’s rest.” Malleus pulled him closer, so they were flush together. “I will see you in the morning.”
Rollo, his mind filled with nothing but the feel of Malleus, could not react as he crossed what was left of the gap between them and planted a kiss on his lips.
The world ground to a halt. The threat of the Dragon of the North might as well be as far away from them as the sun.
Malleus pulled away ever so slightly. “Shall I join you in bed?” he asked with a smirk. “I promise to keep you warm…”
They shouldn’t. It would be immoral at best and depraved at worst. He should not allow this fae to distract him with pleasures of the flesh. Rollo was stronger than this!
“I… am so very cold…” Rollo said softly.
Curse his weakness!
Malleus slipped an arm around Rollo’s waist and led him into the bedroom. Rollo gave no resistance.
Gently, slowly, they were intimate. Malleus had both his heart and his lust in a vice. Much to his horror, he found that he didn’t mind.
When they finished, slumber washed over Rollo at a dizzying speed.