The Valet and The Prince - Humblebumble20200 (2024)

Chapter 1: Five dollars and a condom

Chapter Text

a/n: Had this story floating around my head since I binged the show. I’m not sure if this has been done already, but it is my take as to what would happen if Blitzo’s dad hadn’t come back for him. I also have been reading too many Regency romances, so it may play a factor in this. For context, Stolas and Blitzo are the same age (I've seen disagreements on this, so just to play it safe.)

Also note: I am not heavily in the fandom, more like a very obsessed casual viewer, so there are probably facts I’m not aware and I apologize in advance. This starts with them as kids in chapter one, and then going a bit more into their preteen/teenage years with the majority taking place as young adults. This will feature a sexual relationship, as well as some scenes that may be seen as triggering to folks and I will try to be thorough with CW in each chapter. The tags will change as we go. I do have a beginning and an end, just how long it takes to get there is kind of in the air. So far I have like, ten chapters planned, but we will see.

Also, I desperately want another episode, so fingers crossed that March, or the latest April, is when we get Full Moon!

CW: Child abandonment, scary scenes of a demon doing demon things, an imp being bought for 5 dollars and a condom.

***
Blitzo’s dad hadn’t come back for him.

This was supposed to be a quick deal: spend a few hours with the little princeling, steal expensive crap, hand it off, and play it cool while he waited for his dad. His dad was supposed to hide the treasure Blitzo was ordered to retrieve, get the circus packed up, and grab Blitzo on the way.

But he wasn’t here.

Oh well, Blitzo could continue to hang out in this big castle for a bit. Stolas, the little owl prince, wasn’t too weird of a kid. Ok, he was a little bit of a loser, but Blitzo saw the potential. When they first arrived, Stolas just wanted to show him his books, which was so boring, but eventually Blitzo convinced him that maybe they should actually have fun.

And it was fun. The bird had a silly laugh that made Blitzo feel good, so he did everything he could to keep that laugh coming. It wasn’t too hard, as Stolas apparently thought anything Blitzo did was absolutely hilarious. As the day began to fade, Stolas even showed him a little magic, which was super cool. Blitzo had no magic, and his dad was pretty clear he wasn’t going to learn it, so seeing it in real life was pretty neat.

Stolas was able to conjure up a very small flower, and with a soft blow, had the sparkling purple magic blossoms dance through the air. One landed on Blitzo’s horn, and the magic felt cold like a snowflake.

“Can you make me fly?” Blitzo asked as he swung upside down by his tail on the large tree they played near.

Stolas shrugged. “Not right now, but I think I probably can when I get bigger.”

“It would be cool to fly.” Blitzo swung his arms to get more momentum. “I mean, I can do the flips from the tightrope, but that isn’t the same.”

“You are so brave,” Stolas cooed. “I would be so scared.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I can teach you one day.” Blitzo managed to swing himself back to the branch, and then with a quick dive, landed back on the ground near Stolas. “I mean, you wouldn’t be as good of a clown as me, obviously, but you’d probably make an ok one.”

Stolas’ feathers fluffed around his neck as he clapped at what he took as a compliment. Yeah, he was a weird bird, but Blitzo kind of dug it.

Mr. Butler, the mustached servant who had been supervising their outdoor play, called them in just as the sun began to sink. Stolas grabbed the very big, fancy book he had carried out with him and they safely put it in his room before they entered the large dining hall.

To Blitzo, it looked like every freaking Goetia that ever lived was in the large dining hall. There were so many birds, with so many different feathers and beaks and whirling magic. There was a large table with so much food, more food than Blitzo had ever seen in his entire life. He looked over at Stolas and saw that the prince was unfazed. So, ok, Blitzo could be unfazed, he was a big kid anyway. This wasn’t scary at all.

That is until Mr. Butler told him that he had to go to the servant quarters to wait for his father instead of eating the fancy dinner. There wasn’t really a chance to ask questions, for Stolas threw an entire fit.

“We don’t leave friends in the servants’ rooms!” The little owl cried.

Well, in Blitzo’s humble opinion, you shouldn’t have servants to begin with, but he wasn’t about to make a fuss about royal hierarchy and the downfalls of a monarchy-based ruling class while looking at the biggest table he had ever seen, practically overflowing with food.

Eventually, Stolas’ dad, a super tall and kind of scary bird, allowed the imp to join as long as he sat by Stolas and didn’t make a noise. Whatever, Blitzo could do that. Stolas apparently wasn’t allowed to talk either, and Blitzo wasn’t certain it was because he was present or because of just the rules of being a rich brat, but they ate their meal in silence. Blitzo could hear the adults talking, something about money and titles and rules and heaven and hell and blah blah blah, it was all really boring.

When he had eaten more than his stomach could handle and the dinner was excused, the two boys waited in the entry hall for Blitzo’s dad to return. At first, they pretended they were horses on a pirate ship, which was super fun until Stolas insisted that they needed to get married to merge both income of their pillage and plunder, which seemed a bit weird at first but he went along with it. They were just in the middle of deciding how to name their recently joined pirate-horse fleet when another imp dressed in a fancy outfit (which Blitzo had figured out by this point meant he was a servant and not just a really rich imp) ended their play.

“Come, little highness, your…”The imp looked Blitzo up and down. “...guest can wait in the entry hall for his father.”

“Oh, can’t I wait up with him?” Stolas begged. “It is ever so awful to be alone.”

“Your father’s orders, little highness.”

Blitzo shrugged, as he was seldom alone. He usually had Barbie or Fizz or the circus horses or someone around. He could take a couple minutes by himself.

“It’s ok,” Blitzo told Stolas. “I’m sure he will be here any minute.”

“Oh, well…if you are sure.” The owl fidgeted with his hands. “I had so much fun with you today.”

“Uh, thanks, me too.” Blitzo rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe next time I’m-”

Blitzo wasn’t able to finish the sentence, for Stolas grabbed him into a mighty embrace. The owl’s neck feathers tickled his nose with how soft they were, and he had to hold back an unexpected sneeze. Blitzo wasn’t sure what to do, or if there were some sort of rules about hugging princes and such, but he thought it would probably be rude if he didn’t return it. The prince made small hooting noises against Blitzo’s cheek, and it made his cheeks strangely burn. The only thing that finally pulled the two apart was the servant very loudly clearing her throat.

“Yes, I see that it is time I go to bed,” Stolas said in a very soft voice. “Blitzo, this has been the best birthday ever. I’m so glad you are my first friend.”

Blitzo didn’t know what to say to that, and a bubbling in his gut told him he either ate too much, or he was experiencing a feeling he had never had before. Probably what Fizz would call guilt.

The prince was escorted away, and Blitzo waited in the large entry hall on a very hard bench. He watched servants move in and out of the hall, doing tasks and bringing stuff from one room to another. He watched some of the adults who had been at the fancy dinner leave the palace. He watched the clock’s hands go in circles and circles and circles.

He tried to find ways to keep himself entertained. He counted his fingers, and then he counted the tiles on the floor, and then he counted his fingers again. He quietly recited the dirty limericks his dad would share with the adults who came to the circus. He went through his mental list of horse names for his future stables.

But the clock kept ticking, and soon the lights were out in every room but the entry hall. The palace was so quiet. So so quiet and he was so so alone.

No adults came to check on him. No other imps asked if he was hungry or needed a blanket. No one offered to call up someone for him or drive him anywhere.

The clock struck midnight and his dad never came back.

He wasn’t going to cry. He was a big kid, he hadn’t cried in years. He wasn’t going to cry in this big stupid hallway on this big stupid bench.

“Maybe it just took a bit longer to get packed up,” Blitzo told himself. “Yeah, that’s it. Dad is just taking a bit longer to get everything settled. Or… maybe Fizz pulled in a big crowd. Oh yeah, for sure, Fizz probably did something super cool and everyone clapped and he had to do, like, twenty encores…and…” He had to sniff, but it wasn’t because he was crying, “And…maybe Barbie did a cool flip on the tightrope or…like…like…”

Ok, so he was crying. Nah, to be real, he was sobbing.

He had never been this alone before, and he was confused. It shouldn’t have taken his dad this long. His mom wouldn’t even allow him to stay up this late on non-show nights. It was almost like he had been forgotten.

“Did he forget me?” Blitzo whispered and dragged his hands across his eyes.

A soft hooting drew his attention away from his worries. It took a few blinks to clear away his tears, but a small figure was hiding near the large stairwell. He had heard those hoots already, and a small grin of relief flooded his face.

“I can hear you, Stolas,” Blitzo said, doing his very best not to sound like he was crying.

“Are you crying?”

Crap, he failed.

“No, I just…got something in my eye.”

Stolas emerged from the shadows, now dressed in a dark gray nightdress with yellow stars that seemed a smidge too big for him. He also wore a nightcap over his feathers in the same design. He moved so carefully to Blitzo, as though he was frightened he would run.

“Why are you back?” Stolas asked.

“I…”Blitzo started, but paused, knowing he was about to get a look of pity. Not like the little prince was going to find out anyway, so might as well tell the truth. “My dad isn’t here yet.”

As expected, Stolas let out a soft coo. “Oh, I’m-”

“Don’t with that crap,” Blitzo shot, a bit surprised by the harshness. “He’s still coming. He just got held up.”

“Of course, yes,” Stolas answered. “Circus work must be very hard.”

“It is,” Blitzo agreed. “Do you know how much work the horses are? Ya gotta feed them, pet them, play with them…and that is only one part of the circus! There is also the food and the tents and the overpriced merch and the...” A yawn interrupted his rambling.

Stolas’ head turned a bit further than what was possible for imps, and while holding up a single finger, he went to a small table and retrieved a notebook. He wrote something on it and placed it on the entry bench. Blitzo struggled with reading, especially the pretty swirly penmanship.

“What did you write?” He demanded.

“It says: If Blitzo’s father arrives, please fetch him from Stolas’ room,” The owl read.

“But I’m in the hallway,” Blitzo corrected as Stolas took his hand.

“Yes, but it is very late and you are very sleepy.” Stolas led him up the stairwell. “You can have a sleepover in my room!”

Blitzo followed but gave a glance over his shoulder one last time. His dad would come, he was just delayed. The note would alert any of the other imps and they would wake him up. It would all be fine.

Stolas’ room was large, with lots of toys and shiny crystals. Blitzo looked at the soft pink walls illuminated by the moon coming in through the big window. The bed, in the center of the room pressed against the wall, was still made and crowded with stuffies of all sorts. There was a padded bench by the window, with a crumpled blanket and an open book. Blitzo credited himself for being observant and noted that something felt wrong.

“You were still awake?” Blitzo asked, pointing at the bed and then the bench. “Spying on me?”

“Oh no, not at all!” Stolas tittered. “I was…I just…”

The prince’s eyes grew so wide in fear, and Blitzo couldn’t hold back a laugh.

“I’m just kidding with you,” Blitzo snickered, but the small glee he found from teasing died away. “I suppose we better get some shuteye.”

Stolas agreed, and he found another nightdress for Blitzo to wear. It was just as long on him and he struggled a bit to get his horns through the opening, but they managed.

“I’ll take the bench,” Blitzo said. “That way I can hear if my dad pulls up.”

“That makes sense…I guess” Stolas replied hesitantly.

Well, it wasn’t really for Blitzo to figure out that weirdo response, so he bid Stolas a good night and curled up by the window. Stolas let him snuggle with the blanket that was on the bench, and Blitzo curled up in it. It smelled nice, a bit like what Stolas’s feathers smelled like. Lavender, maybe? He really wasn’t sure, he didn’t see many flowers and certainly didn’t know what they smelled like. He just figured that sounded like a fancy smell fancy people would have.

Still, the time passed and the moon got lower in the sky. Stolas’ soft breathing was the only other noise in the room, and while it was soothing, it did not lull him to sleep. He missed Barbie, Fizz, his mom, and even his dad…

His dad wasn’t a bad dad. Sure, sometimes he was snarly with him, and sometimes he told Fizz he wished he was his son over Blitzo. Also, he would celebrate Barbie’s birthday and not his, even though it was the same day. And true, he would get upset with their mom if she spent too much time with him. Also, he told Blitzo almost daily he was a failure of a clown.

But he wasn’t a bad dad, and he didn’t forget about him.

Then where was he?

The sky began to brighten to the same color as the circus tent’s stripes. He watched it overcome the darkness and he wondered to himself if perhaps he had done something wrong. Was his dad upset with him? He had done exactly what he said. He had stolen so much, taken so many shiny things and fancy jewelry. He had done his very best.

Blitzo already knew he was a failure of a clown, but was he a failure as a thief as well?

Was he a failure as a son?

“Hey Blitzo?” Stolas’ voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“Yeah?” Blitzo responded, not bothering to turn towards the prince.

“I can’t sleep,” The owl said. “Do you think, perhaps, you could join me?”

Blitzo sat up and looked at the prince. A few of his feathers were tufted up and his eyes looked so tired.

“I don’t think I’m allowed to sleep in the royal bed,” Blitzo teased.

“It isn’t a royal bed,” Stolas huffed. “It’s my bed, and it's very big. Much more comfortable than that bench.”

“This bench has padding.”

“My whole bed is padding.”

Oh, what the crap ever. Blitzo was too tired and too sad to argue. He had to pull himself up to the mattress, but he joined Stolas and the horde of stuffies.

Ok, the stupid prince was right, this was far more comfortable than both benches combined. He curled up next to Stolas, being mindful of his horns. The last thing he needed was to accidentally poke out his eye. He would get into so much trouble for that. He was also careful of his tail, which seemed to want to wrap around the little owl’s arm. He stopped it before it even tried.

“Good night, Blitzo,” Stolas yawned. “Everything will be ok.”

Blitzo closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Yeah, night, princeling.”

***

His dad didn’t show up that night.

In his sleep, Blitzo’s tail had wrapped itself around Stolas’ wrist and he found the other boy had scooted a bit closer so their hands were nearly touching. Stolas was sweet, perhaps a bit reserved and locked in, but sweet. Certainly not circus material, Blitzo knew that, but still a nice kid.

Blitzo was used to cuddling with Fizz and Barbie in the small little cot they had. They would wrap themselves around each other, purring and finding warmth in one another. He wondered if Stolas purred. Eh, maybe not, he was a bird. Did he hoot in his sleep?

Blitzo had been concentrating so hard on trying to catch a hoot that he didn’t notice Stolas’s big red eyes, all four of them, blinking awake.

“Good morning, Blitzo,” Stolas said in a soft voice.

“Oh, jeez, you scared me,” Blitzo said, and then giggled. “Can you see four of me with all your eyes?”

“Um…can you see two of me with yours?” Stolas responded.

“If I look at you with my eyes crossed I can!” Blitzo laughed as he crossed his eyes.

Stolas also giggled, and soon they were both having a laughing fit so hard they didn’t hear Mr. Butler enter the room until Blitzo’s arm was being grabbed. With a quick yank, Blitzo was being pulled from the bed and directed to the door. The last sight he saw of Stolas was the little owl’s head perking up from the covers they had just shared and letting out a confused hoot.

Mr. Butler led Blizto to a large hall, different from the one he had waited in before. It looked like the ones in his picture books where great kings would greet wizards and stuff. It felt important, and it must have been, for Stolas’ dad, the big, tall, scary bird, was sitting on the throne at the very end.

“Here, Your Highness is the imp boy.”

“Ah, thank you,” Stolas’ father said. “What did you say your name was, boy?”

He gave his name and did his very best to stand taller than his small stature gave him. Stolas’ dad said nothing but glanced at him for a long while before sighing.

“Are you aware that your dad sold you to me?” The man said.

“I think you are confused,” Blitzo said. “My dad is coming back, he didn’t sell me-”

“For five dollars and a condom.” The man finished the sentence. “There was a slight misunderstanding, I can see, on the conditions of the arrangement. It was supposed to be for the afternoon, and you, little one, were just supposed to entertain my whiney son on his birthday.”

Stolas’ dad rose to his full height, and Blitzo did not realize just how big, tall, and scary he was until that moment.

He continued. “Your father was supposed to pick you up before dinner, and you, little imp, were not supposed to steal from me.”

The room darkened, the candlelight diminished, and Blitzo felt himself shaking.

“Do you know who I am?” The great bird asked.

Blitzo stuttered. “Stolas’ dad?”

“I am the great King Paimon,” Stolas’ dad, King Paimon’s voice grew dark and eerie and his shadow grew.

No, wait, no, that wasn’t his shadow.

The bird grew, and twisted, becoming a form unlike himself. His head merged with his shoulder, submerged into his body, the form growing black and wicked. Then it stretched so horribly, and Blitzo cried as he fell to the floor. He covered his horns and squeezed his eyes shut. A steady growing noise like a siren emerged, and there was no escaping it.

The King’s voice continued, seemingly to bounce off the walls and echo around him. “I am the holder of Earth's waters and winds, holder of Earth’s questions and answers. I am the fear and doubt of every choice you have ever made and will ever make. I am almighty. And…”

A wind circled the room and Blitzo could not stop himself from being pulled into the vortex of shadows, where nightmares and darkness lived. He tried to drag his heels onto the floor, but there was no give. When he got to the shadow, he heard King Paiman’s deep voice in the center of himself.

“I do not like thieves in my home.”

Then it all went silent.

Blitzo heard himself crying, and when he opened his eyes King Paiman had calmed and was back to what he had looked like before. Blitzo tried to stop himself from shaking, but he was still so scared. He wanted his mom, he wanted his friends, he wanted to go home.

“Here is where we find ourselves, imp.” King Paiman said it as though ‘imp’ was something that tasted bad on his tongue. “Your father has tricked us both. I’ve sent servants down to where the circus was and it appears they have fled into the night, leaving you behind.”

No, Blitzo shook his head.

His dad had left him. He wasn’t coming.

“Where…where am I…” Blitzo cried, still shaking so hard he couldn’t speak right.

Stolas’ dad sighed. “Oh, please, don’t with all those tears. I hate crying. You are now my property and I take care of my things. The thing is, though, you are not a servant. Not yet, anyway.”

Mr. Butler took Blitzo by the crook of his arm and helped him up.

Stolas’ father continued. “You will go to a school for a couple of years to learn how imps should actually behave in society. Lucky for you, I have been able to pull some strings and they have an immediate opening. What are you…like four years old? Five?”

“I’m ten,” Blitzo replied.

“Ah…a bit old to start but they will manage. You see, my son has taken a liking to you, and I figured I wouldn’t have to bother finding a valet for when he is older since one landed on my door. You will attend finishing school, and apprentice with Mr. Butler over the summer breaks, and by the time you reach valet age, you will be the perfect help to my son. Win-win you could say.”

“I’m not a servant!” Btlizo cried. “I’m a clown.”

“My son is part of the mighty line of the Ars Goetia!” King Paiman snapped. “He is more important than you will ever be. Consider yourself lucky you get to shine his shoes. What an honor.”

The bird left his throne and took a few steps to tower over Blitzo. The imp did not want to look at the man and tried his best to avert his eyes, but a strange wave of magic forced his chin up. It felt a little like Stolas’ magic, only incredibly hot and made his chin burn.

“You owe me a debt, little imp, you should be thankful I am a merciful master.”

The magic left and Blitzo’s chin fell to his chest. With a shuddering breath, he kept his eyes down and listened to Stolas’ dad’s heavy footsteps out of the hall.

He wasn’t sure if any of the other staff of the house saw him leave the great palace to the courtyard. He wasn’t sure if any of the oversized bird assholes watched him fight to not enter the car that was waiting for him. He wasn’t sure if Stolas, the sweet owl he slept next to only an hour ago, saw him crying out for help.

All he knew was his dad didn’t come back for him.

Chapter 2: Changes

Chapter Text

If asked, Blitzo would say he was not afraid of change. No, of course not, he wasn’t afraid of anything.

After the first day whisked off to a school to teach imps how to be servants in a ring of Hell he had never been to, with imps he did not know, he would have still told you no, he was not afraid of change, but it would have been a lie.

Blitzo was learning to lie. He had known how to lie before, but those were little lies, playful lies, childish lies. In this school, he had to learn bigger lies. Lies of omission, lies of deception, lies to just get his backside out of bad situations.

He was placed in a dorm room with a bed, a dresser, and a roommate. He had never had any of the three before. Fizz and Barbie were family, not roommates, and his bed before had been a cot on the floor. He had never owned enough to need a dresser. He quickly discovered he didn’t like any of them. The bed was too big and cold and there was nothing to place in the dresser besides the itchy uniform he was given, so it looked depressing.

Tweed, his roommate, was the same age as him, with short little black horns and an almost constant shiver. Although they were the same age, Tweed had been coming to this school since he was tiny, so he knew more and wasn’t afraid to tell Blitzo.

“Your shoes are not clean enough,” Tweed would tell him. “Your shirt is untucked. Your jacket has a missing button. You are walking too loudly.”

Blitzo hated Tweed, and he was pretty sure Tweed felt the same.

His classes were hard. He would wake up early, have to actually brush his teeth, eat boring food, then go to lessons all day. The worst part was all the other students were babies! Well, not literal babies, but younger than him.

“You have to start at the beginning,” Tweed told him with his stupid nose in the air. “You can’t just do what you don’t know yet.”

Stupid Tweed and his stupid nose.

So he would go to class with the younger kids and have to sit at a desk far too small for him. They were learning how to write and read and wash dishes and use their manners. It was all baby stuff.

Blitzo didn’t want to let the teachers know he didn’t know how to do it, so he did his best to lie, fake it till you make it, and failed miserably. Ok, maybe he was ten and didn’t know how to do dishes. He lived at the circus, and they ate popcorn and cotton candy. No dishes required. And maybe he wasn’t good at his manners, but clowns don’t say ‘excuse me’ when they are flying through the air. And, maybe, sometimes letters and words didn’t make sense. Sometimes letters got turned upside down and he didn’t know how to sound out a word well enough to spell it.

His teachers didn’t seem to understand what he was talking about when he tried to explain. They told him he wasn’t working hard enough, wasn’t doing well enough. He tried, darn it, he tried to make it work, he really did.

He would leave lessons every day more angry than when he arrived.

Angry at the teachers for not hearing him.

Angry at letters being so stupid and unreliable.

Angry he had to sleep without Fizz and Barbie to cuddle with.

Angry at his dad for leaving him behind.

Angry that his mom hadn’t found him yet.

Angry that a stupid rich owl took a liking to him.

The days continued on and his anger grew worse and worse. He didn’t seem to be making any progress, and with each mistake, he could see the teachers scribbling something onto their notepad. Sometimes about ‘his issues’ or ‘his tantrums’ or ‘his inability to master basic skills.’ Of course, he didn’t read it on the paper, for their handwriting was even worse than the block letters, but he heard it enough from them.

That is how Tweed got involved with all this. After school tutoring, the teachers told them both. Tweed would get extra credit and Blitzo wouldn’t be able to escape it. Tweed blossomed at the chance to show off his kiss-up skills. Tweed would help him mostly in his letters, and maybe with his manners which were “barely passable.” Yeah, whatever lady.

So each night Tweed tried to help him with writing, and gosh, did he hate it. He hated it so much. Tweed was so good at it, with his stupid chapter books and his pretty handwriting, and Blitzo was just…not.

“The…deer…” Blitzo tried to read one night during this hour-long session, but Tweed cleared his throat.

“That says ‘bear,’ see the b?” Tweed pointed to the ‘B.’

“If you are so good at it, then you read the damn book!” Blitzo shouted as he pushed himself off of Tweed’s bed and flopped down on his own. He found sometimes, the naughty words he wasn’t supposed to say felt really to shout when he was mad.

Tweed gasped at the use of ‘naughty’ language and held the book to his chest. “Blitzo, I am just trying to help. You were very close. ‘Bear’ and ‘Deer’ are very similar.”

“They are not similar at all, you dumb-dumb,” Blitzo hissed. “A deer is a stupid animal with antlers and a bear is a stupid animal with claws.”

“Why, yes, but I meant the words look similar,” Tweed said softly. “I think you are doing really well, all things considered.”

Blitzo learned if he just didn’t respond and turned away from the other boy, he usually left him alone. He didn’t want to look at stupid Tweed and his stupid face. He wanted to be out of this small room (no, small-ass room, small-ass felt better.) He wanted to be anywhere but here.

Tweed did leave him alone, and although Blitzo’s eyes were closed he could hear the imp walking around the room getting ready for bed. He heard him change into this nightgown and shut off the light. Blitzo wasn’t a fan of sleeping in this stupid itchy uniform, but if he got up he was afraid Tweed would want to talk and he really didn’t want to talk to that goody-two-shoes.

“Hey Blitzo?”

Christ on a stick (he heard his mom say it once after Barbie pranked her by pretending she had fallen off the tightrope. Blitzo was allowed to cover her in ketchup as blood, so it had been pretty fun. Blitzo didn’t really know who Christ was or why he was on a stick, but the words were fun.)

“What?” Blitzo hissed, still keeping his eyes closed.

“Is it true you are Prince Stolas’ imp?”

Blitzo opened his eyes so quickly he saw stars and he had to rub them away.

“Who told you that?” He asked, sitting up on the bed.

Tweed mirrored his actions. “I heard some other boys saying Prince Stolas rescued you from an evil circus and it is why you act the way you do.”

“An evil-what?” Blitzo guffed. “Circuses are not evil. They are places of joy and fun and sticky floors.”

“They also said when he found you, you were half feral and stole a bunch of stuff from King Paimon.” Although it was dark, Blitzo could see Tweed was not looking at him. “They said Prince Stolas is the only reason you weren’t torn limb from limb. Is that true? Are you Prince Stolas’ imp?”

“I am nobody’s imp, especially his imp,” Blitzo hissed but found his voice was thick and his eyes were watery.

“Ah,” Tweed replied softly. “I just thought…it was a bit…oh, I don’t know…”

“What do you think it is?” Blitzo asked, still unsure why his voice sounded so different and why he couldn’t get his eyes burning at the thought.

“A bit nice?” Tweed responded. “I would love to know I had a job waiting for me after this.”

“Haha, a job?” Blitzo took the laugh as a chance to clear his throat. “You think being bought by a stupid owl to hang out with his loser of a kid as a job?”

That didn’t feel right to say. The moment it came out of his mouth it felt wrong. Stolas didn’t really have anything to do with this.

You see, my son has taken a liking to you...

Whatever, he didn’t want to think about Stolas right now and he didn’t want to apologize to an imp who had never even met Stolas before.

Tweed shrugged and dug himself back into the covers. Blitzo took the chance to change out of his uniform and into his nightgown. Of course, only a few minutes after he had closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep, Tweed’s voice rang back up.

“Blitzo?”

“What do you want?”

“If you do end up as Prince Stolas’ imp, and if there is any possibility, could you maybe help me get a job at his palace?”

“You will find a job easily, Tweed, you don’t need Prince Stolas.”

“Yeah, but working for a Prince would be really great. I bet imps there make way more money than lesser royalty, ya know?”

“The jobs are crap all around.”

“I know, but I just really want to make more money to help out my mom. We don’t have a lot, and it would be nice to see her in a better situation. Why I’m here, after all. I don’t know if that makes sense to you, but it's something I really want. Sorry…it is silly…”

“I can get you a job. Go to bed now, Tweed.”

“Oh, can you!? Oh Blitzo, that would be-”

“Go. To. Bed.”

Blitzo fell asleep easily for once and woke up being a little less annoyed with Tweed. He really wasn’t sure if he could get Tweed a job, but the imp was good at what he did, so Blitzo could certainly try.

They continued on with their reading lessons and Blitzo slowly learned some tips to help with his letters. It didn’t make it perfect, and he struggled, but at least he could fake his way through most of it. His writing was still crap, and he knew it was one of his lesser talents, so he set himself to be better at everything else.

Once determined, and by figuring out what the teachers were actually looking for by asking Tweed for help, he flew through the rest of the testing. Manners could be done even if he didn’t mean them, he had to watch his ever-maturing language, and he had to make sure he didn’t make snarly faces when he didn’t agree with something. He was taller than a lot of the imps his age, which meant he towered over the younger ones in his grade. This gave him the advantage of completing tasks quickly and easily.

He never did find any other friends among the imps beyond Tweed, and while he was hesitant to call him a friend, he certainly wasn’t an enemy. They ate meals together and hung out on the weekends when Tweed’s mom didn’t come up to visit him. She was a nice lady, but she gave him a sad look whenever she asked if Blitzo had anyone visiting him, so he tended to make himself scarce whenever she showed up.

No one visited. No one even asked about him. He sometimes wondered at night if maybe even King Paimon forgot about him.

If Stolas forgot about him.

That stupid owl and his stupid hoots.

Tweed asked him a lot of questions about Stolas that he really didn’t know how to answer, or even if he wanted to answer them. Such as ‘What is Stolas like?’ and ‘How did you meet Stolas’ and ‘Is it cool to have a prince save you?’ How could he answer any of those questions when he didn’t know the answers himself? Tweed seemed to think it was all a fairy tale, something silly like the humans on the topside wrote gross sappy books about. That wasn’t what this was. What it was, though, he still wasn’t sure.

Before he knew it, the year was up, and somewhere in the mess of time, he turned eleven years old. He didn’t feel older, maybe he grew an inch or two, but he felt, at least, he had some more skills to bring back to the Goetic household. His teachers had approved for him to move into the next level, and if he was able to get his skills even higher over the summer under the supervision of Mr. Butler, he would be able to enter the same lessons as Tweed.

Speaking of, Tweed pulled him into a big hug before he left with his mom for the summer break. Blitzo froze at first but relaxed into it. Tweed wasn’t as bad of an imp as he first thought.

“I already asked and we are rooming together again in the fall,” Tweed said with a big smile. “I will make sure to write down all my adventures to report back to you.”

“Knock yourself out,” Blitzo laughed. “I will be cleaning sheets for a palace, so I’m not sure how many adventures I’ll be having.”

“True, but you will see your prince again.”

“He isn’t my prince.”

“Right. Anyway, see you in the fall!”

Stupid Tweed and his stupid words.

Mr. Butler picked him up from school. There was no ‘hey, we missed you’ or ‘how was your school year.’ So…yeah, not like he was expecting Mr. Butler to give him a warm welcome, but it would have been nice if he at least pretended he was interested. He sat in the back seat by himself and watched as they took the drive back.

The palace looked as large and beautiful as it did last year. It was just a little past dinner time when they arrived, only they didn’t enter through the front door. Mr. Butler drove the car into a side garage in the back that Blitzo hadn’t noticed before.

Mr. Butler turned off the car and caught Blitzo’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “First lesson: any servant vehicles used to pick up necessities for the house or run other errands will be parked here. Cars are not to be used unless approved by myself.”

“So, can I drive this one?” Blitzo asked with a grin.

Mr. Butler shook his head. “You are eleven. Second lesson: Critical thinking skills are required.”

Blitzo followed Mr. Butler out of the garage and into a side door he also hadn’t noticed when he had been exploring the palace with Stolas. It led into a huge kitchen stuffed with other imps. Some were cooking over a large oven and others were setting plates to look fancy. It was all a bit much, and Blitzo had to duck a few times to avoid being hit in the face by a passing platter.

“Third lesson: Always enter through the servant’s doors and stairs,” Mr. Butler said as they left the kitchen and entered a covered stairwell twirling up to the next floor.

“What's wrong with the front door?” Blitzo asked.

Mr. Butler opened the door at the top of the staircase. “Nothing is wrong with the front door. It just isn’t for us.”

“That is dumb,” Blitzo muttered as he entered the small room.

“Yes, but fourth lesson: We don’t say those thoughts out loud.”

Blitzo paused and co*cked his head. “Was…was that joke? Are you actually joking around with me?”

Mr. Butler said nothing but led them further into the room. There was a table with quite a few chairs and multiple doors to the left. They went through an arch to find a second room with some chairs and a few plain couches. In the center was a table with items that didn’t make a whole lot of sense to Blitzo: a pair of shoes, a tablecloth, a pillow, and a glass.

“To start, I need to see your skills,” Mr. Butler announced while guiding him to the table. “Please show me how to shine a pair of shoes, properly fold a tablecloth, fluff a pillow, and clean a glass. I will set my timer, and once you have completed the tasks I will inspect your work. Go on.”

Blitzo looked down at the items. “You mean, I should do these things now?”

Mr. Butler held up the timer. “Time is wasting.”

Blitzo jumped into action. He had learned all this in school, but not to the extent of mastering it. He hadn’t thought about how much work a servant did until he had to learn it all. Shining a shoe wasn’t just putting polish on it. The polish had to work for the type of leather and you had to know the type of cloth could be used. A tablecloth could be folded a hundred different ways. Was the pillow down or cotton? He didn’t have the answers and he didn't have the time to ask. He did the work quickly, and once the glass was as clear as he could make it, he set it down and threw up his hands.

“So?” He said, a little out of breath. “How is that for a first-timer?”

Mr Butler looked over his work. His face didn’t change much, he was quite good at hiding emotions. His mustache did twitch for a single moment when he passed the shoes, but Blitzo wasn’t sure if the twitch was a good thing or not. There was a commotion in the next room, and through the arch, Blitzo could see imps filling the room, and it appeared they brought food. His stomach rumbled and he realized he hadn’t eaten since this morning.

“There is work to be done,” Mr. Butler finally decided. “But the basics are here. We will start in the morning. King Paimon wants things done a certain way, as will Prince Stolas.”

“Then shouldn’t I learn Stolas’ way?” Blitzo asked.

“Fifth lesson: it is always Prince Stolas. Also, Prince Stolas doesn’t have a way yet. His way is his father’s way.”

Blitzo nodded, trying to ignore the strange stab in his chest at Mr. Butler’s correction. Stolas…Prince Stolas…they seemed like two different people to him. Stolas had been a silly owl boy with a big book of magic who had trouble sleeping. Prince Stolas was…well, he wasn’t quite sure who that was. He hadn’t met him yet.

“We will work on it more in the morning,” Mr. Butler repeated and laid a very gentle hand on his shoulder. “You must be hungry. Let us eat.”

The imp guided him back into the large room where the other imps were sitting. He sat in a seat next to Mr. Butler, who made him a plate of what he realized were leftovers the Goetia family had not eaten. There was so much of it, clearly untouched, and while it tasted so good in his mouth, it felt bad in his stomach. Tweed had mentioned once that sometimes his mom didn’t have enough money for food, yet here was so much just being tossed away. It seemed a waste.

So he ate until he couldn’t eat anymore, the entire time thinking of Fizz, Barbie, his mom, Tweed, and even Tweed’s mom. He ate food ‘too rich for your blood’ as his dad would say. He even tried food he knew would be yucky just to say he did. Yet he didn’t feel good when he had finished. He felt the anger again, the one stemmed in the pit of himself and bubbled into his throat.

Luckily, the meal ended and Mr. Butler showed him to his room. It was behind one of the many doors and consisted of a single bed, a dresser (which was still empty besides a few pairs of the uniform the other servants wore in the house), and a large window overlooking the garden with a large tree. It looked like the one Stolas had taken him to, but that was so long ago, and who knew if his memory was even correct.

“Do others sleep here?” Blitzo asked, suddenly feeling very small again.

“I sleep in the next room,” Mr. Butler answered. “The cook and a few other imps stay here as well. Most have their own homes. When you are older and have officially taken on the role of Prince Stolas’ valet, you will be moved to rooms adjoining him. That is, until he is married, then the Prince and his wife will decide what works best for their household.”

Blitzo didn’t want to think about Stolas as an adult. In fact, he didn’t want to think about Stolas at all. He wanted to go to bed. So he didn’t ask any more questions and changed out of the uniform into a single sleeping gown he was provided. Mr. Butler informed him they would wake at dawn to start lessons, so it would be best if he went to sleep now.

He tried, but he found the bed wasn’t comfortable, and the darn window let in so much moonlight. He tried to close his eyes, but whenever he did he saw circus lights. He saw Barbie on the tightrope, walking the line holding a flaming torch. She looked so much like Blitzo that sometimes, they would pretend to be each other to trick others. He also saw Fizz, twirling around the circle ring with streamers and balloons. Fizz was a natural, everyone could see it. Blitzo loved watching him work a crowd like they were putty in his hand. But the circus lights merged behind his eyelids, and slowly they faded into a hazy pink, and the hazy pink turned into a soft blanket. He knew he recognized the blanket, but in his tired mind, he couldn’t place it. His last thought before he drifted to sleep was if Stolas recognized it because he could have sworn they had both seen it before. He would have to ask him when he saw him again. Since he was in his house, he figured it was only a matter of time.

***

Blitzo did not see Stolas most of the summer.

It was a busy time, and Mr. Butler kept him on his toes. Blitzo found he could hardly keep up. For being an older imp, Mr. Butler was always moving, always doing something. The morning was spent making sure the household was ready to run, and Mr. Butler made sure Blitzo was aware of every imp’s job and purpose in keeping the household going. From the imps keeping the palace clean, to the ones who did the gardening, to the ones keeping the house fed, and so on.

“Seems like a lot of work from a lot of people for a few birds,” Blitzo complained one rainy morning.

“Fourth lesson,” Mr. Butler hummed, and Blitzo rolled his eyes but shut his mouth.

The rainy morning continued to be wet and dull, which was odd for the middle of summer in Hell. Blitzo wandered behind Mr. Butler, helping him as he dusted shelves and tidied rooms. Blitzo had learned by now Mr. Butler was an imp of few words, but on occasion, he could get him going. No matter how much he pushed this morning, Blitzo couldn’t seem to get a word out of him.

“Are you feeling well, Mr. Butler?” Blitzo finally asked when it was midmorning and the imp seemed to be going a bit slower.

“The weather and I are not agreeable,” Mr. Butler said after a time.

Blitzo looked out the window. “You fighting?”

“My knees and the rain are,” Mr. Butler replied, his tone spiking slightly.

“Maybe you can take a little break?” Blitzo offered. “I could try-”

“No, that will not be necessary,” Mr. Butler was quick to turn it down. “Come, we must lay out an outfit for His Royal Highness.”

While Mr. Butler was the majordomo (a very funny word Blitzo learned he could not snort at when said) he often took on small roles in the house. If they were laying out an outfit for the king,it meant his valet was busy doing…who the hell knew. Blitzo sure didn’t.

They entered the king’s chambers, which Blitzo was totally not afraid of. Not at all. He just clung very closely to Mr. Butler’s side the entire walk down the very long chamber hall for no reason.

“King Paimon is not in the palace until this evening,” Mr. Butler said unprompted.

“Right, yeah, I know,” Blitzo laughed and took a step away from Mr. Butler.

They entered the large closet of the king (which was almost the size of the entire circus tent) and Blitzo was instructed to sit down and not touch anything. Of course, it made him want to touch everything, but he knew better. Mr. Butler wasn’t a horrible imp, but he wasn’t a lenient one either. One time, Blitzo’s tail accidentally knocked over a fern and Mr. Butler reminded him daily for weeks that tails were to be minded at all times.

Mr. Butler pulled out a large cape of crimson and gold with a startling black suit. Mr. Butler droned on a bit about how certain fabrics worked with certain leathers and blah blah. He was trying to pay attention, he really was, but the room was so large and there was so much to see.

“Blitzo,” Mr. Butler said his name as though he had already said it multiple times.

“Yes?” Blitzo answered, feeling his cheeks blush.

“I asked if you would please go down the hall to retrieve the shoe polish from the closet?”

Feeling much braver than when he thought the king was present, Blitzo jumped from his seat and walked very politely like he had been taught down the hallway. He wanted to skip, but he knew the action would give him a stern glance from anyone passing by. The thought of possible punishment didn’t stop the buzzing in his arms and legs, wanting him to jump and play and laugh. This wasn’t a place for fun.

He found the paste rather quickly in the closet, and he was just setting this back when he heard a voice far too polished and refined to be anything other than a Goetia. He paused, using the open closet door as cover, and peeked from behind it.

A few feet away, a door opened and a very tall bird Blitzo had to assume was a Goetia appeared. Blitzo’s first observation was he was very blue, with random spurts of white and purple. He seemed young, perhaps a teenager and he was scolding someone still in the room.

“This is for your benefit,” The blue Goetia said. “This will be your responsibility one day, and if you can’t take it seriously…”

“But I do take it seriously!” A smaller voice, light and gentle, and oh so familiar, replied.

Blitzo felt a shiver run down his back as Stolas exited the room. It had been over a year since he had seen the boy, but he looked the same. Same soft gray feather, the same big bright eyes, even the same silly red vest. The only thing different was the fierce look of determination on his face.

Where Blitzo had always assumed anger would fester in him upon first seeing Stolas again, a bucket of water had been used to extinguish the mighty flames. He didn’t feel an ounce of anger. He felt calm for the first time in months.

“Little prince,” The tall one said in a tone Blitzo knew wasn’t kind. “By your age, I could already open a portal without the help of my grimoire. You, with all your powers your daddy gave you, are rarely successful with it.”

Wow, what a dick. Nevermind about that whole being calm thing.

“My father says-” Stolas said, but the other bird put a finger to his lip.

“Yes, your daddy says a lot, but who is the one in charge of training you, hm?” The other bird moved his finger away. “I expect you to be able to open a portal by the next time we meet. If you are less than successful, we may need to tell dear old daddy about this. Now, what do you say?”

Blitzo watched Stolas’ determination slowly fade, and his head lowered.

“Thank you, Andrealphus,” Stolas mumbled.

“You are welcome, my prince,” The blue bird, Andrealphus, chuckled as though Stolas’ title was a joke. “I will give Stella a warm hug from you. Toodles!”

The anger was back in Blitzo’s tummy, and it made him want to lash out. He wanted to rip out the bird’s feathers, or call him a name like ‘asshole’ (Blitzo hadn’t called anyone that name yet and he was dying to try it out.)

Before he could do anything, Andrealphus was gone and Stolas moved just out of his line of vision back into the room. Blitzo knew he had to get back to Mr. Butler, knew the imp had a job to do and was waiting for him. But he found his feet moving past the closet door to the space where Stolas stood. He was quiet as he snuck to the spot, as quiet as he had ever been, and he planted his feet in the hall where Stolas’ talons just touched.

Inside the room was dark, but facing away from Blitzo was the little owl. He sat on the ground, speaking softly in a language Blitzo did not understand to the emptiness in front of him, and there was so much Blitzo wanted to know about Stolas. So much he wanted to ask.

Did he have a good 11th birthday? Did he still sleep with all those stuffies on his bed? Were his lessons hard? Did he keep playing the horse-pirate game? Could he still make the magic flowers that felt like snow?

Did he forget about Blitzo, like everyone else had?

He couldn’t ask. One, because while Blitzo would say he was afraid of nothing, he was afraid of change. He was afraid if he said Stolas’ name and the boy looked at him without a single memory of who Blitzo was, he wouldn’t be able to handle it. If his recollection of last year did not match Stolas’, he wasn’t sure what he would do. He wouldn’t be able to keep going on this path paved for him. He wouldn’t be able to keep up with Mr. Butler, keep trying to read with Tweed, or keep looking at every poster in hopes it said a circus was coming to town. He would let the anger in his stomach take over and he would burn right up.

Two, because Mr. Butler was calling for him.

On hearing his name, Blitzo turned heel and ran. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him, hoping Stolas hadn’t heard the call. He raced down the long hallway until he nearly collided with the door to King Paimon’s closet. He slammed it shut and fell against it. His chest was heaving and he tried to catch his breath as he held out the shoe polish for Mr. Butler. He ignored both Mr. Butler’s stern look as well as the fear his name was still being called, only now by a very light and gentle oh-so-familiar voice.

Chapter 3: The Pirate Ship

Chapter Text

The gardens at the Goetic palace could be considered a national forest of Hell, at least by Blitzo’s small understanding of what a forest was. There was no denying the small acre of land, though beautiful, was eerily out of place. The gardens were packed with dense trees, flowing flowers, and the very rare sounds of nature. Blitzo swore he even saw a fuzzy rabbit, those furry things in those picture books of the human world.

“These shrubs must be watered at least twice a week,” The palace gardener, Stezzy, instructed him. “If they go even an hour off schedule, they will wither and die, King Paimon will be devastated, and you will be put to death. Now, follow me over to the herbal garden.”

Stezzy, a very short imp with curly black hair, made her way down the cobbled path, leaving him to grab the watering can. It was a comically large watering can, and Blitzo didn’t understand why they couldn't have just used a hose. Seemed more complicated than it needed to be, but Stezzy didn’t seem to care. She made it abundantly clear she did not want to ‘babysit the thief,’ as she so kindly put it.

Bitch.

Oh, bitch was new, he hadn’t thought of that one before.

Blitzo opened his eyes that morning to Stezzy in his face and an explanation that Mr. Butler was away with King Paimon on some important trip, so he was stuck learning about the gardens. Blitzo didn’t care, a day without the old soul-sucker seemed like a breeze.

Stezzy was fine when she wasn’t insulting him but she didn’t pay too much attention to him. When he asked what a certain flower was, she rolled her eyes and handed him a thick, dusty book. When he asked why a certain tree needed to be at a certain temperature, she pointed at the book again. If he didn’t do exactly what she asked exactly when she asked for it, she would ‘hmmm' him like he had done something wrong.

Blitzo wasn’t going to tell Mr. Butler he missed him, but he certainly liked it better when he was around.

They arrived at a mighty greenhouse near the house. It was incredibly warm inside, the hot afternoon sun not helping the heat, and Blitzo felt gross and sticky. There were rows upon rows of plants sprouting up from raised garden beds in all different shades and varieties. Some plants trailed up to the very tall ceiling, holding themselves up on trellises, and others scaled down to the stone floor. Some were brilliant greens and yellows and others dark as night. He think he saw one curl a leaf his way as though beckoning him to come closer.

There was no way he was going to remember all this.

“I’m taking a break,” Stezzy told him as they stopped next to dozens of flowering bushes in large pots. “Pick a bucket full of the prunus spinosa berries before I return.”

“Which ones are the…um…prunie spinnies?” He asked, looking over the dozens of different colored berries bushes.

Stezzy groaned. “Oh my Satan, just look at the book. It’s not complicated. Just don’t pick the phytolacca americana because those will kill you. Ok, good luck!”

“But I-”

Stezzy walked away before he could finish, leaving him with a gardening book without pictures and an empty metal bucket.

“Fine, whatever, ya big jerk,” Blitzo mumbled to himself as he sat on the stone floor and opened the book. “I can figure this out.”

He couldn’t figure it out.

The book was in a handwritten script, flowery with too many unnecessary loops on letters that didn’t even have loops! There were no illustrations to even show him what section of the book to look at. He thought of Tweed’s advice and tried to break the sentences down into smaller fragments, but he couldn’t even tell what was a sentence and what was a very long paragraph.

Still, he tried. He looked at the words until his eyes hurt, and then looked at them some more. The day began to fall, he could tell how the greenhouse grew dark and the warm air began to chill. His stomach grumbled, but he ignored it.

“If I can just find the word…pruno? Prunso?” He felt a prickling in his eye and he was so sick of crying in defeat, so sick of how small his voice sounded. “Damn this!”

He threw the book, drew his knees to his chest, and hid his face in his arms. He was tired, he was hungry, and he couldn’t figure this request out. Even with Mr. Butler’s instructions most days, he struggled with nearly everything. There was so much to know, and he just wasn’t capable of knowing it. How could he remember which tablecloth belonged on what table at what time of day?

Back home, back with Barbie and Fizz, he knew exactly what to do. He knew he could make a joke, and if he failed, Fizz would jump in with a snazzy one-liner to save him. If he dropped a flaming baton, Barbie’s speed would save the day. If he felt hopeless, his mom would massage the space between his horns and sing to him. His dad would…his dad…

His dad wouldn’t do a damn thing.

“Prunus spinosa?” A soft voice said near him. “Are those the berries you are looking for, Blitzo?”

Blitzo turned his face up from where he was trying to hide from the world and found himself looking into two sets of red eyes. They were turned upwards, the results of the soft smile on the young prince’s face. The owl held out his small hand, and Blitzo looked at it as though it was fragile glass.

He was certain Mr. Butler had a lesson for him about touching owl princes, but he hadn’t been taught it yet, so he carefully took Stolas’s thin, soft hand.

“Yeah…yeah, those are the ones.” Blitzo wiped his eyes, more relieved for the help than embarrassed to be caught crying.

The owl prince nodded and led Blitzo by the hand to a very large bush in the corner. Dotted amongst the leaves and bark were small blue berries. He wouldn’t have been able to guess that was the one he was looking for even if he stared at the stupid book for another week.

“They are also known as Blackthorn plums, and they are wonderful for cleaning curses out of hellborn blood,” Stolas recited as though he were giving a speech. “With a simple dose, even the worst of curses can be reversed. Rarely will a double dose be needed, but if so, it is perfectly safe to do.” Stolas then lowered his voice. “But they taste rather disgusting.”

Blitzo’s smile rose on its own when Stolas hooted a small laugh, and for the first time in a long time, he felt comfortable in another’s presence. Stolas had been on his mind nearly every day that week since he accidentally spied on him in the hallway. A few times he almost dared himself to ask Mr. Butler if he could visit the prince. Once, he came very close to entering the same room where Stolas did his studies, and he was very tempted to leave him a note. He changed his mind at the very last moment, as he knew there wasn’t a chance Stolas would be able to interpret his attempt at spelling.

“Why are you back, Blitzo?” Stolas asked. “I’m quite happy to see you again, but I thought…perhaps you were upset with me. You left and never said goodbye.”

Whatever feelings of comfort Blitzo had dissipated into the cooling greenhouse air. Right, he was there for a reason, and it wasn’t to hold Stolas’ hand and talk about berries.

“Like you don’t know,” Blitzo snarled as he pulled his hand away. “I bet your stupid dad has talked your ear off about it.”

The young prince looked down at his hand in sorrow, and then back to Blitzo. “I certainly was not told a single thing.”

Blitzo observed Stolas, waiting for the owl to give him some indication he was pulling one over on him. Blitzo had learned from his dad that sometimes, you have to know the audience better than you know your act. Either Stolas didn’t know, or he was really good at looking confused.

“Your dad bought me,” Blitzo said. “You know that, right?”

“Adopted you?” Stolas asked, his head shifting an unusual owl angle.

“No, like bought me,” Blitzo clarified, and then took a step back. “My dad sold me to your dad. I am to be Prince Stolas’ servant.”

Stolas’ eyes searched the ground, as though he was thinking very hard, before meeting his eye again.

“No, you are my friend,” Stolas addressed the words slowly like he was wading through sap to find what he wanted to say.

“Apparently not, my prince” Blitzo bowed low, and he wasn’t sure why it felt a bit good to see Stolas get upset at his action.

Wait, no, second thought, it didn’t feel good to see Stolas get upset. Stolas looking at him with wet eyes and confusion didn’t make his heart feel lighter. Instead, that anger in his stomach, the burning coals grew hotter. He didn’t like it.

Lesson Thirty-Three: The Prince’s feelings come before our feelings Mr. Butler would say. Our actions are to make The Prince feel better, even if he doesn’t deserve it.

“I…I…” Stolas sniffed and then squared his shoulder. “I don’t know what is going on, but I will find out, and fix it. I give you my word as a Goetia.”

Blitzo sighed at the dramatics; Fizz would love Stolas. “I know exactly what is going on, ya don’t gotta find out, calm your feathers. Listen, I gotta pick these berries before Stezzy comes back, so if you want me to fill you in on the details, you can help me. Or just stand there. I don’t really know what princes do.”

“I do the same things anyone else can do,” Stolas declared as he started to pick the berries. “With approval by my father of course. Also, who is Stezzy?”

Blitzo rolled his eyes but joined Stolas in picking the Blackthorn plums. He explained what had happened after Mr. Butler took him from Stolas’ room and the deal his father had struck. He explained his schooling, his teachers, Tweed, and the apprenticeship in the summer. He left out some details, like being incredibly depressed most days, missing his family so hard his heart ached, or being stowed away in this stupid palace as a gift for Stolas when he became an adult.

He spoke of the other imps in the household, of Mr. Butler and Stezzy, and found he was not shocked to learn Stolas knew very little about any of them. He knew a little about Mr. Butler (probably because the old imp had been there since Paimon was an owlet) but nearly nothing about anyone else. Blitzo wanted to shame Stolas for what looked like uncaring nature, but bit his tongue when he noticed Stolas was hanging on to world Blitzo said. The owl was asking questions about the staff, what their names were, and if they had families. Perhaps it was less about Stolas not caring, and more about him being taught not to.

The two boys picked berries until their claws were stained bright with the juice. Blitzo took an experimental lick and found Stolas wasn’t lying, the berries tasted sharp and gross.

“I don’t know why healthy stuff has to taste so yucky,” Blitzo said as he tried to scrape the taste from his tongue with his claw. “Why couldn’t it taste like funnel cake?”

“At least it doesn’t taste like Father’s dinner wine,” Stolas laughed and stuck out his tongue. “It is horrible. Almost as bad as his absinthe. Yuck.”

“Stealing alcohol is a naughty thing to do, Prince Stolas,” Blitzo teased as he took a seat against the garden bench in wait for Stezzy.

“Please don’t call me that,” Stolas cooed quietly and joined him.

“Don’t call you your name? Then what do you want me to call you?”

“No, I want you to call me Stolas. Just Stolas.”

Fifth Lesson, Blitzo could hear Mr. Butler’s words in his mind, it is always Prince Stolas.

“I can’t,” Blitzo sighed. “It is part of the gig. You are Prince Stolas, and I am just an imp working for you.”

Stolas looked at Blitzo with thet same determination Blitzo had seen in the hallway with the blue Goetia. Some newness that hadn’t been there the last time they were together. Blitzo wasn’t sure what the hell it was, maybe it was the magic of the book or the privilege of being a Goetia, but it was something and it made Blitzo shiver.

“What if I wasn’t a prince?” Stolas raised his chin in defiance.

Blitzo tsked. “Ok, but you are, so I don’t know what you are asking.”

Stolas stood, which Blitzo realized for the first time was a bit strange since his legs kind of did a backward thing, and he was so focused on the goofy owl joints he didn’t see the shiny portal until Stolas pointed it out. Blitzo tore his eyes away from the prince’s legs to stare into the shimmering illusion in front of him.

“What the crap-” Blitzo started, but his words died on his lips.

He could clearly see the greenhouse surrounding the portal, but it looked as though someone had carved the center out with a knife. Inside the center were swirls of a purple and black sky with sparkling dots of brilliant silver and cerulean twisting around an array of planets.

Stolas was grinning at him through the clear struggle in his outstretched arms. Little sparks of magic flowed from his fingertips and his goofy owl legs were shaking a little, but the portal was staying steady.

“You did that?” Blitzo asked as he rose to join Stolas.

Stolas nodded. “Yes, and it is very hard to keep open, so please go in.”

“Go in?!” Blitzo cried, looking back at Stolas. “I can’t just go in there!”

“Well, why not?” Stolas’ voice was strained. “Sooner would be better.”

Blitzo held up his hand. “One, I have no freaking clue where that goes. Two, Stezzy-”

“Stezzy clearly isn’t coming back and I know where this leads, so if you excuse me-”

Blitzo felt Stolas’ body before he saw the owl pushing him into the portal. Stepping (or more like being shoved) felt like being splashed with ice water. He had to shut his eyes and hug himself to stop from tossing up his lunch. He shivered and coughed as his feet met the ground.

When he finally opened his eyes, he gasped. He was…well, he really wasn’t sure where the hell he was.

There was no more greenhouse, no more red sky, or berries. The world was a twirling mist of colors in a dazzling ocean around them, except no water splashed him. He saw comets sailing in the distance and stars blinking. The floor was not paved stone, but soft white sand. Smooth rocks in shades of violet, gray, and copper scattered around them.

He took a breath and found air still filling his lungs, but it felt heavy and tasted sweet. His shoulders felt heavy, and he watched in the far distance as a planet twirled on its axis. This was not a place in Hell. He doubted it was topside, because if the topside looked like this, why would anyone ever want to leave? He doubted this was Heaven because there was no way Heaven could be this cool.

“Where are we?” Blitzo asked, secretly terrified to move.

A hand found his own, and he found the strength to turn his head to Prince Stolas.

“Let me show you, Blitzo,” Stolas said in a calm but confident voice. “This is my favorite place to go when I don’t want to be Prince Stolas anymore. No one looks for me here, and it's very quiet. It's the only place I’ve found where all the noise just disappears.”

Blitzo looked at their joined hands and then back to Stolas’s face and found he was frightened. “Your Highness?”

Stolas shook his head. “I am just Stolas, and you are just Blitzo. We are both eleven and we are friends. None of the other stuff matters.”

They started walking and Blitzo was not sure how long they moved across the sandy ground of this world. The owl was quiet as they walked, and Blitzo figured it would probably be for the best if he didn’t talk. In the distance, he could hear whirls and crashes, but he wasn’t sure what they were or even if he wanted to know. Prince Stolas didn’t seem alarmed, so he wouldn’t be alarmed either. Or at least act like he was alarmed, because truthfully he was a little alarmed.

“Can I show you something a little silly?” Stolas asked after a time. “It isn’t ready yet, but I thought you would like it. I’ve been working on it for a while.”

Blitzo nodded, uncertain what the little princeling could possibly show him in this solar system he had created. Blitzo realized at that moment he really hadn’t considered the depths of Stolas. Then again, he was eleven and hadn’t considered the depths of many things in this world.

Of course, it would be this owl to make him reconsider what it meant to be alive.

“Tada!” Stolas cheered as they paused to stare at a splatter of rocks in the near distance.

“What…is it?” Blitzo asked, looking up and down at the pile.

“Oh, right, silly me” Stolas let go of his hand. “Let me just set it up…” Stolas waved his arms and little sparks of violet magic flew from the tips of his claws. “Ah, there we go!”

The rocks lifted as though on a string, rearranging themselves and clashing together. They rose higher and higher, and as they fell into place, a brilliant glow emerged. Some rocks seemed to radiate in brighter hues, and Blitzo watched them all connect with flashes of wonder.

Once assembled, it was very clear what the arrangement created.

“Is that…a pirate ship?” Blitzo asked, his mouth hanging open in shock (Lesson Fifty-Four: mouths do not hang open to let the flies in.)

“Oh good, you see it!” Stolas laughed and clapped his hands. “I wasn’t sure if it would make sense, but knowing you see it too, gosh, it makes me feel so much better. Come with me!”

Stolas grabbed his hand again and pulled him towards the ship. The glow grew brighter as they approached. Although the rocks were spaced pretty evenly apart, with pretty sizeable holes in between them, his feet did not fall through the empty center as Stolas tugged him up the ramp and onto the ship.

The ship was huge, or at least huge in Blitzo’s opinion as he had never been on a pirate ship, and had everything he could imagine a pirate would need. There was an old-timey steering wheel, a big flag with a skull emblazoned on it, and even some weird barrels you could stuff bad pirates in. Blitzo felt his tummy bubble like he had a really fizzy soda, and he giggled as he looked around.

“I can’t believe it!” Blitzo howled with glee. “I can’t believe you made this! This is so freaking cool, Stolas!”

Stolas’ feathers fluffed around his neck as a soft blush went across the owl’s break, and Blitzo giggled at the funny display. Blitzo took a few more steps onto the ship, no longer feeling afraid he was going to fall through any openings for whatever was keeping him upright was solid and firm.

“What is this?” He asked when he spied what looked like a stack of powdered golden sparkles, a bit like cotton candy.

“I’m still figuring out how to make hay,” Stolas replied as though it was the most normal thing to say. “I think I’ll have to weave the stardust to make strands, and I haven’t gotten that far in my studies yet.”

“Why would pirates need hay?” Blitzo asked, deciding the hay bit was the important question instead of how someone could weave stardust into something.

“Isn’t hay what horses eat?” Stolas co*cked his head. “Horses eat hay, right?”

Blitzo shrieked as he realized this wasn’t just a pirate ship, but this was the pirate-horse ship from Stolas’ birthday. In the same thought, he realized it was the last time he had played with someone. It was at the last time he used his imagination for the joy of it, not as a way to escape from the questions in his head.

Stolas had made their imaginary pirate ship.

“Well, Pirate Stapler here to say we need to collect more hay if we are going to feed all these unruly mates!” Blitzo held up his hand as though he held up a rapier.

“Aye aye, sir!” Stolas cooed.

They fell into the same rhythm as though nothing had changed from where they left off. There was no misunderstanding between their fathers. Stolas was not his keeper and Blitzo was not a servant. It was like Stolas had said, they were both eleven and they were friends.

He didn’t want to leave. He wanted to stay here for the rest of his days. There was no concept of times under the dark sky, and the only reason their play began to settle was because his limbs grew heavy and he started to yawn.

“What are you going to do with this pirate ship?” Blitzo asked as they took a break from their adventures by laying on the deck of the ship, watching comets and shooting stars.

“One day, when it is perfect, I plan on making it a constellation.” Stolas nestled his head lightly against Blitzo’s shoulder, and Blitzo didn’t feel up to telling him to move.

“Like, the big diaper?”

“I think you mean, The Big Dipper, which is part of the Ursa Major constellation that can be seen in the sky on the Earth’s surface.” Stolas corrected him, and then after a small yawn. “Yes, a little like The Big Dipper. Once I am happy with how I have the stars, I will float it to a galaxy where it can sail forever.”

“Wait, is that what this pirate ship is? Are we laying on stars right now?”

“Yes, Blitzo.”

“Holy sh*t.”

Yeah, holy sh*t felt right here.

“Why was the weirdo blue bird such a dick to you the other day? Doesn’t he know you can do cool things like this?” Blitzo asked.

“I knew I heard you in the hall!” Stolas giggled, but then his voice dropped. “You heard our conversation?”

Blitzo nodded, prompting Stolas’ head to lean a little more heavily on his shoulder (which Blitzo didn’t mind, it wasn’t like it was weird or anything.)

“Andrealphus doesn’t exactly know about this,” Stolas admitted. “I haven’t shown him.”

“Why wouldn’t you brag about this?” Blitzo snorted. “I would brag about this.”

“I don’t want Andrealphus to see how far I’ve already come with my magic. If he finds out and tells my father, then they will want me to learn more things and take on more responsibilities and I’m just…not ready. Not yet anyway.”

Blitzo didn’t know what to say to that. The jealous part of his brain wanted to say something nasty to Stolas, something like ‘at least you can do something right’ or ‘must be hard being so good at things’ but the sleepy side of him just wanted Stolas to continue resting his head on his shoulder as they watched the stars fly through the sky.

Space was so quiet and so gentle, and it made Blitzo’s eyes heavy. If he could, he would sleep on this ship. Perhaps then he could have his old dreams and not the empty ones of the past year.

“Please do not hate me, Blitzo,” Stolas’ voice sparked him out of his daze. “Please believe I had nothing to do with our fathers’ deal.”

Yeah, he was too sleepy for this honesty. “I don’t blame you.”

Stolas rose up to rest on his haunches and looked down at Blitzo. Blitzo groaned at the loss of warmth. Stolas looked so serious for being just a kid. Did Blitzo look like that too?

“I know I can’t fix this right now,” Stolas started. “But one day, when I am an adult and complete my blood oath, I will own everything in my father’s home. ”

Blitzo started to feel uncomfortable (what in the everloving hell was a blood oath?) and sat up to mimic Stolas. “I said I don’t blame you.”

“I know, but it is important to me you know this. Every land title my father holds, every property, every agreement he had in our family name, whatever deal our fathers had, I will own it. Everything will be mine, the deal will be mine, you will be…”

Stolas stopped and cleared his throat. “What I’m saying is when I’m grown up, I can do whatever I want. I will be the ruling prince and I can set you free of your deal. It isn’t a soul contract, which means it ends when I say it ends.”

Stolas grabbed Blitzo’s hands, and Blitzo hadn’t noticed Stolas was shaking. “The first moment I can, I will free you. And…and…I will help you with your dream.”

“Stolas,” Blitzo tried to interrupt the owl, but he kept talking.

“The dream we talked about, the one about the circus. I will help you buy the big building with the big office and do whatever is in my power to make you successful. And I’ll-”

Blitzo put his hand over Stolas’ break, finally ceasing the bird’s rambling. Stolas’s eyes were wide and the one hand he still held was shaking.

“Stop,” Blitzo gently instructed, willing to do anything to get rid of this feeling. “We are both tired. Can you bring us back? Please?”

Stolas nodded, and Blitzo took his hand away from Stolas’ beak. The bird sighed, and after a few breaths used a single flick of his wrist to open up the portal. On the other side was Blitzo’s bed in his quiet room. Blitzo helped the bird up and together they went through the portal. Blitzo took one last moment to look at the strange place Stolas had brought him before it shimmered away against the moonlight streaking in through his window.

The boys stood in the room, both waiting for the other to speak. Then, at once:

“Can I-”

“If you want to-”

They both paused and then Stolas’ little hooting giggle was the only sound. Almost as if they both knew what the question would be, Stolas removed his coat so he was in his breeches and shirt and Blitzo quickly changed into his nightgown. The bed was incredibly smaller than Stolas’ bed, but it fit the two little boys just fine.

“It isn’t a royal bed, so I shouldn’t get into trouble,” Blitzo joked, and then after a yawn. “Unless you aren’t allowed in an un-royal bed. Are you sure your dad won’t check in on you during the night?”

Stolas joined Blitzo in the bed and snuggled next to him, resting his head on his shoulder as though they were back on the pirate ship. “My father doesn’t ever check on me. He only speaks to me when he absolutely has to. I’m sure he hasn’t even noticed I was gone.”

Blitzo thought maybe he should tell Stolas how damn depressing that sounded. He also thought maybe he should tell Stolas that when he rested his head on the owl’s feathers, it was the only time he felt at ease. He also knew it sounded a bit cheesy, so maybe he wouldn’t tell Stolas.

“Good night, Blitzo,” Stolas said so softly. “Everything will be ok.”

Blitzo looked down at Stolas and watched as the little bird fell into a gentle sleep. Stolas had told him the same thing once before, and things certainly had not been ok. Or, maybe all things considered, they were better than what they could have been. Blitzo didn’t want to see a silver lining though, but he also didn't want to be pissed off at a situation he hadn’t made for himself. All he wanted was to lay here with his friend, let his tail wrap around Stolas, not hide the soft purring in the center of his chest, and fall into a quiet slumber.

So, for the first time in a long time, he did exactly what he wanted to do.

***

Blitzo woke the next morning with Prince Stolas’ soft chirping against his neck, his own tail wrapped twice around the boy’s waist, and damned Mr. Butler at the foot of his bed illuminated by a blood-red sunrise.

“I advise you both to wake up,” Mr. Butler monotoned, and Stolas shot up like a daisy in the spring.

The owl scanned the room before landing on Mr. Butler’s frame.

“Mr. Butler,” Stolas cried, and nearly tripped out of the bed and was only saved by Blitzo’s tail still wrapped around him.

“It is early, young prince, and you may want to head back to your bedroom before you are awakened for your morning studies.” Mr. Butler’s voice was steady.

“Please don’t tell my father,” Stolas begged as he untangled himself from Blitzo’s tail.

Blitzo felt a sharp stab of…well, he wasn’t really sure what it was. He didn’t like how quickly Stolas left the bed or how quickly he begged for forgiveness from Mr. Butler of all people. Also, begged for forgiveness for what? A second sleepover?

“It is not my place to tell King Paimon,” Mr. Butler stated. “It is your business to attend to, young prince.”

Mr. Butler handed Stolas his jacket as Stolas conjured up a portal. It all happened quite fast and Blitzo was only able to give the gentlest of waves as Stolas turned to say goodbye. Then in a blink of an eye, he was gone.

Mr. Butler remained and Blitzo, still in a daze of being woken up in such a fluster, sneered at him. As always, Mr. Butler seemed unfazed, but something felt a bit tilted. The imp turned to Blitzo and crossed his arms.

“What just happened cannot happen. I will not find Prince Stolas in the servant quarters again. Do you hear me?”

Blitzo felt the anger bubbling and with a twinge of shame. “You just said you wouldn’t tell King Paimon.”

“And I will not, but there is an important lesson here. Better you learn now than when it is far too late.” Mr. Butler took a deep breath. “Lesson Seventy-two: You must have discretion, lad, at all times.”

Blitzo groaned and rose to his feet. He didn’t want to be in a bed that smelled like his friend and was still warm with his sleep.

“I don’t even know what discretion is,” Blitzo hissed, taking a step so they were nearly eye to eye (which wasn’t too difficult when Mr. Butler was one of those short imps and Blitzo knew he still had a ways to go in getting taller.)

“Discretion means to avoid getting caught doing something you know you aren’t supposed to be doing.” Mr. Butler was unwavering even as Blitzo stared him down. “You are employed through the good graces of King Paimon, so perhaps you should act like it.” Mr. Butler opened the dresser drawer with his tail. “Get your uniform on. There are chores to be done.”

Blitzo did not move.

“I did nothing wrong,” Blitzo argued.

“May I remind you of Lesson Twenty-Seven: We are not friends with our employers.”

“I was friends with him before I was ever his servant!” Blitzo yelled, a bit too loud for such an early morning.

Apparently it was the wrong thing to do. For the first time, Mr. Butler’s expression broke. His brows met and he took in a very deep breath.

“I will repeat this only once,” Mr. Butler’s voice grew deep. “You must have discretion because if you are caught, no one can protect you from King Paimon’s wrath. Not I, not the young prince. Do you understand?”

Blitzo rolled his eyes, feeling his cheeks grow hot as though he was being scolded by his parents.

“Blitzo?” Mr. Butler did not drop his stare.

“Yes, I understand.” Blitzo turned away and pretended he was messing with a crease in his uniform. There was nothing more either wanted to say to each other (well, there was much Blitzo wanted to say to Mr. Butler, but discretion or whatever held him back) and Mr. Butler left him to get change.

He took a few deep breaths, trying to keep it together. He had done nothing wrong. Stolas had done nothing wrong, and if none of them had done anything wrong, why did he feel like he had done a horrible thing?

“Avoid getting caught doing something you know you aren’t supposed to be doing…”Blitzo mumbled the definition, but then his head perked up when he noticed something. “Avoid getting caught…”

Mr. Butler said not to get caught, not ‘leave Stolas alone.’ He played the words over again in his mind. Avoid getting caught. Don’t get caught, not ‘don’t see your friend.’ Don’t let Mr. Butler catch Stolas in his room, not ‘don’t invite Stolas in.’

Well, sh*t, if not getting caught was all there was to it, he could do discretion all day.

Chapter 4: An Intermission in Friendship

Chapter Text

Blitzo and Stolas spent every stolen moment that week on the pirate ship. Their playdates were always after dinner, once Blitzo was excused to his lonely room and Stolas had finished his nightly illusion work. They both knew the nights were not promised. If Stolas could not break away, if his magic was spent, if he knew it wouldn’t be safe, he would not come. Somehow, for that one week, he made it work

If Blitzo had known it was all the time they had on the pirate ship, he probably would have done things differently.

He wouldn’t have always been the one to decide how their play would go. He would have allowed Stolas to lead if only to know more about what the owl liked. He would have suggested they spent more time just observing the galaxy Stolas had created for them.

But Blitzo did not know, so like any eleven-year-old, he spent the nights with Stolas in a whirlwind of fun suggesting infinity in each other’s presence. They had a few bickerments, a few spatz as any friends did, but Blitzo didn’t like the feelings centered in him when he saw Stolas cry. Blitzo never apologized, but he did everything else to make the little princeling happy.

There wasn’t much Blitzo wouldn’t have done that week to see Stolas smile. Each night they found themselves back on the deck of the pirate ship made of stars, watching the swirls of violet sky, and Stolas would ask Blizto to tell him stories of the circus.

At first, it made Blitzo sad to think of his life before all this. Despite his new friendship, he missed his family. He missed sneaking to the mini donut stand with Barbie and stealing the fresh sugary treats even though the hot dough would burn their claws. He missed being Fizz’s model for the new outfits his friend would sew. He missed his mom telling him how good and funny of an imp he was. He missed the clown horses and the stage and the lights.

He never thought of his dad.

So he told it all to Stolas. He told him everything he could remember about everything he had cared so deeply for and Stolas would ask questions, forcing Blitzo to elaborate. Tell more, go deeper into his memories to paint a vivid picture. If Blitzo would never see the circus again, if he never found his family, then at least he had their memories with Stolas. For a little bit, it felt familiar, and it made him feel good.

When their eyes grew weary with sleep, Stolas would portal them back, and they would snuggle in Blitzo’s small, creaky bed. Blitzo would get in first and hold the frayed quilt for Stolas to join him. The owl would snuggle into his chest and Blitzo used his feathers as a pillow. Almost on cue, the purring deep in his chest would start, and Stolas would give him the smallest of giggles. When it first happened, Blitzo was embarrassed and forced his body to stop, only for Stolas to softly whine at him to turn it back on. I like it, Stolas had told him, and that was all Blitzo needed to know.

On the second night of this arrangement, Blitzo finally put two and two together that Stolas did not smell just of lavender or whatever fancy smells rich people spritz on themselves, but he smelled of a whole damn garden. The earthy scents of dirt and sprouts, the floral notes of roses, the deep, wet smell of berries. Blitzo would wait until Stolas’ soft hoots of sleep arose, and he would allow himself to nestle his nose against the soft feathers, pull Stolas into a tighter hug, and take a deep breath. He wasn’t sure when his friend had become such a comfort to him, but in mere moments he would follow Stolas to dreamland.

Blitzo also hadn’t realized just how damned good Stolas was at magic. Before sleep would take them, Stolas would create a charm in the air. It’s an alarm, Stolas had said, so we don’t get caught.

Stolas had been right, that week they never got caught. Not to say Mr. Butler didn’t try to catch them, but the imp was too slow and the boys were far too stellar at this.

On the last night, Blitzo hadn’t the faintest idea it would be be their last night together for the next few years. He did sense Stolas seemed nervous, and kept breaking out of character during their mighty pirate raid.

“You need to embody Pirate Horse Funnel Cake, be the horse, not just pretend!” Blitzo whined to Stolas, using Fizz’s own acting skills to his benefit.

“Can we just sit and talk?” Stolas responded with his little feathered arms wrapped around himself.

“Oh. Crap. Sure.” Blitzo led Stolas to the deck, and although it was far too early, they rested against the celestial floorboards.

Stolas sighed. “I have to show my father my magic skills tomorrow morning. Andrealphus said if I haven’t shown improvement, there will be consequences.”

“What kind of consequences? Like, you're grounded or something? Can’t play in your garden?”

“No, worse,” Stolas’ voice shook. “They will send me away to the Goetia school.”

Blitzo turned his head to Stolas so he could look into his eyes. “School isn’t too scary. I have to go back soon. It's just a bunch of classes and stuff. You’re like, super smart, so it will be easy.”

“This is different, I would be gone for a while,” Stolas told him, and Blitzo found himself grabbing Stolas’ hand.

“How long?”

“Andrealphus said for a very long time. Until I can get things right.”

“Well, And-really-puss is a dick.”

Stolas giggled. “That isn’t his name!”

“It should be,” Blitzo snorted and gave Stolas’ hand a squeeze. “What are you going to do?”

Stolas’ magic trickled along the back of his hand, and Blitzo was reminded of the flower. Stolas’ magic was soft, cold, almost like a splash of water. It was sort of like the first gulp of sodapop after a long night of acrobatics under the big top. This magic was so different from the harsh, bright magic of King Paimon. It gave him hope Stolas would always remain kind, even when he was a grown-up. That he would keep his promise of setting Blitzo free.

“I do not know. I could be honest. I could show them what I can do. I just know it's one more step towards my initiation into my Goetic responsibilities and I just…I’m scared, Blitzo.”

“What could you be a-scared of?”

“Everything is going to change and for once I feel…”Stolas looked away, but Blitzo caught the single tear falling down his cheek. “Happy.”

Blitzo squeezed Stolas’ hand again when he found he couldn’t get the words out. What he wanted to say was stuck in his throat, like dinner eaten too quickly. He wanted to say ‘I am so happy, despite the whole your-dad-enslaving-me-and-my-dad-selling-me thing’ or ‘Do whatever you have to so we can stay on this pirate ship forever and never have to deal with adults again and I won’t lose another person ever again.’

Instead what came out was: “Let's run away.”

Stolas squawked and had to cough to get his breath back. “We cannot just run away. Where would we even go?”

“The circus, of course.” Blitzo rolled his eyes like it was obvious. “We will find the nearest circus, join them, and keep hopping until we find my circus. Then you won't have to worry about stupid birds and their stupid expectations.”

“I don’t know the first thing about circuses,” Stolas giggled as his cheeks flushed.

Blitzo wiggled a bit feeling like he was going to explode at the idea of Stolas as a clown. “Oh, you would certainly fit right in. You can have your own act. Something very Stolas-like”!

“Oh yes? What would my act be?”

“I don’t know, let's find out!”

Blitzo pulled Stolas up to his feet and his circus training began. Blitzo taught him how to juggle with a fist full of stardust (if only Fizz could see this, Blitzo cried.) They rolled on a fallen comet like a giant ball. They drew a line in the sand and walked it like a tightrope (Barbie could walk a tightrope before she could crawl). Stolas’s legs were getting longer than his body and they discovered he could hardly walk a straight line. By the time they were done, they had both laughed so hard their tummies hurt and Blitzo was proud of himself for making Stolas smile again.

Like the other nights, they grew tired and Stolas brought them back to Blitzo’s room. They quietly got into the bed and Stolas set the magic alarm. Just as they settled their heads against each other to rest, Blitzo found a nugget of bravery in his body. Where it had been hiding, he didn’t know, but he decided now was the time to use it.

Blitzo placed his face against his friend’s feathers even though he was awake, and he whispered. “Whatever you decide to do tomorrow, everything will be ok.”

Stolas did not say anything in return, but his arms grew tighter around Blitzo’s body. They waited in each other’s presence, the rise of their chest becoming slow and their eyes fluttering shut.

***

If Blitzo knew that morning would be the last time he would talk to Stolas in a very, very long time, he probably would have said something with more wisdom. Maybe some parting words Stolas could hold onto in a pretty little box and take out over the next years and look at fondly. Instead, Blitzo woke to the sun far too high in the sky and Stolas still sleeping in his arms.

“f*ck, Stolas, you gotta get up!” He hissed and was so caught up in fear to realize he had used a new cuss word.

Stolas slowly blinked, but when he saw the sky he was quick to roll out of bed and open the portal.

“Oh no no no,” Stolas cried as he grabbed his coat. “I have to go!”

Blitzo held up his hand in a wave but wasn’t able to get a goodbye or good luck or break a hollow little bird leg out to his friend. He watched him go through the portal and that was that.

Quick to dress, Blitzo made sure he looked as the least suspicious a suspicious child could look before he emerged from the room. So far, all was silent, and he found Mr. Butler waiting in the dining room with the other servants

The imp didn’t appear like he was on to them. He simply handed Blitzo a plate of breakfast and sipped his tea as the other imps happily chatted near them. Stezzy was going on and on about some sort of new weed killer she found at a black market (which was most markets in Hell) she was just dying to try. Elva, a laundry imp and the shortest of the crew, was commenting on the lack of Goetias in the home meant that she had done less laundry this week than she had in years. Albert, one of the groundskeepers, was explaining something about the Sins and the Goetia having some kind of important meeting about the new generation taking over and blah blah. Really, Blitzo would rather listen to the droning of Mr. Butler than this political nonsense.

The day had gone and the night emerged but the portal never opened.

Fine, that was all fine. They knew some nights this wasn’t going to happen. They had the unspoken agreement that when they could escape to their pirate ship, they would. Blitzo went about his chores the next morning, doing his best to not get caught looking a bit too closely into windows or sneaking glances through open doorways.

The next night, still no portal.

Damn it, Blitzo had been hoping to hear about how the talk had gone with the king, but it was nothing to get worked up about. He woke that morning and dressed as he usually would, and sat at breakfast as he always did. Stezzy was complaining that the black market weed killer killed a little too well, and she now had to figure out a way to revitalize a very dead garden space. Albert was arguing with Elva about the Goetia’s newest plan being an excuse to combat bad behavior or something. Blitzo didn’t pay much attention, as he was looking downtrodden at his eggs. He didn’t feel hungry.

When Stolas didn’t open the portal once again, Blitzo felt angry. He wasn’t sure what he was angry about, as Stolas had never said their playdates would be consistent. Stolas hadn’t really said anything about a schedule. Maybe that was Blitzo’s fault, he should have asked more questions, and gotten a clearer timeline. Stolas could have at least found him in the garden or while he was cleaning toilets to give him a heads up.

On the fourth night without the portal, Blitzo let himself be upset. He let himself cry and say all the cuss words he wanted to. He let himself be mad at Stolas for not trying harder to give him an indication of when they would see each other again. He was mad at Mr. Butler for making it so f*cking hard to even hang out with his only friend. He was mad at Fizz and Barbie for being too boring to catch Stolas’ attention, leaving him to take the punishment of abandonment. He was mad at his mom for not even trying to find him.

He tried to be mad at his dad, but at this point, what more could he have expected of him? He did exactly what a piece of garbage would do.

That morning, he sat at the table without eating, without drinking any juice, and without talking. He could hear the others blabbering, hear them arguing, hear them gossiping, but it was all grown-up stuff and he just didn’t care. He didn’t care about any of it.

“Today we are cleaning the young prince’s room,” Mr. Butler told him quietly.

Finally, Blitzo felt a moment of clarity. He would be able to get into Stolas’ room and leave a message. He didn’t care anymore about his poor spelling. Stolas could use his magic to figure out what he was trying to say, and he was going to say exactly what was on his mind.

Der Stols, he quickly wrote on a blank scrap of paper when he went to get changed for his morning’s chores.

Only, he wasn’t sure what was on his mind. He didn’t know what he wanted to tell the owl. Something like ‘Hey, what the f*ck dude?” or “Are we ever going to hang out again?” or “Did you forget me too?”

Instead, he wrote: Plz opn da purtel agan. -Blizto

He put the piece of paper in his pocket, keeping it close to him so no one saw, and followed Mr. Butler to Stolas’ room.

Blitzo had thought they were going to be doing the same boring dusting and cleaning windows, cleaning an already clean room, but the door opened to something very different.

The room looked like a hell tornado had swooped in. The stuffies that had lived on the bed were all over the room, some with their little white cotton insides now on the outside. The pale pretty wallpaper was torn in a few corners, smudges of black burn marks along the baseboard, and the comfy bench Blitzo had tried to sleep on that first night was broken in half. Books were thrown around the room, pages missing and crumpled on the floor. There was a crystal embedded very high in the ceiling.

“What happened?” Blitzo cried. “Is Stolas alright?”

He hadn’t known how scared he was until he heard his voice. His breath was coming in short and staggered and he looked to Mr. Butler with wide eyes.

“Where is Stolas?”

Mr. Butler, for all the pain in the ass that he was, did not correct Blitzo’s failure to follow lesson five but instead put a very soft hand on Blitzo’s shoulder. Mr. Butler had done this before when he was trying to get Blitzo to focus on something, only this time, it felt more soothing, as though Mr. Butler gave a sh*t about him.

“It was decided that Prince Stolas, along with the other young Goetia, would benefit from learning together to better control their magic. They are all very safe with the older of the Ars Goetias.”

Blitzo looked back to the room, and for the first time, he noticed a sparkle on the ground near the window. Stardust.

“No, Stolas doesn’t need special lessons,” Blitzo argued. “He knows how to control his magic. He has shown me.”

“Lad,” Mr. Butler said, but Blitzo tore away from Mr. Butler’s hand.

“Look!” He pointed to the shining light on the ground as though the rest of the room was a faded memory. “That is stardust. Stolas did that. He can go into space and rearrange planets and sh*t like they are building blocks. He has more magic in his beak than any of those other stupid birds have in all their feathers!”

“I think there are some things you may not know about the young prince,” Mr. Butler offered.

Blitzo shook his head. “No, Stolas tells me everything. Stolas is the best magical bird that has ever been. You don’t know what you are talking about. He shouldn’t have to go away just because he is good at something!”

Blitzo could see Stolas in his mind, could watch the magic shooting from his outreach hand. He saw the waves of lilac bushes and lavender growing from space dust, life starting again in something so barren and wasted. He could hear his little laugh, feel his hand on his telling him it would be ok.

He felt his fist clench and he wished he could hurt something. Or someone, but no one was here but Mr. Butler, and the stupid old imp would probably die or something. So he left his claws cut into the soft flesh of his hands.

“You need to tell his asshole father he doesn’t need to leave,” Blitzo said through his teeth. “The jerk won’t listen to me, but he will listen to you. You need to do something.”

Mr. Butler said nothing.

“Are you even listening?” Blitzo cried out.

Mr. Butler sighed heavily. “Blitzo, who do you think destroyed his room?”

Blitzo turned back to the room, his eyes scanning the destruction. The more he looked, the more he saw the stardust, the shining light against broken toys and destroyed books. The stars that only Stolas could move, could destroy, could fasten into something new.

“This is for the best, Blitzo,” Mr. Butler told him softly. “Prince Stolas is in very good hands.”

Picking up a small stuffie, Blitzo placed it gently back onto the bed.

“When will he be back?” Blitzo asked. “Will I see him before I go back to school?”

Mr. Butler sighed. “Prince Stolas will be back to the palace once he has completed all his training to take on his duties and take his blood oath.”

“But when?” Blitzo felt like he knew what the answer was before Mr. Butler told him.

“I do not know.”

Blitzo looked around the room meant for a small child. The room had been perfect for Stolas, but now it was a place of destruction. Blitzo just knew when Stolas returned, he would no longer be the little boy he played with. He would be a different owl entirely. Would they even still be friends?

“Chin up, lad,” Mr. Butler told him. “This just means we have a short time to get you in tip-top shape. When the prince returns, it will be you at his side, ensuring he can do his duties the best he can. There is much to learn, and little time to learn it. To start, cleaning up after a Goetian temper tantrum…”

***

Blitzo returned to school at the end of the summer. His old room was the same as it had been, including good ol’ Tweed and his stupid ideas. The imp had apparently learned about something called ‘punk rock’ music over the summer break and had to show Blitzo as soon as he stepped into their dorm.

It wasn’t bad, but sh*t, there was a lot of screaming.

Actually, Blitzo liked the screaming.

Actually, actually, Blitzo loved the screaming.

Tweed and Blitzo spent their afternoon (after their reading lessons of course) finding more music to listen to. Blitzo had seen a few people who dressed like the singers in the band while he was performing, but he always thought they were dressed up for some silly reason. Turns out, it was a whole style choice? Blitzo wasn’t sure, but the more he looked at it, the more he liked it.

As usual, Tweed knew more about the music than anyone needed to know. He knew about the bands, the instruments, the history of the punk rock scene. He even knew all the weird other genres that were like punk rock, like horror punk and something called egg punk (which Blitzo just assumed had to do with the Goetia so he didn’t really want to think about it.)

Turns out, the school taught more than just being a servant to stupid demon royalty. Blitzo hadn’t seen it at the time, mostly because of the whole being sold like a carton of milk, but he was learning more than what he probably would have at the circus. Like, he knew how to do math now, so that was cool. He even knew a little more about what exactly it meant to be a resident of Hell. They also learned a lot about Lucifer, who was sort of like this king guy, but more important or something? Whatever, Blitzo didn’t care too much about that.

They also learned quite a bit about the sinners. Tweed already knew a bunch and would interject information in their classes since Blitzo was able to be placed back with his age group. Blitzo felt that maybe they had a bad rap in life, but then he learned all about these overlords and the crazy crap they did, which changed his opinion on the matter. Some where cool though, like that gun chick. Then again, he didn’t have much of an opinion anyway, for his mind was focused on the new music and doing his best to ignore the thing that kept squeezing his heart like a snake.

The rest of the year was boring, and before he knew it, he was back at the palace. He spent his days with Mr. Butler, but there was little to do. Most of the Goetias that were in the palace last year were now nowhere to be seen. King Paimon came back every now and again, but he would take extended stays elsewhere for business meetings. Andrealphus was gone, thank goodness, since he was annoying enough.

Stolas was…anyway.

Mr. Butler gave him more tasks to do without supervision. He was now responsible for cleaning the prince’s unlived-in room. It mostly meant dusting and cleaning the windows, but he took his time doing it. He had checked every secret nook and cranny but couldn’t find any hidden secrets.

Sometimes, though, he liked to sit on the bed and wonder what the prince was doing right now. It made his eyes and his chest hurt, so he didn’t do it for too long.

The start of his third year of school was the same as the second. Tweed brought new music to the dorm (this time heavy metal, which Blitzo didn’t like as much as a punk rock but would certainly f*ck with it) as well as a new haircut. Blitzo didn’t have hair, so it didn’t really matter to him, but Tweed had dyed his hair red, which was kind of cool.

The school didn’t think it was cool, and by the end of the first day, he had to dye it back.

Honestly, that was bullsh*t, and Blitzo let the teachers know that. This resulted in both boys having to take lessons on proper dress etiquette, which pissed Blitzo off even more. He let that anger fester throughout the rest of the school, toeing the line between a disturbance in class and a call to the Goetia palace. Luckily, Mr. Butler took all those calls, and figuring he wasn’t kicked out, the messages must not have been passed along.

When Blitzo arrived back at the palace, now thirteen and mad as hell at the Hell, he learned that since he was technically at a certain age, he would start receiving a paycheck.

“We may be in Hell, Blitzo, but even Hell has some standards,” Mr. Butler said as he handed him his first check.

“King Pain-In-My-Ass isn’t going to throw a fit?” Blitzo sassed while holding the paper so close to his chest.

“The king does not interject into small manners, such as his employees”

Small. Right, Blitzo’s very existence was small. He almost forgot about that

Really, the check was nothing. It was so little money for all the work he did, but it was the first sign of freedom Blitzo had seen in years. He was also given one evening off a week. Due to his age, Mr. Butler was able to argue that he couldn’t leave the palace unless Mr. Butler attended, but it was still something. So Blitzo took every chance to go with Mr. Butler on errands and quickly learned the older imp was often distracted with picking out what cantaloupe would be better for a fruit salad. It was then that Blitzo was able to sneak off to secure his prize.

When the fourth year of school started, Blitzo arrived back at the dorm with a little money in his pocket,a pack of cigarettes because that was what the cool artists did, and two cheap black t-shirts he had bought from a clearance rack at a big soul-crushing box mart. Tweed, now quite taller than he had been the school year before, showed up with a few old pairs of pants, and the boys tore into their goodies with cheap scissors and permanent marker.

They looked a little silly, but they felt so f*cking cool. Tweed had found a spiked collar that probably belonged to a hellhound, and since he didn’t like the way the leather fit around his neck, he offered it to Blitzo. In his full get-up, Blitzo felt as though he was part of the punk bands they looked up to. At night the boys would listen to their music and pretend to play the guitar and scream with the lyrics. Before bed, they would open the windows and smoke the cigarettes, blowing out the smoke through a pillow case to try and trap the smell. His lungs hurt but the bitter smoke seemed to calm the burning already trapped in his chest.

Blitzo wasn’t really sure when it started, but when the nights would end, their punk clothes hidden in the back of the closet, Tweed would snuggle into bed with him. Blitzo made a bit of a fuss, telling Tweed they weren’t whiney-ass babies anymore and they didn’t need to do this, but it was nice having a warm body against his. Tweed was an imp, just like him, and had a gentle, light pur that started as soon as he fell asleep. It was sweet and it did make Blitzo feel a little more relaxed than when he was alone. The only problem arose when he would dig his face against Tweed's hair and smell whatever cheap shampoo Tweed’s mom bought and the stupid cigarettes instead of the earth, the stars, and magic.

As did the second and third years, the fourth passed without much more to say. He knew more about math than he ever wanted to, he could now fold a fitted sheet which was a miracle in itself, and he was one more year further from his family. He stopped dreaming of a daring rescue and he couldn’t remember his sister’s voice. The memories faded from a vivid gold to a dull copper, and Blitzo had to allow the rust to set in. What else could he do?

The palace remained unchanged with the exception the king spent the majority of that summer there. The mighty bird would pace the hallways, muttering to himself and writing notes on floating paper. Guests would visit and they would spend hours debating, often loudly, in his office.

“Things aren’t well with the Goetia,” Stezzy whispered one morning over breakfast. “Sounds like magic ain’t flowing as easily into the next lot as they thought.”

“What do you mean?” Elva asked with a mouth full of bacon.

Stezzy grew a wicked smirk. “From the sounds of it, half of the Goetia brats are magical duds and the other half can’t control their powers. I hear our little prince-”

“We do not gossip about the young master,” Mr. Butler interjected. “Finish your meal or get to work.”

Blitzo started to pay attention more to the gossip, in hopes of catching snippets of anything that had to do with Stolas. The other imps were not as open around him no matter how hard he tried to get them to let lose their lips. His best chance was paying close attention to everyone around him, especially if they didn’t know he was listening.

Blitzo, now running tasks almost entirely on his own, still attended Mr. Butler when he served the king. It wasn’t often, usually just running tea up, but Blitzo took those chances as often as he could.

Really, the king did not give two sh*ts what imps were in the room.

On his first time attending, he was able to eavesdrop on a phone conversation King Paimon was having with Lucifer. Like the big badass of Hell Lucifer. He couldn’t really understand what they were talking about, something about souls and control, but it was enough for Blitzo to know that he was low enough on King Paimon’s attention to see what other things he could catch.

Sadly, it wasn’t much more, but whatever it was, it was causing ripples throughout the palace. The staff whispered to each other, discussing any leads they had on what exactly was happening to the royals of Hell. No one gossiped with Blitzo, which was whatever, but he was also young enough that folks really did forget he was a capable imp who could put two and two together. Sometimes. Ok, he really wasn’t sure what was happening, but he would figure it out.

Sometimes, when he was sneaking a cigarette outside with Stezzy and Albert, he would try to act as invisible as possible to see if they would slip. The only thing he accomplished was witnessing them feeling each other up, which was not what he wanted at all. He still watched, because he was a teenager who didn’t have access to unrestricted television. Sucky for him, but he was caught and Stezzy gave him the new name of Blitzo the Sicko. Whatever.

His final year of schooling began before he could discover just what was going on with all those bird brains. After this year, he would be expected to start full time at the palace, and although fifteen seemed so young to him, there were apparently very few child labor laws in Hell.

Tweed was already in the dorm when Blitzo arrived and seemed in a sour mood. He complained about his summer, how his mom was such a buzzkill about their music, and threw out his cigarettes. Blitzo had learned that if he just zoned out during Tweed’s ramblings about his mom acting like a decent mom should, he would eventually shut up. Only, this time, something caught Blitzo’s attention.

“...and I told her that I was way too old for the stupid circus, but she still dragged me along. Like, I don’t want to see this chick walk a tightrope while this loser dances around with balloon horses.”

“Hold the goddamn phone,” Blitzo shouted, and nearly fell out of his bed to get to Tweed’s. “More details?”

Tweed shrugged. “I don’t know, it was a bit run down and barely had anyone there. Sounds like they just show up, do a night, and then dance off to wherever. Their main attraction was these stupid acrobat twins-”

“Shut the everloving f*ck up,” Blitzo choked. “What did they look like?”

“Do you want me to shut the f*ck up or not?” Tweed chuckled. “Ya giving me mixed signals here, B.”

“What. Did. They. Look. Like. You. f*cking.”

“Dude, I have a flyer.”

Blitzo blinked hard. “You have a flyer?”

“Yes, they have the dates and places they will be. I thought it was so dumb, you know, but…uh… and maybe if you aren’t too busy this summer, we could-”

“Give me the flyer.” Blitzo pushed Tweed off the bed. “Now.”

The flyer was a bit torn around the edges and had a grease stain, but years did not erase his ability to recognize two of the most important people he had ever known. Barbie looked so much older in the picture, her horns having curled even more and the baby chub on her face sculpting itself into something that looked too closely like his own. He wondered what her voice sounded like now. Next to her was not her twin, not even close. Fizz, his best friend in the world, was next to his sister, looking so good, so healthy, and so safe. Did he have the same laugh?

Blitzo ran a claw down the picture as though he could touch them, as though he could feel their chests moving with breath. They were different imps now. Did they even remember him?

“It’s your family, isn’t it?” Tweed asked.

They had never spoken again about the circus after that night so many years ago. Blitzo knew everything about Tweed. He knew Tweed’s mom was super sick and had a hard time holding a job. He knew Tweed lived in a bunch of different houses, but not for long enough to feel like it was his home. He knew Tweed had a grandmother who gave him candy and cousins who he liked to play with.

Tweed knew nothing about Blitzo’s life before this school.

“Barbie and Fizz,” Blitzo said quietly. “My family.”

His eyes scanned the flyer, and at the bottom was a list of dates and locations. There. Right at the very end, the very last stop: Pride Ring on the Summer Solstice. They would be in the Pride Ring. He would be in the Pride Ring on the Summer Solstice.

“I’ve got a mission for us, Tweed,” Blitzo smiled. “Operation: Time To Get My f*cking Family Back.”

Chapter 5: A Royal Returns Home

Chapter Text

The ravaged desire of his body was far too much for the prince. Take me, save me, he called to his handsome savior, and once their bodies were flushed together, he did not care if a moan left his lips. I’m yours, he whispered, and the prince took him, body and soul, hands between legs…

“My Prince?”

Prince Stolas, the future Watcher of the Stars, jerked his head up from his not-at-all-inappropriate literature and found Mr. Butler, an imp employed by his father, in front of him.

“Mr. Butler, my apologies!” Stolas stuffed the book deep into the bag near his side, only mildly embarrassed by the crack in his deepening voice. “I must have lost track of time.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Mr. Butler replied as he struggled to lift one of Stolas’ very heavy bags.

Stolas rose from the stone bench and surveyed the grounds of the Goetia School for the last time. This certainly hadn’t been the best time of his life, but it hadn’t been the worst. He did exactly as he should, studied hard, and networked well. There was no denying Stolas was intelligent, and where he lacked in social skills, he made up for in studiousness.

He found other Goetia he could be friendly with, but would not call them friends. He was certain the lush green forests and bright yellow sky in the Gluttony ring were lovely, but he had not indulged himself. He had a few potted plants in his room, his carnivorous darlings, and he put his energy into those. The other fifteen-year-old had eventually given up on him, but he really hadn’t noticed.

Most nights he spent in his room, an open book filled with more smut than school-recommended education on his chest, and his magic buzzing in the tips of his claws begging him to make a rash choice.

“Did my father come?” Stolas asked as they walked to the limousine, which was a bit obnoxious but always the vehicle his family used.

“The King is otherwise occupied in Pentagram City,” Mr. Butler said. “He sends his love.”

“Oh,” Stolas said, for what else was there to say?

Mr. Butler held the door open for him before he went to the driver’s seat. Stolas had to duck to enter the car, but it was more to do with his overly long legs than his actual height. The last year had been the hardest while the other Goetia grew into themselves for Stolas remained as he had always been: awkward, shy, and utterly inept at talking to people. The matter simply wasn’t helped that he was nearly two feet shorter than the other teenagers and reminded of it whenever someone needed a head as a place to rest their arm.

The other Goetia he found flittering next to him seemed set on making Stolas the perfect example of what a prince should be. Raum, a loud crow with startling black eyes and shiny blue feathers, always told Stolas he needed to think about what others were talking about rather than the ideas floating in his head. ‘Your ideas are only exciting to you, my dear, so best to share them with yourself.’ No one else seemed to care about how little leaves stretched towards the sun or the difference between frogs and toads. After a time, Stolas just stopped sharing. Seemed easier that way.

Gemory, an owl like Stolas with feather tufts on her head that looked like horns, told him that he really needed to spend less time on his plants, which he wasn’t even The Watcher for, and more time figuring out what his lovely bride wanted. ‘How can you impress Stella if you don’t even know what kind of dessert she liked?’

Stella was the last thing he wanted to think about.

“What is the plan for today?” Stolas asked Mr. Butler through the little hole in the divider between the driver's seat and the Goetia-sized back.

“Your schedule for the day is to return to the palace, instruct the household staff on duties, and begin the planning stages of the Summer Solstice Ball.”

Right. The ball.

That was the other thing he didn’t want to think about. The Summer Solstice Ball was to be his initiation into the Ars Goetia, the night he took his blood oath, and the announcement of his engagement to Stella. A little too much to think about on the ride home.

Instructing the household staff though, prompted a flutter in his heart, a missed beat, and butterflies nose-diving into his spleen.

“Um, Mr. Butler, is Blitzo back from school?”

Mr. Butler’s eyes met him in the rearview mirror and then back to the road.

“Blitzo will be present. He has completed his training and will take on the full-time duties once King Paimon returns from his business trip.”

“Ah. Good.”

Stolas averted his eyes from the long-time employee, for he knew how to read Stolas like a book.

Blitzo never once left his mind during the years they were apart. Every night he wished to use his magic to open a portal to him, but the fear of losing Blitzo forever held him back. Wasn’t that why he was sent away in the first place? There was no telling what his father would do if he caught Stolas using magic for such a wasteful purpose, and he would not risk Blitzo’s safety. But for all the gods and sins in this world, he wished to see his dearest friend.

There was no reference point Stolas could find to even start to imagine what Blitzo looked like now. Imps were all in different shapes and sizes and horns and spikes and gosh, it was overwhelming. So when he thought of Blitzo, he thought of how his heart warmed when their hands clasped. How he always smelled so sweet and his body was always so warm. His jokes, his stories, his smile.

He feared that Blitzo would not like what he saw when they met once again. What if Blitzo saw the random patches of molting along his feathers? Would he think he was gross? Sometimes, the fluff on his head didn’t like to hide away into his much nicer-looking feathers and stuck out like little spurts of dandelion. Most mornings were spent in front of his mirror trying to tame the flyaways. His skull seemed too big and his legs too scrawny. He was like a living version of a bobblehead. It was so hard to understand how his fellow classmates were turning out so beautiful and he was still such an ugly duckling, no offense to the duck Goetia, of course.

The thought of his body and how it failed him made his skin crawl, so he pushed the thoughts from his head. He let the window that parted the driver seat to the back roll up and took out his book again. He knew the stories he read weren't real, but for a little while, he could pretend they were. Stories of a handsome hunk finding the lonely hero, the star-crossed lovers bound by fate, best friends who find each other once again…

His eyes grew heavy from the sound of the tires on the road, so similar to purring, and he was lulled into a pleasant nap.

***

Stolas never wanted to sit on his father’s throne. The ornate chair seemed so big, built on the decisions of those much older and wiser than himself. It was meant to look perfect, unbreakable, untouchable. From the golden curves of the edges to the ever-moving galaxy painted on the back, it was meant to represent King Paimon, not his much less impressive son. Flawless, not a single dent.

This was the image Stolas had in his mind of his father. A bellowing presence in his moments, terrifying and strong. So when Stolas sat on the mighty throne and felt along the bottom of the arm small claw marks, it startled him. Stolas mimicked the marks and realized these were only possible through grating, persistent, and steady.

He couldn’t think what would lead his great father, wise and respected, to fidget like this.

“Your greenhouse maintenance crew, Your Highness,” Mr. Butler announced.

Stolas was relieved of the distraction. The moment they arrived back at the palace he was whisked into his father’s throne room, a much too big cape thrown over his shoulders, and plopped on the throne. He hadn’t even had time to put his bags down.

Part of his responsibilities was learning how to manage a staff. Trivial, his father had written to him in his last letter, but important to get it right so you don’t have to worry about that petty nonsense. Stolas felt severely incapable of this. He had only turned fifteen a short time ago and now he was expected to take on duties he thought he would not need to touch until he was a capable adult.

Two imps stood in front of him. One he vaguely remembered, was a woman with a silly name. Sassy or something of the sort. She was much shorter than the second imp, and her curly black hair had speckles of gray in it. The younger one looked no older than himself, and his hair was a bit messier than what Stolas knew his father liked in his help.

“Stezzy and Tweed at your service, Prince Stolas,” The woman said, and on cue they both bowed.

“Hello, lovely to, um, meet you,” Stolas stumbled, and then nearly flinched at the nonexistent hit from his father for showing kindness to the staff.

The imps nodded politely and the three stared at each other for a bit longer than was comfortable.

“I believe they are waiting on your orders, Your Highness,” Mr. Butler said very quietly by his side.

“Right, yes, of course, orders,” Stolas tried to laugh it off, but the imps were looking at him like he hadn’t the faintest idea what he was doing. They were right, of course. “How about keep on doing what you’ve been doing? The palace looks very lovely, so keep on doing that.” He quickly turned to Mr. Butler. “Right?”

“Very good, Your Highness,” Mr. Butler stated.

The two imps nodded, bowed, and left the room.

“Oh good, I’m glad that is over.” Stolas rose from his seat only to notice three more imps come in. “Oh, there are more?”

“The Royal Palace employs over one hundred and fifty staff members.” Mr. Butler pulled a list from his pocket. “The front garden crew, Your Highness.”

The list took nearly two hours to complete. The only blessing Stolas could see was the imps came in groups, but why in Hell’s name were there so many of them? Imps to fold laundry imps to touch up wall paint and imps to do whatever Stolas could possibly imagine.

After one too many introductions and the constant ‘keep doing what you are doing’ orders’, he let himself dissociate into the place in his mind he went when things become far too much. It was a dimmed quiet, where he still saw the world around him but shrouded him in a nebulous blanket. He had learned the trick early in school when the pressure was too great to push against. When the very part of himself that got him into the mess, to begin with, threatened to emerge.

In that silence, he tried to remember happiness as his focal point. Moments in his history he was content, he was safe, he was loved. There was little and few between. He hadn’t known his mother. All of his siblings were older and had their own lives. He hadn’t a connection with his father. He hadn't had a friend in the world for so long.

He did have one careful container of memory he held dear to himself, a vessel he had to hold tight to for too easily it could slip into the obscurity he still did not fully understand. Darkness was so heavy and all-consuming and he refused to let it take over his crystal-clear image.

In those moments, he would think of Blitzo. Hell, he always went back to Blitzo. When Stolas felt like his skin would break apart, that the darkness in him threatened to take hold, he thought of Blitzo and his horses. Blitzo and his circus tricks. Blitzo’s hand holding his own. Blitzo’s purring as they held each other. Blitzo telling him everything would be ok.

Stolas thought of him so often that when he was on his throne, after hours of sending out the same order, he hadn’t been able to separate the memory from reality. His mind didn’t register when the real Blitzo, not the dream one, walked into the room.

Stolas had to blink away whatever haziness had entered his mind to take in the changes of time in his friend. Blitzo looked so familiar yet so different. He had grown, his short legs lengthening and his soft edges sharpening. His tail was much longer and as it waved behind him Stolas noticed little black spikes that hadn’t been there before. Blitzo wore an outfit similar to the rest of the staff, a white shirt with a black vest with black slacks.

Stolas’ heart stopped and he had to will it to keep going, to keep him alive. He rose from the throne he did not want and told his feet to be steady, to not fail him. He could faintly hear Mr Butler behind him calling, but his eyes were only on Blitzo. No staff of his would stop him, no societal expectations or titles. He let his legs carry him until he stood toe to toe with his long-lost friend. They had both grown, for Stolas had to look down to Blitzo, who stood chest height to himself. It was not so different from when they were children. Perhaps this was not so different at all.

“Blitzo,” Stolas sighed as he reached for Blitzo’s hand. “How I’ve missed you.”

The imp did not reach for Stolas as his eyes widened and darted to look past him. Stolas felt his face fall, his empty outstretched hand quivering, and he followed Blitzo’s gaze to Mr. Butler. In that glance, a bridge in Stolas’ mind constructed itself between the fond memories he relieved every day over the past years and the truth of the room they were in now.

Blitzo took a step back with an expression Stolas had never seen him wear before. It was a look of…confusion? Uncertainty? No, Stolas thought as met his friend’s gaze, that was a look of fear.

“Your Highness,” Blitzo said, his voice deeper than it had been.

Blitzo closed his eyes, breaking whatever spell he had on Stolas, and took a deep bow. Stolas took a step back and took a very deep breath. His mind was racing as it tried to piece together what was happening Then it struck him like a mallet. They were no longer Blitzo and Stolas, best friends on their pirate ship in the sky but Prince Stolas and his imp valet.

“Oh, I see,” He said softly and clasped his hands together to stop them from shaking.

Blitzo did not meet his eye when he rose from his bow.

“Your Highness.” Mr. Butler was now by his side, his voice breaking the tension. “As I mentioned on the ride home, Blitzo has completed his training and will accompany me over the next few days to get everything in order to your specifications. Once your father returns, he will take over as your personal attendant.”

“Right, yes, very good,” Stolas mumbled, unsure what else to say in the silence of Blitzo’s avoidance.

“Is it fair to presume it has been a very long day and escort you to your chambers, Your Highness?” Mr. Butler asked. “The ball planning can wait.”

“That would be good,” Stolas mumbled and walked past Blitzo and out of the chamber.

This was not how he hoped they would meet again. All those daydreams of a joyful reunion were now buried six feet under. All he had now was the sound of two sets of footprints behind him as he walked down the hall.

Mr. Butler directed him down a different hall than his childhood nursery, and he realized he would be taking the main hall. Of course he would, his father’s reign in this palace would end in a few short years. He could only guess his father was spending more time in his lovely little mansion in the Gluttony ring. He had probably been there the entire time, so close to Stolas yet not bothered to visit.

Mr. Butler opened the door to the rooms that Stolas guessed had been his father's, but he had never entered until today. The room was large with a canopy bed, empty bookshelves, and doors leading out to what Stolas guessed as a patio. It was plain, dark, and empty. Fitting, he supposed.

“Would you like help unpacking?” Mr. Butler asked, directing their attention to the bags that had been brought up.

Finally facing the imps, he allowed himself a single glance at Blitzo and was disappointed but not surprised to find the imp still looking off into the distance. How disgusting Stolas must appear for Blitzo to not even look at him? He wasn’t sure why he would have thought any differently. Blitzo had grown to be far too pretty and Stolas…well, hadn’t.

“No, that will be all,” Stolas murmured.

“Very good, sir,” Mr. Butler stated, then cleared his throat. “I do want to inform you tomorrow is a busy day, Your Highness. The tailor will be here for your new wardrobe, there is correspondence that must be addressed, Andrealphus will be”

“I understand,” Stolas interrupted as he sat heavily on the bed. “That is fine. Thank you.”

“Would you like me to bring you dinner?” Mr. Butler asked.

Stolas had closed his eyes for there was nothing more he wanted to see. “No, I will be retiring early.”

There was silence, and Stolas heard a light shove, and then Blitzo’s voice: “If you need anything else, there is a bell next to your bed. There is some kind of weird…um…magic, I guess. So I’ll hear it. If you ring it, that is. I’d hear the ringing. Yeah.”

Stolas did not open his eyes. He didn’t want to see Blitzo. He didn’t want to see Mr. Butler. He didn’t want to see himself in the reflection of the glass doors.

“Thank you,” Stolas kept his voice tight, fearful it may break. “You both may go.”

He heard one set of footsteps exit the room, and when he did not hear the second, he opened his eyes. Blitzo remained in the entryway, one hand on the doorframe and the other fidgeting with his jacket. Had it not been so long ago Stolas would have tackled this boy, called him captain, and rested his head on his shoulder? He had thought their friendship so strong, so solid. Could a few years and distance ruin that?

No, of course not. Stolas was not so unwise to see that it was a power shift. The moment he sat on his father’s throne, their paths diverted and oh, did it rip at him. How horrid.

“Yes, Blitzo?” Stolas asked, and let his voice emerge in ruins.

Blitzo shifted, as though to reenter the room, but he cleared his throat. “Good night, Prince Stolas.”

Stolas closed his eyes again. “Please shut the door.”

There was a click of a door latching, and Stolas pulled his legs to his chest. After a time he let himself fall onto the sheets, still dressed in his travel clothes, and landed into a dreamless sleep.

***

As a child, Stolas had not been present during the meetings of the Ars Goetia. He remembered the meetings happening because often the younger Goetias would come and play with him. Well, not really play, he would sit in a corner with a book and watch the rest of them play.

He had never asked his father what was happening in those meetings. Now, sitting in his first ever one, although small, he wished he could be back alone in the nursery to read. Andrealphus, his father, Raum, and Gemory sat around his father’s large table in his study, discussing the means of the upcoming Summer Solstice ball. He had hoped he would have more time to decompress from schooling, but not even three days home and he was in the thick of it.

“It really does not matter if silver is the current color of the season,” Gem was arguing with Raum. “Red is Lucifer’s color. We are trying to appeal to him, yes?”

“Yes,” Raum said in that rolling voice of his. “But are we really stooping so low to begging? We want to show him the power of the Goetia, not the power of Mr. Lulu. How far up his ass do we need to be?”

The argument was going into the second hour of color schemes. The first three hours alone were on the guest list. He wasn’t sure what next pointless discussion was to be had. His father gave no input but watched from the head of the table with narrowed eyes.

The king had only arrived that morning but called for an immediate meeting between this secret council. Truthfully, it wasn’t a special council, but a group of Goetia the king knew he could demand work from without bartering favors or deals. Two magically useless birds, a suck-up desperately trying to marry off his sister, and Stolas, the most pitiful of them all.

“I can’t believe I’m suggesting this, but a compromise, hm?” Andrealphus cooed. “We haven’t even gotten to the menu.”

“Mice, of course,” Gem said as Raum said. “12-course meal with various mice dishes.”

Stolas huffed and placed his chin on his hand. Parties had never been his thing. They were loud and exhausting. Too much socializing, too much having to wear his face a certain way. After a point…what even was the point?

“Do you really think The Sins want to eat mice.” Andrealphus placed a hand on his forehead. “King Paimon, please, I think the owlets need a lesson in polite society. You both make me embarrassed of our highly spoken education system.”

Stolas raised a finger to make a statement about the incredibly long school course on dinner etiquette in all Goetian settings, but Andrealphus had a fair argument. What did The Sins eat? What did Lucifer eat? Did they eat? He imagined Lucifer ate apples. Apple pie? Apple cake, maybe? Oh, maybe some apple cider!

“And what say you, Prince Stolas,” Andrealphus asked, pulling Stolas quickly from his apple-scented daydreaming. “I do not hear many suggestions from you, dear future brother-in-law.”

“Um…yes…food? Is that what we are still talking about?” Stolas asked and tried not to feel too hurt when Andrealphus rolled his eyes and his father loudly sipped his tea. “What about a feast of human-inspired foods?”

Andrealphus let out a squawking laugh. “A human feast? Now that is-”

“Quite an astute suggestion, son.” King Paimon rose from this seat while setting the teacup on top of poor Mr. Butler’s head. The servant did not flinch and walked closely behind, the tea cup remaining very steady on his head. “If we show Lucifer we understand the human world, perhaps he will see our commitment to our responsibilities.”

Stolas did not miss the look of contempt on Andrealphus’ face, Gem’s eye roll, or Raum’s loud sigh.

His father turned to the group. “Tomorrow we will finalize the details, but we will need to look into these human feasts. Stolas, I can expect you to take responsibility for this.”

“Yes, sir,” Stolas agreed.

With a nod, his father left the room with Mr. Butler following closely behind. The younger Goetias were left behind, a bit stunned at the sudden closing of the meeting, but not altogether upset. Raum laughed as soon as the door was shut.

“Human feast, Stolas?” He cawed again and wiped his eyes. “What will we have? Chewing gum? Those…what are they called? Corndogs? Oh, too delightful.”

“How appealing,” Gem rolled her eyes and rose from her seat. Her long dress swooped behind her like a storm cloud and the tufts narrowed in disappointment. “It will be lovely looking for a wife with breath reeking of processed meat. Though I suppose spouse hunting isn’t too much of a concern for you, eh, lover boy?”

Stolas hid the shiver of distaste that ran down his spine. Of course, Stella was brought up. She was always brought up in his company. How beautiful she was, how properly trained she was, how delicate and polite. He had yet to meet his future…well, what she was, and he did not look forward to the day if she was anything like her brother.

“Yes, Stolas, let's talk about my wonderful sister,” Andrealphus placed an arm around Stolas’ shoulder. “Come, come, a walk in the gardens perhaps?”

Stolas managed to pull himself from the older bird’s embrace but could not talk his way out of this meeting. Gem and Raum said their goodbyes and retired to the suites that King Paimon had given them in the palace during the ball planning. Stolas recognized the importance of the ball going swell, and how needed it was to make Lucifer see the vitality of the upcoming generation of royals. He just found that he didn't care perhaps as much as he should.

The two made their way to the greenhouse without much interruption. Stolas thought he caught Blitzo’s tail from the corner of his eye, but it was probably his exhaustion playing tricks. Blitzo would surely be back by Mr. Butler’s side as he had been the entire week.

That hadn’t been a moment where Mr. Butler wasn’t there, and Stolas had no opportunity to try to talk to his old friend. He thought, perhaps, he could try to repair their friendship. Perhaps that first day was a fluke. Yet every attempt was either diverted by Mr. Butler or straight out ignored by Blitzo. He pushed the thoughts from his mind and kept his eyes on the path they walked.

They entered the quiet greenhouse and they were alone, besides the new greenhouse imp with the short horns. They walked past him to stand near one of the very tall nightshade vines. Andrealphus turned to him with a blue fire in his eyes, and Stolas knew they weren’t talking about his sister.

“Now, you listen here you rich boy,” Andrealphus snatched Stolas’ wrist as he threatened in hush tones. “Raum has as much magic as a freshly hatched bastard. Gem will cast a transportation spell and end in the entirely wrong ring. They are both pathetic and need more training than we have time for. Their grimoires are not responding to them. Even as the absolute disgrace you are, you are the Goetia with the best hold of his powers.”

Andrealphus squeezed his wrist harder and Stolas had to swallow a cry of pain.

“Andrealphus,” Stolas softly begged, but just as the other bird had done when he was a child, Andrealphus would not listen to his cries.

“And that isn’t saying much. If you let one lick of your power emerge that has not been approved ahead of time, the entire council will be on you like holy water.”

“I’m trying,” Stolas hissed through the pain. “You know I’m trying but sometimes…”

Andrealphus twisted his wrist, and a loud squawk of pain purged from Stolas’ chest. Stolas felt the bubble of slick darkness in his stomach, the pull to stretch and tear himself into two. It was such a strong calling, such a pressure in his chest to let himself go into that burning light.

He would not accept its powerful call. He hadn’t worked this hard to contain it to fail in his own home.

“Control your sh*t, Stolas.” Andrealphus threw down his wrist. “The future of the Ars Goetia rides on your undeserved abundance. Do not f*ck this up.”

The taller bird swirled on his heels, leaving a flurry of snowflakes in his wake. He strolled to the door but stopped with a giggle.

“Oh, and as always, Stella sends her love. She is so excited to meet you. Don’t worry, darling future brother, I told her to lower her expectations. By a lot. ”

Andrealphus left with a little wave and Stolas let himself fall to his knees. His wrist was pulsing from the pain and the pressure in his chest would not subside. A loud throbbing in his head blocked out all noise, and he had to focus on steady deep breaths.

How easy it would be for him to untie the strings he had tangled himself into, and let out the deep hurt that wanted to engulf him. Andrealphus wasn’t wrong, they both knew the power that Stolas had come into.

But why did it have to be him?

Stolas, little baby Stolas with his oddly shaped body. Too short, too chubby, too cute, too pathetic. Sensitive Stolas, crying at the drop of a hat and taking care of sickly plants. Crybaby Stolas, loser Stolas, worthless, unloved Stolas. The useless bird who could move stars, destroy foundations of planets, take a galaxy, and crush it.

He had so much, yet truly nothing at all. So many expectations, so many responsibilities, so many things he was told he had to do, had to accomplish, had to, had to, had to…

The unwanted surge pulled in his spine, like someone grabbing the collar of his shirt intending to rip it off of him, and he squeezed his fists to try to distract it. This was too familiar, too close to the edge of the cliff. His father would lock him away again, and Andrealphus would chain him with the angelic steel. He would be sent away, locked away, forced to leave the only person who ever made him feel safe.

So he thought of Blitzo. He thought of the little imp flying through the air surrounded by the smell of popcorn and cotton candy. Blitzo’s purring as he slept with his head nuzzled into Stolas’ feathers. Blitzo’s eyes when Stolas showed him the pirate ship. Blitzo telling him it would be ok.

Everything would be ok.

When he could finally hear the soft clipping of the greenhouse imp, he knew the feeling had passed. He rose to his feet and wiped the tears from his eyes and the dirt from his knees. With a deep breath, he left the greenhouse, only vaguely catching the imp’s eye, but said nothing to him.

He passed Gem and Raum in the hallway, their backs to him and the whispers floating. He heard his name, heard the laughs, but kept moving. Friendly but not friends. Perhaps that was what everyone always had been. Friendly, but not friends.

The sun was low in the sky, and Stolas knew he had to get his research done. Dinner would be in the great hall but he couldn’t be bothered to eat it. Perhaps, if he came to the meeting tomorrow with an assortment of options, good solid options, his father would look at him with more pride than annoyance.

The majority of the three days he had been home was spent alone in his room. The first day a tailor arrived and spent most of the morning measuring him from every angle possible. Stolas did not comment on the tailor’s opinions on ‘teenage birds and their teenage builds’ knowing the tailor wasn’t wrong. Blitzo had been there with Mr. Butler, and they went about their duties silently. Stolas had tried to get Blitzo’s attention, tried to make lasting eye contact, but the imp had gotten so good at being quick. Ultimately, it hadn’t mattered, for where Blitzo was, Mr. Butler was behind him.

Except this morning, which was strange. Mr. Butler and Blitzo had arrived together to help him dress in the uncomfortable royal clothing his father required him to wear (Mr. Butler placing the clothing on him and Blitzo spending an awfully long time picking out a cape), but when Stolas entered the meeting room later that morning, it was only Mr. Butler. Stolas hadn’t thought much about it then and continued not to think about it until he was beak-deep in his fifth book on human food consumption and a light knock on his door drew his attention.

“You may come in, Mr. Butler,” Stolas called, not truly taking his eyes from the book.

The door opened, but it was not Mr. Butler’s voice. “Would you like your dinner brought up to your room, Your Highness?”

Stolas’ head jerked a bit too fast and a bit too owl-like, and he silently cursed himself for the stir that it caused in Blitzo’s face. Only Blitzo’s face, for Mr. Butler, was nowhere to be found.

“Oh, Blitzo, my apologies,” Stolas quickly said and rose to his feet, his head back in the correct position. “I did not know it was you.”

“Yeah…well, I’m all you got now,” Blitzo shrugged. “Mr. Butler is rightfully back up your daddy’s ass.” Then Blitzo sighed and held up his hands. “No, sh*t, sorry, that isn’t what I meant. Mr. Butler is back with King Paimon.”

Stolas did not halt the smile that spread on his face. For three days he watched Blitzo silently work, a caricature of himself. This Blitzo, the one with a toothy smirk and rotten language seemed more in tune with his memories.

“My father isn’t here, Blitzo,” Stolas whispered. “You can say whatever you like.” He pretended to zip his beak and stuff an imaginary key in his pocket.

Blitzo gave a soft ‘hm’ and then straightened his back. “Dinner?”

Stolas shook his head. “No, thank you, I am not hungry.”

“You didn’t eat lunch or breakfast,” Blitzo argued. “You should eat something.”

“You…how do you know that?”

Blitzo placed his hands on his hips. “Who has to clean up after you? Sure, I like eating the fancy sh*t you leave behind, but you still gotta eat.”

It was the first time Stolas noticed the braces on Blitzo’s teeth and he wondered when he got them. Did he like them? Did it hurt? He also noticed the rounded bumps on the top of Blitzo’s head and he wondered if something had fallen on him? Perhaps a book from a very tall shelf? He wanted to place his finger on the bump, make sure they weren’t infected, and place a very big bandage on them. Not that it was bleeding or anything, but it just made sense to do.

“Ok, so you aren’t answering me,” Blitzo said. “Which makes me think you are probably losing brain cells from lack of food. I’ll go grab you some.”

Blitzo was to the kitchen and back so quickly that Stolas hadn’t even time to finish his note about human party drinks (often made in a very large cooler and can contain any assortment of liquor, off-brand soda, and sugary juice.) The imp brought the tray to Stolas as though it was the finest meal he had ever seen, instead of cold soup and bread.

“Did you get yourself some?” Stolas asked, taking the tray. “We could eat out on the balcony? It is really quite beautiful tonight.”

Blitzo looked away from Stolas. “Your Highness, I take my meals in the servant’s quarters.”

There was the illusion cracking again. Stolas watch Blitzo’s demeanor change, his shoulders stiffening and his hands clasping behind his back.

“Oh, yes. Right.” Stolas felt the tray grow much heavier. “I…um, wasn’t thinking. You could still join-”

“If it is all the same to you, Your Highness, I have chores I need to complete before you retire. If you require nothing else, I will leave you to your meal. The bell, of course, if you need me.”

Stolas felt as though he had been slapped. Those were not Blitzo’s words. Those were not Blitzo’s actions or wants. It didn’t even sound like Blitzo speaking. Avoiding a meal? Actually, doing his chores? Calling him ‘Your Highness?’ Stolas wanted to throw up.

“Of course, Blitzo,” Stolas quietly responded and set his tray on top of the pile of books. “That will be all. I am sorry for keeping you.”

Stolas did not eat the soup or the bread. He dumped the soup out the window as soon as Blitzo left and threw the bread as far as he could (it landed a foot away into the rose garden, but he tried.) He compiled his notes for the next day, set them aside, and then changed out of his regal attire into his silly little robe. He should have waited for Blitzo to come back to help him, the buttons were an absolute disaster, but he didn’t want to have to make Blitzo do another thing for him.

Stolas was still awake, reading his ‘literature’, when Blitzo returned. The imp looked him over, a bit annoyed at the change in attire, and gathered the empty bowl and tray.

“Now that Mr. Butler has officially stamped success on my training, I will be residing in the room next door.” Blitzo pointed to the shut door along the wall further from the bed. Stolas had noticed it but figured it was for a closet. “If you need something, I’m right behind that door. Well, there are actually two doors, but you don’t need to go into the hallway for that one. Just use this one. But, like, knock, if you could, in case I’m naked or something.”

Oh, that should not have made him blush.

“Ye-yes, of course.” Stolas nodded. “I shouldn’t need anything, Blitzo.”

Blitzo shrugged. “If you do, you know where to find me. Anything else, Your Highness.”

‘Your Highness’ was becoming his least favorite name. Stolas shook his head and Blitzo left as quickly as he arrived with the empty tray.

Stolas let himself stay awake as long as he could, hoping he could hear the hallway door open. The desire to know that Blitzo was safe seemed greater than his need for sleep. He just wanted to know Blitzo was ok, but no matter how he strained his ears, he could not hear movement from the hallway. Alas, his restless nights finally won him over, and he fell into a deep sleep, the cool wind from the open balcony keeping him company.

***

Stolas woke to a voice. It was light, a whisper, almost as though it was in his room. He shot up in his bed and looked around. The balcony door was still open and the sky was very dark. He must have been asleep for only a few hours.

Getting out of bed as quietly as he could, he looked out the balcony door. It was silent, even silent by Hell’s standards, and he walked back into the room. His bathroom was empty and the noise did not seem to be coming from the hallway.

Which meant it had to be coming from Blitzo’s room.

He took a single step towards the door and tasted the magic before he saw it. Sharp, slightly bitter, and crackling, he searched the room for the magic he knew was his. He found it and covered his beak with his hands when he realized what he had created. It was a small portal, almost as big as a coin, and it was opening up a way between Blitzo’s room and his own.

No, he should close the portal and look away. Yes, that was the right thing to do. This magic must have formed in his sleep, a deep want to check in on his friend, to make sure he got to bed safely. This was an invasion of privacy.

A prince would not spy on his help. A prince would shut the portal he knew he was not supposed to cast. A prince would obey the demands of his king and not use his magic unless given permission.

Above all else, Stolas was a lonely teenager in desperate need to know what his friend was saying in the middle of the night alone in his room.

Holding his breath, Stolas brought an eye to the small portal and looked in.

A small desk lamp was on and illuminating the room. Blitzo was in his bed, only a few feet away, looking so dashing in his pajamas. Of course, Blitzo’s pajamas were not the matching sets that Stolas had, but were a pair of black boxer briefs and a black t-shirt with a white script he couldn’t read. In this light, Blitzo looked relaxed and safe, and he was smiling.

It was everything Stolas had wanted, but his heart bitterly beat off when he saw the other imp with him. It was the new imp, the greenhouse imp, the one who saw the fight with Andrealphus. This imp, Todd…Twill…Tweed, yes, Tweed was in Blitzo’s bed, wearing what looked like a chest binder and a pair of boxers. They were snuggled together, and whatever words they were whispering to each other were blocked by the loud purring between the two.

The boy said something and Blitzo laughed, and Stolas gripped the fabric around his chest.

Blitzo looked at Tweed as though the boy was brilliant and Tweed looked at Blitzo as though he was in love. They were both safe, they were both happy, they were both content, relaxed, and cozy, and Stolas couldn’t take it.

He pulled himself away, pulling his portal with him, and he raced back to the bed. He covered his beak with his hands and stared out the window and did his best to calm his now frantic heart.

So much time. There had been so much time. So much time between the pirate ship and today. Why shouldn’t Blitzo have new friends? Why shouldn’t Blitzo have companionship? Why shouldn’t Blitzo have a crush? Maybe they held hands. Maybe his first kiss. Maybe Blitzo adored that boy more than he ever adored anything else. Maybe Blitzo was so happy that he never thought of Stolas.

Maybe Stolas had kept this silly childhood crush alive in his mind for too long. Maybe Stolas had held onto something that was never really there. Maybe he should never have replaced all the heroes in his stories with Blitzo. Blitzo saving the day, rescuing him from the tower, and stopping Stolas from becoming the monster he would ultimately be.

He covered his gasping sobs with his hands and wished he had never looked. Wished he never let his emotions get to him so long ago. Wished he would never have told his father the little clown boy was funny. Wished he had never been born a Goetia. Wished he could be someone else. Anybody else. Anybody but him.

***

The sky was gray the next morning, which was not common in the Pride ring. Stolas rose and dressed on his own. He knew if his father found him in his beige slacks and black sweater, there would be literally Hell to pay, but he didn’t rightly care.

The palace was so quiet this early, and he only saw a few imps scattering away as he walked the halls. Of course they did, because why should they want to talk to him? Nobody really wanted to talk to him.

He kept walking through the hallway, through the greenhouse door to the gardens, and from the gardens to the tree. A big tree upon a hill. A tree he had been before, he sat down upon the roots and drew his legs to his chest, and rested his forehead on the table they made.

Time did not come easy to him in these moods. He could have sat there for a few minutes or a few days. His stomach rumbled, asking for food, but Stolas just couldn’t provide it. He couldn’t really provide anything. Untamed magic, embarrassment, jealousy, what horrible traits for someone to have, but they were his.

The wind picked up, a soft spring wind that even blew through the Pride ring, and he wished it would pick him right up and send him somewhere else King Paimon couldn’t find him. He didn’t want anyone to find him.

Unfortunately, Blitzo found him.

“You didn’t eat your f*cking soup.”

Stolas rose his head from his knees and looked up at the imp. Blitzo was back in his uniform, looking so handsome and mature, and he was staring daggers into him.

“What are you-” Stolas stopped when Blitzo placed a finger on his lips.

“Why was there rat stew in the goddamn bushes outside your window?”

Blitzo placed his hands on his hips, and Stolas rolled his eyes. He couldn’t do this, and he put his head back on his knees.

The imp didn’t move.

“Well?”

Stolas could be stubborn too, and didn’t answer.

“Or don’t answer me, that’s just great,” Blitzo groaned. “You don’t want to talk to me, fine, guess I’ll just do my job. Anything I can help you with, Your Highness? Anything you would like to ask of your humble servant?”

Stolas found himself up on his feet, and while he only stood a foot above Blitzo, he used his height to his advantage.

“As though you would listen!” Stolas shouted, his voice shaking at the surge of feelings.

Blitzo blinked at the suddenness but did not lose his composure. “It’s my literal job to listen to you, Your Highness.”

“Just stop,” Stolas snarled.

“Stop what?” Blitzo stood his ground.

“This!” Stolas stomped his foot. “This ‘Your Highness’ this and ‘Your Highness that.’

Blitzo huffed heavily and crossed his arms. “I’m not sure what they taught you at your fancy ass bird school, but I was told-”

Stolas didn’t want to hear reason or logic. He didn’t want Blitzo to tell him he was wrong for feeling so childish. He knew it was wrong to ask this of Blitzo. He knew it was wrong to accuse him of being a poor friend, but the words escaped him.

“The only thing I have ever asked of you is to call me Stolas. Not Your Highness, not Prince, just Stolas.”

He felt the tears in his eyes and was so sick of crying. Exhaustion waved over him and he walked past Blitzo again. He didn’t want to be at this stupid tree anymore. It wasn’t like it was going to change the past. This wasn’t a fanciful dream like his stupid books. Blitzo was not a hero in shining armor, he was an imprisoned teen forced to work for Stolas’ father.

“Wait, just wait,” Blitzo called to him. “Just…wait.”

Stolas met Blitzo’s eye and saw something had shifted. The shorter teen looked nervous again, a bit like he had that day in the throne room. He shifted his feet and then groaned.

Blitzo spoke quietly, as though he was telling him a secret. “We can’t talk here, not until I can find out who is cool and who is shifty. There is a sh*t ton of new staff that I don’t know. Is your room warded?”

Stolas narrowed his eyes. “Warded? Like protection?”

“Eh, I was thinking more like creepy-ass Vox style teched out.”

“Oh, um, no. No, I would have felt it.”

“Tonight, then, after everyone has gone to bed, I’ll come to your room. Then, ya know, maybe we can talk.”

It probably would have looked a lot cooler if the feathers on his neck didn’t fluff out, but Stolas could not control that.

“Shhh, settle down,” Blitzo hissed. “I was sent to get your ass over to your father’s meeting, I can’t have them seeing you getting all fluffed up.”

The walk back to the palace was a quiet but much warmer affair than that morning. They did not talk, but Stolas felt at ease in Blitzo’s company. Gentle, in a sort, almost like when they would lay on the pirate ship and look at the stars. He told himself not to worked up, not to set all his chips in this basket, but he would not deny himself the giddy feeling in his stomach.

Blitzo stopped him just as they arrived at King Paimon’s closed study door. “Remember, you cannot tell anyone about tonight. Also, don’t forget to leave the adjoining door unlocked.”

“But, like, knock, in case I’m naked or something,” Stolas repeated Blitzo’s words back to him and did not catch the possible impact they may have until Blitzo had turned even redder than he was before.

Blitzo spluttered. “Right, yeah…I…uh, will knock.”

Stolas felt himself blush as well. “I should, um, probably go in.”

“Yeah, you probably should.”

Satan, he did not want to leave. Blitzo was looking at him like he had so long ago, and they were standing so close. He could smell the candy sweetness coming from Blitzo and it made him dizzy. How he wanted to grab his hand, open his portal, and take them both far away.

“I’ve missed you, Blitzo,” Stolas confessed.

A part of him expected Blitzo to turn tail and run. To pretend like Stolas had never said anything. To tell Stolas he was being silly. Or not say anything at all.

Blitzo looked away as he said, “I’ve missed you too, Stolas,” before leaving the Prince standing at the closed study door, a bit dazed and suddenly very warm.

.

Chapter 6: Half-Truths

Chapter Text

Upon reviewing his notes later, Stolas would realize he hadn’t paid attention at all in the ball planning meeting. Instead, he had doodled little hearts, ships, horses, and stars along the margins of his paper. He did have a singular shining success in the form of his half-hour explanation of human food customs and his detailed menus, tasting wine, and accompanying music. Luckily, his father loved his work, even though Andrealphus audibly groaned.

“Son, what an excellent presentation,” King Paimon cooed. “I do enjoy it when you are a capable little owl. Andrealphus, do you have the dancing figured out yet?”

There was to be a ball and at the ball, there was to be a dance. Stolas, as any rich bird had done, learned how to dance at an early age. Andrealphus explained that the Goetia coming into power would dance a waltz, which was a fancy human dance. Stolas knew it but didn’t rightly care for it. It meant he was too close to another body, often holding hands with someone he didn’t know.

“Of course, my king, your son, and my sister will lead the dance,” Andrealphus sighed as he gave Stolas a look of utter glee.

“Wonderful,” King Paimon clapped. “I expect you to get my son up to par with the dancing.”

Ugh. Of course, Stolas would have to do that. Andrealphus placed a feathered hand on Stolas’ shoulder.

“When I’m done with him, Stolas will be a waltzing master.”

None of Andrealphus’ words mattered to Stolas. It didn’t matter to Stolas at all that his father had scolded him for his outfit. Gem’s comments on Stolas’ dreamy expression about Stella didn’t phase him. Raum tutting at Stolas’ lack of attention when he announced he had convinced the Great Sin of Lust Asmodeus to attend. Truly, nothing could get to him now.

Blitzo had called him Stolas.

When the meeting came to an end at dinner time, Stolas was the first to bolt out of the room. For the first time since he arrived back in the palace, he ate dinner in the dining hall. With a plate overflowing with mice kebabs and crab legs, he did not give himself time to taste his dinner. Gem and Raum tried to call out to him as he passed them in the hall, but he did not answer back. He had to get back to the room. He had to prepare.

Once the door was locked, he threw off his dirty clothes and prepared himself a bath. Sure, Blitzo could have drawn it for him, it was part of his valeting duties, but Stolas wasn’t going to put tasks so low on Blitzo. In fact, he wasn’t going to put any tasks on Blitzo. The very creative plan he had come up with as his father droned on about where the King of Hell should sit during the ball was to find another household imp and pay him to do whatever Blitzo had to do. This way, Blitzo didn’t feel like a servant and they could be friends again.

Yes, that surely would work.

Somehow, he managed to burn himself on the tub faucet and spent a good amount of time whining to the little butterwort plant that lived on his vanity. Once the burn was soothed (it was much more his pride he realized than his skin) he took a very quick bath and spent the next two hours doing the most intense preening session he could ever remember. Using his favorite preening oil, he took care to pluck any of the downy feathers from the winter. The preening oil smelled nice and was the only thing that could calm down the flyaways.

By the end of his cleaning, he looked actually…decent? Maybe nothing like the other Goetia, but at least not an owl pellet. He replaced his new dark red robe with his white and black striped pajama set and set the feathers on his head swooping just the way he liked them.

Then he waited.

And he waited.

And the night sky got darker and he waited some more.

“When Blitzo meant after everyone was asleep, he really meant night, huh?” He whined to the butterwort plant (he had brought it out of the bathroom, worried it would get lonely.)

Clearly, he would have time, so he started to read one of the newer books he had picked up. Removing the bookmark, he continued where he left off:

I’m yours, he whispered, and the prince took him, body and soul, hands between legs, and a kiss that if he died, he would die satisfied. The prince’s eyes were dark and his fingers were heavy as they entered him, pressed against him. There would be no hatred here, no unwelcomed pain, no unmet desire. His fingers found him, and he cried out. It's been too long, my love, my darling, my dearest, touch me. Is that an order, the prince asked, and his world melted into the strength of his lover's fingers so deep inside him…

“Oh goodness,” Stolas cooed and placed the book down. His cheeks were burning and his talons were clenching. “Perhaps later.”

Instead, he reviewed his notes, noticing the lack of them, and tried to configure them back to what his father had instructed. It took time, research, and some groaning, but by the time his shoulders began to droop with exhaustion, he had a full eleven-course menu decided that should woo any King of Hell. He hoped.

Finally, at nearly midnight, Stolas heard the knock on the door. He was resting in his bed, picking the beds of his arm feathers and he quickly adjusted himself up to a sitting position.

“Come in!” Stolas said a bit too loudly, and then in a whisper. “Oh, sorry. Come in.”

Red claws emerged from behind the door before Blitzo’s face appeared. He scanned the room as though he had never been in it before, checking each corner for cameras. He must have been satisfied with what he did (or didn’t) see, for he entered the room.

Blitzo was out of his uniform and looked positively adorable. He wore a pair of black shorts and another one of the black tee shirts with scary writing on it. His horns were particularly shiny under Stolas’ low candle-lit room.

“You sure there is no magic working in here?” Blitzo asked quietly.

Stolas nodded, wiggling a bit in certainty. “Absolutely. Perfectly safe.”

Blitzo nodded and took a few more steps into the room. Stolas patted the spot next to him in the bed and did his best not to look hurt when Blitzo chose to sit in the chair across from him.

I don’t think I’m allowed to sleep in the royal bed…

Stolas shook the memory from his mind. “So…how was your day?”

Blitzo shrugged. “The usual stuff.”

“Forgive me, but it has been a very long time. What is the usual stuff?”

Blitzo sighed and rubbed the space between his eyes. “Ok, so first I went on a massive manhunt for a missing Goetia prince-”

“Eeks, yes, sorry, about the hassle.”

“And then I followed Mr. Butler around for a while since his boss was busy leading some sort of big secret birdy meeting.”

“It isn’t a big secret meeting, just a party planning thing.”

“Then I scrubbed the Goetia prince’s room-”

Stolas looked around. “It does look quite nice in here, but actually I wanted to talk about-”

“Then I went back to help Mr. Butler because he is old as a fart and has trouble beating the rug in King Daddy’s room.”

“Oh, Blitzo, that isn’t-”

“Lastly, I wrapped the day up by looking at the prince’s daily planner and making sure he had an outfit for every day that week, along with travel plans, dining options-”

“You don’t need to do that,” Stolas interrupted Blitzo.

Stolas did not enjoy the feeling in his head when Blitzo was listing the many various things he had to do. It felt odd, for the words seemed like this would be a great help to him, but the tone felt bitter. Sharp, like when his feather caught on a tight button of his jacket.

“Yeah I do,” Blitzo chided as he rolled his eyes. “Literally my job.”

“True, but listen to this, I’ve had a brilliant thought,” Stolas rolled onto his stomach, and kicked his feet in excitement to tell Blitzo his plan. “You will love it. I was just thinking, what if I pay one of the other imps to do all those little things?.”

Blitzo crossed his arms. “That’s a stupid idea. No one in this house has time to,” Blitzo pointed at the pile of discarded clothing from earlier, ‘pick up your dirty clothes.”

Stolas scoffed. “What do you mean? Just the other day I had to tell dozens upon dozens of little imps what to do. There is no reason we need eight imps doing laundry. They can’t possibly all be busy all the time, can they?”

In reflection, Stolas could see where he went wrong. If he were to look at the conversation in a script format, he would highlight what he just said and make a note that said ‘Here is where Stolas f*cked up.’

“What would I do then?” Blitzo’s voice was sharp, forcing Stolas up to a seated position, and he flinched at the sudden rage. “Just sit on my ass while others do my work? How is that f*cking fair?”

Stolas narrowed his eyes. “I’m sorry, but I thought you would want to get out doing more of this menial work. I don’t see-”

“No, you don’t see.” Blitzo stood from the chair and grabbed Stolas’ discarded clothing. “Stolas, I was sent to school for years to learn how to do this menial sh*t. I know every possible dinner plate configuration. I know your entire schedule. I know the most stupid ass ways to address royalty. And it isn’t just me. It’s everyone in this goddamn palace.”

Stolas could not stop the recoil in his body. This talk was not going the way he had intended.

Blitzo continued. “The sad sh*t is that no one can even complain because they need the money. My buddy, Tweed had to learn how to plant damn near every seed on every ring of Hell just so he can pay for his mom’s meds.”

Hm. Tweed. Buddy. Right.

“I’m not saying it isn’t important work,” Stolas huffed. “I’m saying you are my friend, not my servant.”

“Except I am your servant.”

Stolas didn’t know what to say to that. He couldn’t argue it, because wasn't it the truth? Until he was of age and could let Blitzo go, he was part of the household staff.

“I…I got sh*t to do,” Blitzo rounded up the rest of Stolas’ clothes. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“But we didn’t…”Stolas started but it was very clear that Blitzo wasn’t going to stay. “Alright, I do not mean to keep you longer than you are able to give. Perhaps we could talk tomorrow?”

“I don’t know,” Blitzo replied somewhere under the heap of laundry in his arms. “Maybe.”

Then the imp was gone, escaping back through their connecting door, and Stolas was alone.

The silence was heavy in the room. This moment, this opportunity he had dreamed about for years had been squashed in under five minutes. He should have prepared more. He should have thought more carefully about what he was saying. Isn’t that what Raum always told him? Instead, he had to open his stupid beak and make Blitzo feel bad.

The conversation slowly brought Stolas to pieces. He tried to put them back together and replace the feeling of drowning with something that felt like air, but he couldn’t. How could he have messed up so badly so quickly?

Easy, because he was Stolas and couldn’t quite see past his own thoughts, his own intentions, his own wants. Of course, Blitzo would take pride in what he did, he had no other choice. He thought of each time Raum told him his beloved plants were silly, each time Gem told him he was going to make a horrible husband, each time Andrealphus told him he was a failure…is that how he had made Blitzo feel?

“Why can’t I ever get this right?” Stolas mumbled to his hands.

There wasn’t a doubt in his mind he had hurt Blitzo, and he wanted to scream at himself.

“I just need to try again,” Stolas muttered as he rose from the bed. “I did not wait this long to give up.”

His long legs brought him to the connecting door and he paused. What if Blitzo did not want to speak with him? What if he was already finding a way to never speak with Stolas again? What if that other little imp was there? What if they were cuddling? What if they were holding hands?

“This isn’t a time to be cowardly,” He told himself and placed his fist on the door.

He gave three quick knocks and was surprised to hear three knocks returned the very moment after, as though a planned rapid succession. The knob turned and Stolas took a step back to allow the door to open.

Blitzo reentered and shut the door behind him. “Stolas-”

Stolas didn’t give him a chance to finish, because goddamnit he waited long enough. Years and distance had separated them but he had had enough. He pulled Blitzo into a hug and nestled his face into the crook of Blitzo’s neck.

“I’m so sorry,” Stolas apologized. “I am such a fool. Your work is important and I am so naive to think otherwise. Not only that, but cruel to not see the benefits I have because of it.”

Even at the end of the day, after work and sweat, Blitzo smelled so sweet, like honey. His skin was warm

Stolas sniffled. “I do not deserve it, but if you can find it in your heart, please forgive me?”

Blitzo did not return the hug in the same manner Stolas hoped, but he did place a single hand against Stolas’ back.

“Quit your sniveling, Stols,” Blitzo replied, gently pushing Stolas away from him to guide him back to the bed. “Come on, we have some talking to do.”

Stolas wiped his eyes and chuckled. “Stols?”

Blitzo looked away “Just kind of popped out.”

“I’ve never had a nickname before. I like it.”

Blitzo pulled himself up to the bed first, and Stolas had a moment of questioning himself. Should he get onto the bed with Blitzo? Somewhere between age eleven and age fifteen, the innocence of it all seemed to dissipate. Was it still ok to lay on the bed with him? Did Blitzo just want to talk? Obviously, he just wanted to talk, if what Stolas had seen the prior night meant anything. Blitzo had someone to lay on a bed with and do more than talk…he didn’t want to think of it. So he joined Blitzo, sitting across from him at the end of the bed.

“So…will you tell me what happened to your room?” Blitzo asked.

Stolas looked around the space. “I believe you cleaned it.”

“No, not this room.” Blitzo met his eye. “Your old room.”

The words didn’t make sense at first, and he had to think back, then it all came back in a wave of salty ocean air. The memory stuck to these feathers, although they had fallen and been replaced dozens of times since then.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Stolas lied.

He had to lie. How could he tell Blitzo about that day, about the anger, the hurt, the fear. He didn’t like lying although he had gotten quite used to it throughout the years. What he meant was he didn’t like lying to Blitzo, but there wasn’t another choice. If he told Blitzo, the imp would leave his room. Hell, he would leave this palace.

No sane person would sit this close to him knowing the truth of the matter.

Blitzo’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t remember destroying your old room?”

Stolas shrugged. “Kids do silly things all the time. I’m sure I was upset with my father about something.”

Blitzo looked like he wanted to question him, but instead moved on. “Why did you have to leave so suddenly?”

Another answer he couldn’t give, but at least he only needed to tell half a lie.

“A decision was made that all Goetias were to be trained the same to better understand the magical properties of the new generation. My father just waited until the very last moment to tell me.”

Nothing he said there was a lie, but he could have expanded that the decision was made based on Stolas’ actions, and he hadn’t known he was leaving for he hadn’t known where he even was for a good six months after that day.

“Will you tell me about the school?” Blitzo asked as he shuffled to lean down on his elbows and let his legs stretch out. “I bet your fancy bird school had better food than my stupid imp school.”

Stolas crawled to lay closer to Blitzo, feeling as though that invisible line had been erased. He joined him at the head of the bed, and when Blitzo didn't look as those he would run off, he turned to his side to face Blitzo. At last, he felt the comfort he had been chasing for so long.

“I doubt you would enjoy yogurt with seeds or mice sandwiches.”

Blitzo stuck out his tongue. “That’s disgusting, Stols. You seriously can’t really like that.”

“But I do, quite a bit.” Stolas grinned at both the playful teasing and the nickname. “I’ll never turn down a good mouse meal.”

“Except the stew I found in the bushes?”

“That is the only expectation I’ve ever made,” He joked, not really wanting to address the reality of the matter. “You will never see me do that again.”

Blitzo let his elbows drop and he rolled onto his side to mimic Stolas’ body. “I’ll have to keep a better eye on you. I’d be a bad valet if I didn’t notice you letting perfectly good vermin go to waste.”

And just like that, Stolas was talking. He was telling Blitzo about the school, his courses, and his classmates. He told him about Raum, especially about the embarrassing photo he had of the crow before he grew into his long black wings. Gem and her constant search for the perfect wife. The large library he spent almost every day in. The greenhouse where he first learned about how to care for much larger carnivorous plants.

Blitzo spoke too, and Stolas made sure to leave space so Blitzo wouldn’t stop. He loved listening to Blitzo’s new voice, still silly and so full of emotion but so deep and confident now. Blitzo told stories of sneaking out of the dorms to smoke in the woods (Stolas had never smoked, so he had lots of questions about that.) He spoke about the music he enjoyed. He spoke about the secret stash of cash he hid under his bed.

When Blitzo spoke of Tweed, Stolas did his best to hide his disappointment. Nothing Blitzo said would indicate they were something more than perhaps friends, but Stolas did not lose the vision of the imps together, did not unhear their purring. Luckily, Blitzo did not focus on the other imp, and truly Tweed was only mentioned as a side character in Blitzo’s adventures.

Stolas would not let his own jealousy ruin Blitzo lying next to him, only a few hand spaces away. Stolas could have lain there all night looking at the imp, listening to him talk, but the blushing sunrise illuminated Blitzo’s face and told him that they may have gone too long in this.

“sh*t,” Blitzo said when he caught the golden hues. “We are going to be so tired tomorrow.”

“Today?” Stolas offered the correction.

“Ugh, yeah, today.” Blitzo yawned and stretched, a small section of his red belly showing.

Stolas gulped and looked away.

“I should be getting back, ya know” Blitzo faltered at the words. “Get a bit of shut-eye before I gotta get up.”

Stolas wanted to offer him to stay. Offer his bed, his blankets, his touch…no, actually, if that is where his mind went, he shouldn’t offer anything. It was too early in the morning and Stolas’ brain was too stuck in his books.

“I really enjoyed tonight,” Stolas breathed, and would not be embarrassed at how silly his voice sounded. “If you would like, perhaps we could…talk again? Tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow night?” Blitzo repeated. “Can’t have a prince too exhausted to do his royal bird sh*t.”

“I won’t be,” Stolas promised quickly. “I will do a better job of tracking the time.”

“Hey, calm your feathers, I was just joking,” Blitzo snickered and rolled off the bed. “We can talk tomorrow. Now, anything I can get for you, Your Highness? Water? A nightcap? Tuck you into bed?”

“Please don’t, you are horrible,” Stolas laughed and let his head fall back on the pillow. “To bed with you now.”

“Oh,” Blitzo’s voice was low, his body shadowed from where he stood next to the bed. “Is that an order, my prince?”

Stolas wasn’t sure what to say for all thoughts were suddenly gone in his mind.

“Good night, Stolas.” Blitzo gave him the mercy of coming up with a reasonable answer.

“Good night, Blitzo,” Stolas replied.

Once the door was shut, he raced to grab his book. Now was the time to pick up on that paragraph he left off…

***

Every night that week Blitzo came to his door at the stroke of midnight. They did not speak as late into the morning, for Blitzo had his duties and Stolas was still in the thick of party planning. They allowed themselves an hour to lay side by side, each night a little closer, a little more comfortable.

Blitzo told him stories that made him laugh and he told Blitzo half-truths to keep his best friend from growing concerned. When their hour was up, Blitzo would leave, and it would take Stolas at least another hour to get his heart back to his normal rhythm.

During the day, Stolas did his absolute best to pay attention, but the depths of his distaste for it all were growing. He was sick of being in his father’s study, talking around in circles about this ball. How complicated did it need to be, how magnificent? All to convince someone that change would not be needed.

The Ars Goetia would be capable as they always had, even when they weren’t.

So he sat by this future brother-in-law and his father and answered the questions he was supposed to. Called the caterers and the wine-makers. Figured out the cost. Did as a good prince should do.

Yet his mind always waltzed back to his bed, with his best friend lying next to him, neither touching but so close. Why Blitzo put up with him, he wasn’t sure. Didn’t he have a lover to tend to? If not a lover, at least another friend who he did not have to clean for, serve for, be on beck and call for?

Stolas did not bring up Blitzo’s job again and did his best to respect him. Blitzo was good at it, which did not shock Stolas. Blitzo had been a performer, and that was what he was doing. After Stolas would leave his father’s study, Blitzo would find him in the hall and escort him to the dining hall. He would serve him his food. He would take his mostly uneaten plate. He would lead Stolas back to his room, help him change, draw his bath, avert his eyes as Stolas got in, help him preen and bathe and dry. The entire time, Stolas was ‘Your Highness’ and Stolas did not keep count of the arrowheads this title left behind in his chest. Too dangerous, Blitzo had told him, before midnight you are Your Highness.

Fine, Stolas would allow it. If it meant after midnight, Your Highness became Stolas and Blitzo was his, then he would take whatever he had to do.

On the sixth night, Blitzo asked about the portal.

“Until the ball, all Goetia are limiting their power,” Stolas whispered the half-truth as he looked into Blitzo’s eyes. “We need to save up the magical energy for the big event.”

“What is the big event?” Blitzo asked his hand on the pillow between them, so close to Stolas’.

“We will be taking our blood oaths,” Stolas told him. “The King of Hell will be present, and we will draw our own blood and place it in our grimoires. We will be able to access its full power and my role will truly begin.”

“Why?” Blitzo asked. “That seems silly just to use your book.”

Stolas wasn’t sure how to explain the ancestral power that came with the book, the expectations bestowed on him before there ever was a ‘him’, or the expectations that came with it. He wasn’t sure how to explain to Blitzo the amount of pressure on his shoulder. He didn’t know how to explain Stella. So he didn’t.

“That is just how it has always been,” Stolas stated.

Their time was running up, they both knew it, but neither moved to wrap up their conversations. Stolas let Blitzo talk, enjoying every word like the sweetest sensation. His voice lulled him into a steady bliss, a happy sleepiness. The pillow his head rested on seemed so soft and even without a blanket covering him he felt so warm.

“I love your stories,” Stolas whispered, his eyes feeling so heavy and his chest feeling so light. “I could listen to you talk all night.”

“Silly bird, no you can’t, you are falling asleep,” Blitzo teased.

“Then let me fall asleep to another tale,” Stolas hummed. “If you will allow me, of course.”

“Silly bird,” Blitzo repeated. “If you fall asleep, I will fall asleep, and then what?”

“Then it will be like it was before,” Stolas yawned. “Like nothing had changed. And I will be the happiest prince in all of Hell.”

Stolas’ eyes closed, and in his half-sleep, he felt Blitzo leave the bed. Another arrowhead, but he did not blame his friend. Stolas did not open his eyes, did not let the dark loneliness of night take him.

But there was a noise, a winding sound, and Stolas’ eyes opened at the newness of it. His vision was better in the darkness than in the light, and he saw Blitzo at the bedside he had just left winding an alarm clock.

“Blitzo?” Stolas asked.

He received a response from Blitzo tugging the top quilt out from under Stolas’ body and joining him under it. Stolas blinked, fearful of doing the wrong thing or even the right thing. Uncertain of Blitzo's intention.

“Come on then, silly bird,” Blitzo whispered. “Like nothing has changed.”

Blitzo’s voice was serious and his eyes did not leave his. Stolas shuffled to Blitzo’s side and let his forehead fall onto Blitzo’s covered chest. He wasn’t as soft as he had been, work and age had made Blitzo leaner, but he was still so warm. Stolas hesitated, unsure if this was where the line if crossed, would burn and scar him, but Blitzo wrapped his arms around Stolas before he had a chance to make a decision. Blitzo, so brave, unafraid of consequences. How Stolas wished he was that strong as he wrapped his own arms around Blitzo’s stomach and nestled against him.

“Good night, Blitzo,” Stolas whispered against Blitzo’s shirt.

“Good night, Stols,” Blitzo returned.

Stolas waited, in silence and anticipation, until he heard the soft rumbling of Blitzo’s chest. He did not hold back the soft hoot nor stop himself from nestling in closer. He could cry at the purring, but he wouldn’t. He would hold onto Blitzo until the alarm went off, and then he would thank every star in the sky when he was given this chance once again. What he did to deserve it, he wasn’t sure, but he wouldn’t let this go.

Chapter 7: Confirmation and Preparations Part I

Chapter Text

Stolas had a hard time differentiating between dreams and reality when he was in the hazy stage of wakefulness. His mornings the past month were confusing, and he worried that if he said the wrong thing or made the wrong choice, Blitzo would never return to his bed.

If he woke before the early alarm, he wouldn’t open his eyes. If he woke when the bed shifted, he wouldn’t try to follow. He would pretend to sleep until Blitzo was gone, and when he was certain he was alone, he would wake and shake off the happy jitters that flooded his body.

Then came the new strangeness he hadn’t experienced, and this is what gave him doubt over the different worlds of slumber. A pressure, soft but present, fell onto his exposed cheek. Stolas could not see what it was, for it had become his nature to stay in this faux unconsciousness, but the pressure was warm and alive. It cupped his face and rubbed against his cheek, and then as soon as it arrived, it disappeared followed by the soft closing of the connecting door.

Only then would he open his eyes and place his own palm where the pressure had been. His chest would feel so heavy and his head so stuffy.

Twenty minutes later, Blitzo would return, in uniform and with his breakfast, and neither would speak about their night. An unwritten rule. In the daylight, in the presence of the living, he was Prince Stolas and Blitzo was nothing more than his servant, doing the small odds and ends that were required.

It was through these odds and ends that Stolas found himself in a bit of a stitch.

Dance lessons came faster than Stolas had anticipated. The Summer Solstice was nearly a month away, his father had left the palace on important business, and Raum and Gem were sent home to prepare. Great news in the way that there would be no more all-day party planning, bad news in the way Andrealphus was left in charge of the Goetia princeling.

For the most part, Andrealphus left Stolas alone, but he made sure to carve time out each day to ruin his day.

“King Lucifer will want to see a show,” Andrealphus told him as they stood in the middle of the giant ballroom that would hold the ball. “It is crucial you make every step on time. Every breath you take will be practiced. Nothing will go off script.”

Andrealphus had already tried to be Stolas’ dance partner, but the height difference was jarring.

“You will lead the opening dance with my sister, of course.” Andrealphus looked past Stolas with a grin. “Luckily for you, dear Stella is roughly the same height as your small statue. Adorable on her, of course. A bit sad for your own lacking, but to make up for it, I found a suitable replacement for you to practice with.”

Stolas followed Andrealphus’ sinister smirk to find Blitzo had entered the room in a full ball gown. Stolas winced at the look of anger on Blitzo’s face.

“I’m so relieved they teach these little ones how to dance in school,” Andrealphus chuckled. “Isn’t he darling?”

Obviously, Andrealphus was being condescending, but Stolas agreed with him wholeheartedly. Blitzo was darling in the dress. The dress was black with small pearls draped down the poofy skirt, nearly matching the stripes on his horns. Blitzo’s eyes shone against the lights and Stolas had to swallow down the desire to tell him how nice he looked. Stolas was certain this dress had belonged to one of his siblings that he never met, and he was happy, for in his memory he would beBlitzo’s.

“Your Highness,” Blitzo offered his hand in a flat, annoyed voice.

Andrealphus clapped. “This is wonderful. Stolas, take the little imp-thing’s hand and lead him to the dance floor.”

His body on autopilot, he offered Blitzo his hand and let out a shaky breath when he accepted it. Blitzo wasn’t wearing gloves like he knew Stella would, and he could feel the warmth of his skin against his feathers. With all the grace he could muster, he led Blitzo to the center on the dance floor.

“Take your positions!” Andrealphus called from where he stood near a record player.

He could do this, he could do this, but he suddenly couldn’t remember a single thing he was supposed to do. Every dance lesson he had ever had flew from his head like a shooting star.

The issue was Blitzo was just so close and he could see each time his best friend took a breath. His focus was lassoed tight to Blitzo’s satin-covered chest rising and falling like the ocean tides.

“Stolas!” Andrealphus hollered. “Take your positions, you stupid boy!”

He tore his gaze from Blitzo’s chest to his red irises and watched the confusion that flooded his friend's face. Such a surreal image of his best friend in such beautiful attire. The knowledge of this made Stolas want to dress him in every expensive outfit he owned.

“Stols,” Blitzo whispered softly. “You ok?”

The name Blitzo had blessed him with didn’t help and he heard his breathing stagger and gasp.

“Right hand on my back,” Blitzo instructed him in the quietest voice he could. “You got this.”

A spell broken, he placed his right hand on Blitzo’s lower back and wove his left hand with Blitzo’s. Andrealphus called out something about Stolas being slow and the music started, crackled and loud. It was slower, a 1-2-3, 1-2-3 count, and he let his body move, let his feet remember the hours of instruction.

Blitzo followed Stolas, in both dance and breathing. Although Andrealphus called out pointers and demands, Blitzo was the one giving Stolas the most guidance. Blitzo stepped back and Stolas stepped forward. Blitzo moved his right foot and Stolas moved his left. Mirrored and consistent. They were moving as one, and he would not let go of Blitzo’s gaze on him.

“You are a wonderful dancer,” Stolas told Blitzo as they waltzed across the dance floor to Andrealphus’ planned route.

“Had to learn it,” Blitzo emphasized the word learn. “I thought it was silly, but f*ck, who knew it would be useful.”

“To think you were a dance master and never showed me,” Stolas bubbled through the fire burning in his chest. “What a waste of talent.”

“I don’t recall you asking to dance until now.”

“If I asked, would you have shown me?”

“Depends. Would you be dancing with me?”

Stolas misstepped, nearly tripping both him and Blitzo. Andrealphus yelled over the music somewhere behind them, telling them to quit talking and to pay attention.

“Dude is so angry all the time,” Blitzo groaned once they were waltzing again. “He has to get the stick out of his ass.”

“Andrealphus is very passionate about this ball,” Stolas said, although his attention was on how much closer Blitzo was allowing them to be. “He wants to make a good impression.”

“It can’t all be planned,” Blitzo began, and then a wicked smile took over his face. “For instance, what if a Goetia shows up after pre-gaming a bit too hard? What if your dance partner got the whiskey legs?”

Purposefully, Blitzo pretended to stumble and Stolas did his best to correct and move them forward.

“Oh, prince-y boy, why do you have three heads?” Blitzo joked in a high-pitched, slurred voice and twirled him around.

Stolas couldn’t hold back his giggles. “Please control yourself, madam!”

“I was told there was only one of you Stolases!” Blitzo cried and pulled so hard they both landed on the floor.

His stomach hurt from how hard he was laughing. Andrealphus was far across the dancefloor screaming at them to get up, but he couldn’t stop hooting.

“You are making a scene!” Stolas whooped, his stomach hurting from his hysterics.

Stolas tried again to get up but Blitzo’s hand at the back of his collar pulled him down and he managed to roll over on top of Blitzo. His laughter died away as he held himself up by his elbows and looked down on his dearest friend. Blitzo’s eyes were creased with joy and his mouth, so full of sharp teeth, was wide and bright. The dress was wrinkled from their movement and Stolas' own chest caved.

“I demand three kisses to make up for this confusion!” Blitzo cackled but slowly the cheer died away when he realized Stolas was not laughing.

Blitzo’s eyes were bright and certain, his smile gone but he was not unhappy. Blitzo smelled sweet, a bit like a childhood Stolas hadn’t possessed, and he so desperately wanted to see what Blitzo would taste like.

“What are you gonna do, silly bird?” Blitzo asked in a low voice.

If Stolas had been braver, he would have helped Blitzo up. He would have taken his hand and brought him back to his room. He would have told Blitzo to pack his things and they would have slipped away into the night. They would run away to the circus, like they had planned so many years ago. He would have held Blitzo every night under the big red tent and told him everything would be ok. He would have allowed himself to be held without question.

“Dear Satan, get off the floor, you children!” Andrealphus’ voice tore Stolas from his daydreams and he removed himself from Blitzo’s body.

“My apologies, Andrealphus,” Stolas murmured.

“Apologies!” Andrealphus squawked. “I am trying to prepare you for the most important night of your worthless life and you are roughhousing with your help?! How incredibly immature.”

Stolas felt his face heat. “I got carried away. It won’t happen again.”

“To think you are to take your blood oath in a month. Oh, my poor sister…what if that would have been her? And you would have fallen on her like…like…I cannot think of it. If only the damned contract worked, my life would be so much easier.”

Stolas felt his stomach churn at the mention of the contract.

Andrealphus didn’t even notice. “Dance lessons are done for the day!”

Andrealphus snarled at Stolas one last time before turning on his heels and rushing from the dance hall. As much as Stolas didn’t want to feel shame, he did.

“Your Highness?” Blitzo said softly. “What contract?”

Stolas did not turn to Blitzo. He couldn’t look at his friend when he felt the sharp stabs of his past sneaking back to him, twisting into his guts and reminding him of all he could not control.

“Prince Stolas?” Blitzo whispered, but it did not break him from his own mind.

He could still feel the blessed chains holding him, his father's attempts at controlling him, his pitiful pleas to leave the loneliness, the terror, the quiet.

“I think I will take a nap,” Stolas said softly. “I apologize for the schedule change, I hope it does not put too much of a strain on your arrangements.”

Blitzo’s face fell and he took a gentle hold of Stolas’ shirt sleeve. “Don’t go hiding. You can talk to me.”

Stolas shook his head and pulled his sleeve softly away, in fear of getting caught. No, he really couldn’t. He couldn’t tell Blitzo about what he really was. He couldn’t explain to him how close to utter ruin he was in. Blitzo wouldn’t understand the complexities of this nonsense for he barely understood it himself and was living it. No, he would swallow that part of him.

Blitzo sighed, then co*cked his head. “Ya know, if you are going to be immature, you might as well embrace it and do really immature things. Wanna sneak out tonight and be little punks?”

Stolas rubbed his neck. “What is a punk?”

Blitzo rubbed his hands together. “Oh ho, my feathered friend, do I have some things to show you.”

***

Sneaking out would have been so much quicker if he could use his magic, but there was something so freeing from slipping down his balcony and racing across the gardens to the large tree on the property. It was far enough that a flashlight couldn’t be seen from the window.

The first night they snuck out, Blitzo showed him how to smoke a cigarette. Stolas remembered his father smoking cigars at some of the Goetia parties, but he had never tried one. It seemed simple enough, but when he inhaled, he felt his lungs alight and he nearly threw up from the smoke. Blitzo didn’t make fun of him at all and taught him how to take a better inhale. Maybe smoking this wasn’t for him, but he didn’t deny that it did relax his anxious nerves. They ended the night by listening to some very strange music from Blitzo’s beat-up CD player. They had to share the old wired headphones with their faces pressed together so they could hear the static music from the round discs. Stolas didn’t really understand it, but it made Blitzo happy, so he was happy.

As they had done every other night, they slept in Stolas’ bed, Blitzo’s tail wrapped around his tummy and the reassuring purr in his ear.

The second night Blitzo shared another cigarette with him and this time he didn’t feel like throwing up. He liked how the smoke danced on his tongue, but mostly he liked how Blitzo’s lips touched the filter before his beak did. Something in the pit of himself lit up, sort of how Blitzo’s lighter flickered on with a simple strike of the metal wheel. Stolas watched Blitzo play with the flame and told him he needed to be careful with that.

“You never played with fire before?”

It made him nervous, and Blitzo was sweet enough to stop messing with it.

On the third night, Stolas snuck out before Blitzo. Blitzo just had to help Mr. Butler change Andrealphus’ sheets, then he promised he would join him. The imp was much older and Blitzo tried to help out as much as he could. It was fine, Stolas could sneak out by himself. As he passed the greenhouse, he caught Tweed hanging out on a bench with a shoebox next to him. Tweed did not see him, and Stolas really didn’t feel the desire to change that. So he went to the tree, turned on his little flashlight, and read a book while he read for Blitzo.

Then he waited.

And he waited.

And he felt like he had been here before as the sky grew darker and the nighttime noises emerged. The moon got higher in the sky, and then lower, and Stolas had a sickening feeling he had been forgotten about.

He finished his book and set it aside in the cold grass and he peered down the hill, hoping to see Blitzo emerge. He would wait all night, but he hoped it wasn’t for nothing. His legs felt cold as they were stretched out on the ground and his back was getting sore as he sat against the tree.

Finally, when the moon was lower than when he arrived at the tree, Blitzo emerged from the shadows, very out of breath.

“I’m so sorry,” Blitzo heaved in the air. “I…ah f*ck…” Blitzo took another few deep breaths. “I got caught up with Tweed about something.”

Oh. Tweed.

“I am not upset,” Stolas lied, letting his break click loudly. “I understand there are much more pressing needs-”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Blitzo interrupted. “I just got delayed, it wasn’t on purpose.”

With Tweed, Blitzo had left that part out. Delayed with Tweed doing what? Sharing cigarettes? His headphones? Cuddles in his bed?

“It’s really fine,” Stolas shifted against the tree, his dang back aching. “If tonight doesn’t work, or if Tweed needs you-”

“Tweed doesn’t need me,” Blitzo interrupted again.

Stolas did not pay mind to it. “I know you are a very popular person amongst the household staff and perhaps I have been taking too much of your attention. I understand things have changed since we were kids.” He took a shaky breath. “I understand our relationship has changed-”

“How could it not change?” Blitzo ran his hands down his face. “Stolas, look at you!”

Stolas did look at himself but stopped when he realized it was rhetorical. “What about me?”

“You are you! Just, f*ck, I don’t know how to put this isn’t words. I suck at this. The years have been good to you.”

Stolas would not take it as a joke as he would from Gem, but he also knew it wasn’t the truth.

“You are mistaken, I’m quite worse than where we left things.”

Blitzo groaned, rubbed the space between his eyes, and then crouched down so they were face to face. “Don’t f*ck around about this. If I had a mirror I would show you…you got these big red eyes like f*cking rubies or some other kind of…red shiny thing. You got these long ass legs going on for miles! And these hands-” Blitzo took both of his hands in his own, gentle as though he was holding dandelion fluff. “They are just…they are…and this face…”

Blitzo let go of one hand to bring his palm to Stolas’ face and he hadn’t realized he was crying until a tear became trapped under Blitzo’s thumb.

“Damn it, Stols, you gotta know just how beautiful you are.”

Stolas had never imagined what his first kiss would be like. He had read enough books with first kisses, big romantic things with music in the air and happily ever afters. In his wildest dreams, he imagined it might be Blitzo, but again those were only dreams.

But he wasn’t in the midmorning haze and he wasn’t asleep. He was awake.

Stolas watched Blitzo land forward on his knees between Stolas’ legs to get closer, saw his sharp intake of breath, and knew the press of Blitzo’s lips against his mouth had created a sudden shift in himself. He wasn’t afraid of how his body so quickly relaxed against Blitzo’s movement, how his free arm wrapped around Blitzo’s neck and the hand still wrapped in Blitzo’s squeeze tighter. He wasn’t embarrassed when Blitzo couldn’t handle the sudden weight of Stolas’ arm and lost his balance, forcing their kiss to smear up Blitzo’s forehead and down Stolas’ chest. The lightness in it all, the joy and silliness, brought a laugh from deep in his belly, and combined with Blitzo’s own laugh, it made a song.

“Holy sh*t,” Blitzo wiped the tears of joy from his eyes. “I can’t believe I messed that up so badly.”

No no, that wouldn’t do, Blitzo would not feel an ounce of regret. Stolas pulled Blitzo back, his arms tight around his best friend, and kissed him again and again. Each time a little better, each time a little less new.

The kisses were soft, closed, but lovely. Innocent, in a way, new and sweet. Blitzo tasted like cigarettes and candy and Stolas wasn’t afraid of his sharp teeth or his quick anger or that Stolas’ entire heart felt like it was on the outside of his body.

Yet his heart pumped fast and his mind was catching up, throwing a rope around the twitching thing and telling it to slow down. Ask questions, it told him, there is doubt in here. You have to squash it or confirm it, do something before you get hurt worse.

“Blitzo,” Stolas murmured against Blitzo’s lips, and his friend pulled away but didn’t leave his arms.

“Yes?” Blitzo asked, and Stolas could see a sudden fear emerging between them, he could feel it as he held Blitzo against his chest. He had to kill it before it ate him alive.

“Are you and Tweed courting?”

The noise out of Blitzo’s mouth was the result of shock and relief. “Absolutely not. He’s my buddy but that is it. Why? Did that asshole tell you something different?”

Well, he hadn’t thought this far on how to explain it, so he figured honesty would be the best choice here.

“I saw you two snuggled up together and I assumed,” Stolas confessed, feeling very ridiculous. “I realize how silly that sounds…also creepy. Blitzo, I’m terribly sorry.

“Were you perving on us?” Blitzo teased. “I didn’t know you had it in you!”

Stolas blushed and tried to hide his burning cheeks, but Blitzo pushed his face up with his fingertip and softly told him. “Don’t hide from me, silly bird. Tweed is just a friend. Yeah, you probably caught us snuggled up, but it's an imp thing. He would probably like to be more, but I just don’t see him that way.``

“How do you see me?” Stolas asked, a bit terrified of the answer.

“Hm, great question, let me get a better look at you,” Blitzo said and pulled Stolas into a kiss once more.

“How can you see with your eyes closed?” Stolas joked.

Blitzo pondered for a moment. “Guess I’m going to have to keep trying until I figure it out.”

Stolas just couldn’t help it, now that he had kissed Blitzo, he didn’t want to stop. If given the chance, he would have stayed under this tree all night, giving Blitzo soft pecks as he held him to his chest but the night was becoming morning and they had to get back before the staff began to wake.

As they walked through the darkened gardens, Stolas thought what this all meant. Blitzo’s hand was in his and although the walk was silent, he wasn’t uncomfortable. He was actually more comfortable than he had ever been. There wasn’t a word for how he was feeling, or a way to explain what had just happened. He felt different, but not in a way that changed him. More like a way that confirmed to him who he already was. Or, perhaps, confirmed the way Blitzo saw who he was. He knew he liked Blitzo’s Stolas better than the one he had.

They scaled the ivy cover wall back to Stolas’ room and slipped in silently. They didn’t bother to change into nightclothes as both of them were exhausted from the night air. Blitzo got them into bed, as he had for a month, and Stolas did not feel strange bringing his body so close. It felt natural. As though this was where he should always be. With the purring in his ears, a gentle goodnight kiss, and Blitzo’s taste on his lips, he felt safe.

“I’m so happy it was you,” Stolas yawned against Blitzo’s chest.

“Oh good, but what was I?” Blitzo asked.

“My first kiss.”

“Oh. I…I didn’t know that.”

“Yes,” Stolas nestled closer to Blitzo’s chest. “My first kiss from my first friend. How lucky am I?”

Blitzo didn’t say anything to that, and Stolas assumed he had fallen asleep, and with how happy he was feeling, he was quick to join him.

Chapter 8: Confirmation and Preparations Part II

Chapter Text

Most nights Stolas did not dream, but when he did, the dreams formed from other days of his existence. If he was ever so lucky, he would dream of his nanny, a gentle imp who always held him when he was sad. The memory of her was distant like a drawing from a story he had heard but did not experience. Nannies weren’t for little owlets who could talk and walk, so the rest of his earliest memories were quite lonely. Some of his dreams were just him in his nursery surrounded by books he couldn’t read yet, smothered by soft toys he had no interest in, and a door too far for him to reach.

Other dreams were transcripts of the worst of the lonely days he experienced in the tower.

He was still surrounded by books only now he could not reach them due to the blessed chains that held his wrists down to the bedposts. He could not say his father purposely tried to create a room of discomfort for him during this time. The bed was overly comfortable and Andrealphus came in multiple times a day to undo the chains from the bed and allow him space to walk, read, and stretch his legs.

The difference between the lonely moments in his life before the tower was that he now knew how wonderful it felt not to be alone. He had experienced love in such a way he hadn’t known. Love in the form of playing with someone who wanted to be near him, talking to someone without having to prove anything. Love with closeness, companionship, and understanding.

He would beg Andrealphus to let him leave and help him convince Father he had this under control. Andrealphus did not trust him, and why should he? Hadn’t Andrealphus been the Goetia to take the brunt of his tantrum? His tutor had only joined him that fateful morning to supervise his packing, ensuring that Stolas did not sneak away from his bedroom once again to play amongst a celestial plane he hadn’t been permitted to wander.

Instead of a child’s outburst, Andrealphus received the full force of a demon awakened, a sad boy who didn’t want to lose his only friend. A fury of ancient release had been unbound from whatever tether that had held it back. Stolas tried, in quiet moments in the nights after in that quiet tower, to remember what he had done or said or changed to but his mind wouldn’t press that far. He remembered waves of energy and power he didn’t know how to harness. He also remembered Andrealphus calling for help.

It had been Mr. Butler who pulled him from the void he couldn’t crawl out of. Mr. Butler, who had a secret chain of blessed rope given to him by King Paimon in his pocket, had managed to secure Stolas back to the world of the living. By then it was too late, he had shown his father exactly what they had all feared. The magic that circled the next generation, the hellborn Goetia royalty who were far too spoiled at the prospect of great power, had not been evenly distributed as they had hoped. Little Stolas, sensitive sad Stolas, held nearly the entirety of future prospects without the will to know what to do with it.

Stolas hadn’t considered just how big this problem was, for he was just too little to understand.

Then came the attempts to distribute it as he waited in the tower. The spells to draw from him, siphon what they could and spread the wealth, but it would not budge. The moment the chains came undone, the demon emerged again. Uncontrolled and angry. Andrealphus and his father did all they could, but Paimon was not the strongest king and Andrealphus was only a boy himself. What could two Goetias do under the weight of the oldest of spiritual expectations? Slowly they reached for help. Allied Sins, other Goetia, even an overlord or two despite how his father hated them, which sparked the idea of a contract.

But how did one make a soul contract without a soul? Offer the body instead, and Hell, did Stolas try to give his body over for someone else to control. Anything to get out of his tower, anything to go home, anything to see his friend again.

The overlord, ancient and wise, and his father worked tirelessly in his tower, doing their best to form and shape a body contract that would set the deal in motion, and offer control of the power and energy to someone else. Stolas hadn’t cared, he would give his father anything, but nothing worked. Each contract failed, fizzled, and burned upon Stolas’ signature.

It was only a matter of time until Lucifer found out.

Stolas hadn’t been part of the meeting, but his father returned with a new plan and a different overlord. This one was less old and with a static-filled voice. Stolas remembered very little from his time with the overlord, only that they worked for hours to control the demon inside of him. Coping skills, tips, and tricks, practice practice practice to keep the demon inside him at all times.

It took work, and slowly he could leave the blessed chains, each time for longer and longer until he did not need the strange overlord. Whatever his father had promised the overlord, he seemed pleased, and Stolas was just happy to leave the tower.

Ever since, his magic was limited. Nothing physically limiting him, he could do whatever he wanted if he so chose to, but the threat lingered. He knew which imps in the household held delicate blessed chains. He saw it in the way Andrealphus kept his eye on him, fear for his sister and fear for the very strength of Goetia. He was reminded of his own utter failures each time his father asked him to just try to sign one more contract, one more attempt. The magic was just too strong, and his body refused to let it go.

So he held those whispered parts of himself close, secluded himself from others, and promised he would never tell Blitzo any of this. He would not cause more fear to the boy who already had so much pain in his heart but still worked so hard to soothe Stolas’ own wounds.

Last night he didn’t dream of this part of himself. Stolas had slept perhaps an hour or so but woke when Blitzo shifted in their sleep, shifting down so their positions had changed. Blitzo had whispered an almost silent ‘feathers’ as he sleepily nuzzled into Stolas’ chest.

As the morning light filtered through his sheer curtains, highlighting the soft curve of Blitzo’s cheek and the shine of his horns, Stolas could not look away. Stolas wanted to encase every piece of Blitzo, remember every element of him as he was in this moment. The imp had changed, as anyone does with age. Stolas found him just as beautiful as he had as a child, only these new feelings tugged at him, as though Blitzo had a gravitational pull and Stolas was trapped in the wake of it.

Blitzo had kissed him last night.

He noticed then the bump on Blitzo’s head that he had spotted when he first arrived looked larger, and slightly irritated. Sort of like how flowers split from the earth, stretching and creating a crater behind.

“Being a creep?” Blitzo’s voice was low and grumbled, and Stolas smiled down at him.

“Just noticing your sore spot. Did you injure yourself?”

Blitzo pulled himself from Stolas’ chest and touched the spot. He bit his lip as he lightly pressed his fingers harder at the area.

“No, I think I’m growing a spine there.”

Stolas blinked hard. “A…a spine?”

Blitzo nodded. “Runs in the family. Hurts like a bitch.”

Right. A spine. He rose from the bed, letting Blitzo stay under the early light, and returned from the bathroom with a little glass jar. Sitting back on the bed, he untightened the lid and patted his lap.

“I think I have something for the ache,” Stolas offered.

“What type of feather gel are you putting on me?” Blitzo complained, yet he laid his head back onto Stolas’ lap and closed his eyes.

“This is not my preening oil,” Stolas chuckled. “This is just pain cream for sore muscles. Believe it or not, but having such long legs is not a benefit all the time.”

“I’m going to choose not to believe it,” Blitzo responded. “Be a damn shame if you lost them.”

Stolas dipped his finger into the cream and let it warm between his talons. Very carefully, he started to rub the cream against the raised spot. Blitzo didn’t flinch, but Stolas felt his muscles tense at the first touch. It did not take long for him to relax and Stolas was relieved he could offer some comfort.

“Would you not think I was beautiful if I didn’t have my, oh what did you call them, long ass legs?” Stolas teased the words that Blitzo had confessed to him just a few hours before.

Blitzo laughed and Stolas enjoyed the little creases that formed in the corners of his eyes. “They aren’t too much longer than my own. You’ve got like, what, three inches on me?”

“More like six inches, darling.”

Blitzo’s eyes opened and he stared up at Stolas. “Darling?”

“Oh…is that…is that not alright?” Stolas stuttered.

“No, it's, erm, it's cool.”

“Are you sure? I’m so sorry, it just sort of slipped out.”

“Yeah, silly bird. It’s perfectly alright.”

Blitzo rose from Stolas’ lap and stretched his arms. A little sliver of his red belly showed and Stolas wanted to touch his skin. Stolas wanted to pull him close again, kiss him, hold him, and tell Blitzo how perfect he was (spines and all.) The alarm clock rang and took that chance away from him.

“I should get dressed,” Blitzo said, hopping out of bed, and with a quick turn, he faced Stolas once again. “Ya know, a whole day is a long time.”

What would the heroes in his books do in his situation? Play a tease? Smirk and wink and tell him he would have to wait? Confessing his neverending adoration? Lay on his back, part his legs, summon his lover to…

That fire in his stomach, a blaze he had learned to appreciate, sparked and bit at his innards. He suddenly felt very young in this burning room, like a child playing an adult game. Surely, Blitzo would see through his embarrassing attempt at flirting. The heavy realization smothered him that he hadn’t practiced this sport before being thrown into the most important match. Before last night, he had never flirted with another boy, and now he was expected to…what? Seduce him? What came next? Where was the book of instructions?

Stolas crawled down to his stomach on the bed, hoping to cool the flames, even though it brought his face close to Blitzo’s “A mighty long time.”

Regardless of his inexperience, Blitzo kissed him anyway. It was still soft, quick, and gentle. Blitzo held his face between his warm palms, the subtle pressure, the kind guidance. Nothing more than what Stolas could handle.

***

Stolas was summoned back to the ballroom, only Blitzo didn’t accompany him. In fact, for being his valet, Stolas wasn’t entirely certain what Blitzo got up to most of the day. Certainly, Stolas could change that, he could require Blitzo to be by his side every hour, but he didn’t want to put that burden on Blitzo. It was a bit silly, but Stolas had yet to ask Blitzo for a single thing but gave the respect to turn away his help. They were playing a dangerous game, and he had to make sure he played his role well. Also, Stolas listened well enough to know that Mr. Butler, who as far as Stolas could recall had been working for the family for decades, was getting older and needed more help.

This meant that instead of Blitzo in the beautiful black and white dress waiting to be his dance partner, Stolas was faced with Tweed.

Darn it.

“I think this little one may better suit our purposes,” Andrealphus announced as Stolas stood his distance from Tweed. “You just seemed a bit too cozy with the last dancer.”

Insult, maybe, truth, absolutely.

Still, to not arouse further suspicion, he took Tweed’s hand, much smaller and delicate than Blitzo’s, and brought him to the dancefloor. The imp was shorter, his curly hair cut jagged, probably with a pair of dull scissors, and he wouldn’t look Stolas in the eye.

“Can you dance?” Stolas asked.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Tweed responded.

The music started, Stolas took his position and Tweed followed, and they were dancing like ballerinas in a music box. Twirling with the beat, certain, precise, cold. There was nothing to this dancing, no joy. Formulaic and static in motion.

“More life in your step!” Andrealphus called over the pops of the record.

Stolas sighed, raised Tweed’s hand that he held higher, and added a bounce to their bodies. Tweed would not look at him but the imp was able to continue dancing as though he was staring into his eyes.

Luckily, Andrealphus gave him the mercy of ending dance lessons early. Tweed did not wait to be given orders to leave, for he nearly ran out of the ballroom. Stolas wondered if he knew about what had happened last night, but did not press it.

“I expect you to smile when you see my sister,” Andrealphus demanded of Stolas. “You will act like she is your greatest love. Lucifer will like that. Making Lucifer happy is important because what are we trying to do?”

“Please Lucifer,” Stolas responded.

“How are we to do that?”

“Follow the script.”

Andrealphus lightly patted Stolas’ head. “What a good future husband you will make.”

As soon as he could be released, Stolas left the dance room to find Blitzo. He didn’t want to think of Stella and knew the very sight of Blitzo would take the gnawing at his mind away. Stella wasn’t here, Hell, he had never met her, and as long as he didn’t think about her, she didn’t exist.

Stolas found Blitzo by complete accident. Well, he had first spent a good hour searching the entire palace trying to place him. He even asked Mr. Butler, who was organizing his father’s papers. Mr. Butler didn’t seem pleased by the question and Stolas left him to his very boring task.

Turns out, Blitzo had been in the greenhouse, which was a strange, nostalgic sight. Stolas had only popped in through the palace entrance to check on his Drosera plants, just a quick little ‘hello my babies’, and found Blitzo in the furthest corner, blocked mostly by large plants talking to someone. No, not someone.

Damned Tweed.

Another moral dilemma, announce himself or eavesdrop? Was it good practice to eavesdrop on your…what was Blitzo to Stolas? Still his best friend? Something more?

“I just need to think,” Blitzo replied. “I need time.”

Tweed’s voice, lighter and quicker, answered. “You don’t have much time. You have to decide if this is worth the risk.”

If Stolas had wanted to hide and listen, it wouldn’t have mattered, for the conversation ended as quickly as it began. Blitzo slipped through the exterior door of the greenhouse and Tweed heavily sighed and got back to work.

Blitzo was up to something, and Stolas wanted to know what.

Sneaking back into the palace, Stolas made himself visible near the servant entrance and only had to wait a few minutes before Blitzo opened the door.

“Are you busy, Blitzo?” Stolas asked him. “I need your help with something.”

Blitzo’s eyes darted back to the door and then back to Stolas. “How may I help you, Your Highness?”

“I think I left a book outside and cannot find it. Will you help me search?”

What a pitiful lie, but Blitzo gave a quick nod. “Anything for you, Your Highness.”

They walked out past the gardens, toward the edge of the property under the giant tree on the hill. Blitzo still kept a safe distance, but when they were far enough that their voices didn’t carry, he dropped the honorific. It was risky, and Stolas knew he should be telling him not to chance it, but he was selfish and young.

By the time they got to the tree, Stolas wanted to hold Blitzo’s hand, drag him to the ground, and kiss him just a little harder than he had the night before.

“Wanna talk?” Blitzo started, and it took Stolas a bit off guard.

“About what?”

“I don’t know…last night?”

They took a seat near each other at the base of the tree, apart enough in case someone should come this way, but close enough that Stolas could touch his talons to Blitzo’s boots. The fire he usually felt around Blitzo died to embers and he suddenly felt nervous.

Did Blitzo regret it? And what if he did? What would Stolas do? He had never considered Blitzo would change his mind.

“I-” Stolas started but once again, it didn't matter what his intentions or plans were.

Blitzo had pulled him down by the collar and all the fear that had bubbled popped. Blitzo’s mouth was his, Blitzo parting lips to encourage Stolas to do the same. Stolas’ hands tightened into the fabric of his shirt. A muffled sound came from his body and he wasn’t really sure what it was, but it encouraged Blitzo to pull him even closer, tighter. When they parted, he found his breath was coming in hard.

“Good talk, let's do it again sometime soon.” Blitzo smiled, and Stolas could cry at the silliness of it all.

“You don’t regret this?” Stolas asked as he caught his breath because he needed that reassurance.

Blitzo co*cked his eyebrow. “No, do you?”

“Absolutely not! But if you did…we could stop at any time.”

“Should we stop?”

“I would rather die.”

“Great, then let's not stop.”

This time Stolas kissed Blitzo, only once and quickly, and they made their way back to the palace. It was too light out to risk anything longer, but he didn’t stop Blitzo from bumping into him along the way or calling him by his name before they parted. It was only after Blitzo had left to do his nightly tasks that Stolas realized he never did ask Blitzo what the conversation with Tweed was about.

“I will just have to ask him when he arrives tonight,” Stolas told the little butterwort plant that had a new permanent spot by his balcony.

Except Stolas forgot about the question almost immediately for Blitzo showed up in a pair of shorts and a tight tanktop and Stolas realized he had never seen that much skin on another person before. His brain was fuzzy as his eyes scanned Blitzo’s bare shoulders and he wanted to run his fingers down the length of his exposed arms.

“Ready for bed?” Blitzo asked.

Stolas nodded, the constant question of ‘what comes next’ in his mind that any other questions he may have had sink deep into the earth, to germinate and come back in a different form.

***

That week was the best of Stolas’ young life, only slightly rivaled by a week spent mostly on a pirate ship made of stars. Admittedly, kissing took the friendship experience to a new level, but it was only heightened by the sudden lack of adult supervision.

Andrealphus announced at the start of the week over breakfast that he would be traveling home to prepare for the ball, which was less than a month away, and Stolas only heard half of what he was saying for he was worried that his lips were swollen still from this morning. He knew Andrealphus did not possess the power to read minds, but he still feared it was written on his face what he and Blitzo had gotten up to before the alarm went off. A sudden fear of what the morning paper would say flashed in his mind:

Goetia prince let imp put his tongue in his mouth!

No one said anything, so he nodded at Andrealphus’ announcement and ate his mouse pie very slowly. Andrealphus was gone before lunch, and with his father still at least a week or two away on business, Stolas’ imagination sparked. He was the only Goetia in the home, making him the master of the palace.

He raced to his room and rang the magic bell, summoning Blitzo to his side for the first time. Blitzo hadn’t lied about the magic for he arrived only a few minutes later smelling like laundry powder and fresh air.

“How may I assist you, Your Highness?” Blitzo asked from the open door.

“I need your assistance in a very private manner.” Stolas fluffed out his feathers and posed a little too similar to Andrealphus. “Please shut the door, this requires the utmost care for secrecy.”

Blitzo shut the door, and the moment there was a barrier between them and the rest of the household, Stolas laughed like he had just been told all his future expectations had been given to someone else.

“We are home alone!” Stolas whooped as he pulled Blitzo further into the room. “No father, no Andrealphus, just us! What should we do first?”

Blitzo gave him a single, awkward chuckle. “Well, there are still things I have to get done.”

“No need!” Stolas jumped onto the bed. “We don’t have to do a single thing! I think first, we should lay in bed until noon, and then we could request lunch brought up. Oh! We could steal the TV from father’s room. He pretends like I don’t know we own a TV, but I know we do. Do you think we could figure out how to hook it up in here?”

“Stolas, I can’t just shrug off my duties.”

“But we can! No one is watching us!” Stolas grinned, but it fell when he remembered the faults he possessed with the privilege he had. “Except you can’t because that would cause hardship to someone else. I am sorry, Blitzo, I was not thinking.”

“No, it’s fine, you got to the conclusion on your own.” Blitzo shrugged. “I wish I could just say f*ck everything, but I can’t.”

Stolas thought for a moment and then decided. “Then I will help you.”

“You will what?”

“I will help you. Two hands are faster, right?”

Blitzo’s eyebrow raised. “No offense, my silliest of birds, but what the f*ck do you know about household tasks?”

“Nothing, but you could teach me.”

“Seems like it would be less of a help and more of a hindrance.”

“Yes, but I won’t have my father smacking me if I step ‘below my station’” He did his best impression of his father. “I want to spend time with you in any way I can. I promise I am a very quick learner and if I am too much of a hindrance, you have my permission to tell me to get lost.”

Which was how Stolas spent a good portion of his week learning everything that Blitzo did during the day. The other imps were certainly confused and a bit cautious of the Goetia prince tagging along his servant, but Stolas had explained he was getting a better understanding of how to properly run a household. Whether they believed him or not, he didn’t rightfully care.

The experience was a tad bit shaming but in an important way. How embarrassing was it to confess to Blitzo that he didn’t know how to sweep a floor. Blitzo teased and had every right to, but he did not look down on Stolas’ ignorance. He simply taught, showed, and then offered Stolas to try.

Also, if Stolas did a particularly good job, Blitzo would drag him into the nearest linen closet, shove Stolas against the shelves, and leave gentle bites along his neck.

It was also nice to learn more about the other imps who worked in his home. Mr. Butler, the staff member he knew the best, was still a mystery to him. He discovered after spending a long afternoon polishing silverware together that Mr. Butler was the oldest sibling of a dozen other imps, and even now well into his old age, he sent money back to them all. Stezzy, the sassy greenhouse imp, had big stories about various other servants, all of which were delicious to listen to as they weeded the various herb gardens. Albert, a groundskeeper, had a bit too many thoughts on Goetia politics, most very wrong, but Blitzo and Stolas snickered at his theories as they followed him along the perimeter of the property to make sure the gate was still intact. Elva, a very short imp with the littlest horns he had ever seen, had a wonderful singing voice and taught them some tavern songs, including one very vulgar one Blitzo kept singing to him well into their working day.

Oddly, Stolas realized only after the fact they never helped Tweed with anything.

By the end of the shifts, he found his talons sore and his legs tired, but the tension felt nice after a lifetime of sedentary work. Blitzo drew a bath every night and Stolas spent a long while in it as Blitzo finished his final tasks. By the time he was washed, dried, preened, and in something a bit more cozy, Blitzo was back with his pack of cigarettes and an invitation to sit on Stolas’ balcony. Although there were chairs, they sat on the cold stone.

“You really don’t have to work, silly bird,” Blitzo said as he blew the cigarette smoke away from Stolas’ face. “You’ve proved your point.”

“I had no point to prove,” Stolas cooed and wrapped his arms around Blitzo’s waist. “I only wanted to be near you as much as I could.”

Blitzo kept smoking but he wrapped his arm around Stolas, and they looked at the stars. Often they sat in silence, sometimes they carried a joke from earlier in the day, but mainly they rested in each other’s company.

“Spend tomorrow doing whatever owly stuff you gotta do,” Blitzo told him. “I have a surprise for you.”

Stolas’s head perked up. “A surprise? For me? What kind of a surprise?”

Blitzo smashed the cigarette against the stone, and with the grace of a dancer Andrealphus could only dream of, straddled Stolas’ waist. Blitzo’s tail even wrapped itself around Stolas’ chest. Stolas shivered at the connection and his talons gripped at Blitzo’s hips.

“I have tomorrow evening off,” Blitzo whispered, then moved his lips to Stolas’ neck. “You and I are going to party.”

He gasped at the feeling of sharp teeth teasing his neck, quickly becoming one of his favorite ways Blitzo touched him, and let his eyes flutter closed at the scrap across his feathers. Blitzo’s weight was welcomed on his lap, and something about Blitzo’s legs spread against him was electric in his veins. As quick as Blitzo had climbed onto him, the overwhelming pressure was gone and Blitzo was standing.

“Come on, silly bird, bedtime.”

f*ck, his body was vibrating with the unknown, but he followed Blitzo like he was the last grasp of water in a desert. He climbed into bed with Blitzo, snuggled against his beating heart, and felt like he was choking on the need to know more. What did Blitzo want? Were they too young? Did other teens do this? Had Blitzo done this? Did Blitzo even want to do this? What the f*ck was even this?

His books only said so much, he didn’t have any other friends to start to talk to about this. His father had never talked to him about sex, thank Hell. The closest he ever got was the prettily written smut books that didn’t even have Goetia heroes and Raum telling him of his own sexual escapades, regardless of the truth in them or now.

What comes next, what comes after kissing and flirting and gasps of breath? How would he know he was even ready for it?

***

Stolas listened to Blitzo and did not partake in the daily business of the household staff. He spent the morning fretting about what Blitzo had possibly meant by a party. The parties Stolas was used to were not the kind that he felt Blitzo would enjoy. Most were stuffy, overly hot, and incredibly fake. Their food was often bland to suit the tastes of the youngest to the oldest of guests and by the end of the night, he would have tried to sneak away to a quiet corner to close his eyes and not have to create a face that wasn’t too bored but wasn’t too anxious.

There were some parties he had read about in his literature books. They didn’t happen often in his books, usually only when a rake or a promiscuous lover was involved, but those parties seemed a bit more Blitzo’s style. In those stories, there were loads of alcohol, which Stolas had partaken in a glass of wine at a formal dinner before, or some form of drugs, which Stolas hadn’t any more than Blitzo’s cigarettes.

He wasn’t bothered by any of this, the concern fell on the amount of people that were often present at these parties. This led him to fret most of the afternoon until dinner, which he chose not to eat as he hadn’t the rest of the day. He was far too nauseous with worry about what Blitzo meant.

By the time Blitzo knocked on the adjoining room, Stolas had accidentally created a weird crest in his head feathers and he had the last of his molting on his arms visibly from scratching. Blitzo looked so handsome in his leather jacket and Stolas knew he looked like a child who didn’t know how to properly present himself.

“Stols, what is wrong? “Blitzo asked as he guided Stolas to sit in his chair by his desk. “Did something happen?”

“I can’t go to a party,” Stolas hated how little his voice sounded, how whiney and high pitched. “I’m so sorry if you were looking forward to it. You can still go, I’m not stopping you.”

Blitzo’s hands on his shoulders felt good, steady. “sh*t, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking when I said that. I meant party of two?”

From his inner pocket, he pulled out a bottle that said ‘Hell’s Best Whiskey’ on it.

“Dear me, don’t I feel silly?” Stolas sniffed and took a breath. “I sometimes get a bit too much in my head.”

“In that case, my beautiful but very silly bird,” Blitzo pulled Stolas up from the chair. “Let’s get out of our heads!”

Whiskey wasn’t wine, Stolas learned almost instantly. Blitzo poured them each a very small glass and Stolas took too large of a gulp. It burned something awful and tasted a bit like he was drinking smoke and knives. He let himself cough once, and Blitzo did him a great favor of pouring some water into it. After that it was manageable, but if he had the choice he wouldn’t drink it at all. But Blitzo was drinking it, which meant he was too.

Blitzo had brought a new boombox he had bought with some of his stashed cash. He didn’t play the loud screaming music this time, but something with a guitar and softer vocals. Stolas could get behind that. They sat on his bed listening to the music and drinking the whiskey.

When his first glass was gone, he found the whiskey made his head much lighter than wine ever had. Looking back on this night, he realized that he hadn’t eaten anything that day, which meant he had nothing to help soak away the dizzying effects of the whiskey.

By the time he got to the middle of his second glass, he was admittedly a bit goofy.

“I have an idea!” He called as he tried to rise to his feet on the bed.

“You are gonna fall, be careful!” Blitzo laughed, and using both his hands on Stolas’ hips, helped Stolas off the bed

“I found some of my outfits from last season,” Stolas stumbled across the room to his closet, finding it difficult to grab the closet handle but he managed to swing it open. “Let’s play dress up!”

“You want me to wear your old clothes?”

“Yes, very much so.”

“Alright, but if I am trying on your clothes, then I have to go grab something.”

Blitzo was more steady on his feet as he left the room, and some drunken part of Stolas’ mind told him to chase after him because he wasn’t going to come back. Luckily, Blitzo returned with some of his own clothing before Stolas could work himself up too much.

“You first,” Blitzo held up a torn shirt and an eyeliner pencil.

Stolas managed to polish off the second and start on a third glass as Blitzo helped him into the cut-up crop top. There was no way Blitzo’s pants were going to fit his wider hips, but they found a pair of black pants in his closet that worked. Stolas took a quick snip of scissors to them and only stopped once Blitzo noticed what he was doing and pulled them away.

“Drunk owls do not use scissors,” Blitzo scolded him.

Stolas giggled. “I’m not drunk, I’m creative. Look at my pants!”

Yeah, they were wrecked.

It took a bit of time for Blitzo to get into the admittedly fancier outfit, and Stolas was not much help as he was finishing up his third glass. When Blitzo finally announced he was dressed, Stolas found he was speechless. Also a bit dizzy and he had to sit down on his bed, but he wasn’t sure if that was because of how amazing Blitzo looked or the three strong whiskeys on an empty stomach.

“Gorgeous,” Stolas whispered (which was actually more of a shout since volume regulation was completely gone.)

Blitzo was gorgeous. He wore Stolas’ old formal outfit for school, a red button-up with a golden vest, rich blue pants, and a startling blue cape. He looked royal. He looked like a hero. He looked like he had just stepped out of Blitzo’s book, a lover ready to take him.

Satan, f*ck.

“I look ridiculous,” Blitzo said, and Stolas noticed (after squinting his eyes to figure out which of the three Blitzos in front of him was the correct one) that his dearest friend looked self-conscious. It was a new expression on Blitzo’s face and Stolas did not like it.

“You look hot,” Stolas purred. “So so hot.”

“You are drunk.” Blitzo snickered. “Prince Stolas doesn’t say things like that.”

“He doesn’t? I think Prince Stolas can say whatever he wants.” Stolas tried to beckon Blitzo to come closer with his talon, but his fingers weren’t working. “Come here, let me see you better.”

Blitzo joined him on the bed, and Stolas noticed how lovely the blue looked against his skin, and how the cape made his shoulders look strong.

“Beautiful,” Stolas promised. “How do I look?”

“Like a punk.”

“Not yet, you need to put that black stuff on my eyes.”

“Only if you promise to sit still. I don’t want to poke your eyes out.”

Stolas did not sit still. He fidgeted and tried to grab at Blitzo’s cape to pull him closer. Feeling Blitzo’s bulk against his talons felt nice like he was itching a scratch deep inside himself he didn’t know was bothering him.

Finally, when Blitzo couldn’t take Stolas’ excited movement anymore, he pushed Stolas down and straddled him again.

“Stay down!” Blitzo demanded, and Stolas knew in his mind he had hooted quite loudly, but didn’t actually hear himself. It was all a bit blurry.

“I like it when you tell me what to do,” Stolas confessed, doing his very best to stay still as Blitzo drew a thick, kohl line across his upper lid. “It makes me feel warm.”

Blitzo stopped for a moment, the pencil hovering over his other eyelid, but then continued. “Does it?”

“Warm everywhere,” Stolas cooed as Blitzo finished up on his other eye. “You always make me feel warm. My head, my stomach, between my legs…It is nice after being frozen for so long.”

“f*ck.”

The word out of Blitzo’s mouth was heavy, and it seemed to land on Stolas’ chest like an anchor. He did his very best to focus on Blitzo, focus on what his friend was doing. He knew Blitzo was straddling his lap to hold him down, but then the weight of his body was gone. It made him so sad, like a piece of him was misplaced.

“Blitzo?” Stolas whined, and the room was spinning so bad he couldn’t find him. “Did you leave?”

“No, silly bird.”

He followed the voice and found a blurry figure that he knew was Blitzo from the pretty, yet quite blob-like, black and white horns. The figure took a swig from their glass, and then came back closer, back in Stolas’ vision.

It was his Blitzo, his best friend, his first friend, his first kiss. His first of everything that has ever been Stolas. Blitzo was crawling back onto the bed, towards him, and then he was parting Stolas’ legs, still covered with the destroyed black pants, and lowering himself between them.

“Tell me if I should stop,” Blitzo whispered. “I’ll stop if you want me to stop.”

No, Satan, no, he didn’t want Blitzo to stop. He wanted Blitzo to kiss him. He reached for Blitzo, grabbing at whatever fabric he could grab to get him to come closer. First the soft cotton of his pants, then the heavy wool of the cloak. The movement pulled Blitzo down upon him and he felt…f*ck, he didn’t know what he felt, a pressure against the spot between his legs that caused him continuous grief.

“I don’t want you to ever stop,” Stolas begged and clawed again at the fabric that had once been his own to wear during a time he hated himself the most. “I want to give you anything you want.”

It wasn’t enough. This playing wasn’t enough. The kissing was wonderful, as was the flirting and the sweet whispers, but he needed more. He needed everything. He wrapped his legs around Blitzo’s waist and tightened, forcing Blitzo’s hips to buckle against him. He never imagined how good something could feel until he felt Blitzo’s body against his own.

Blitzo’s mouth was on his finally, their tongues meeting and exploring their whiskey-stained teeth. It was safe here, comfortable, and a bit dizzying. He felt like he was on a ship made of stars, rocking against a galaxy river and finding a place to set his constellation for all to see. Blitzo rocked his hips against him again and he nearly cried at the sensation.

“Stolas, what-” Blitzo tried to say against Stolas’ mouth between kisses. “Stolas, stop, I gotta know, what am I working with here?”

He didn’t want to talk, he wanted Blitzo to keep thrusting between his legs, hitting his sensitive nerves. Never had his own fingers felt this good before, for Stolas’ fingers came with Stolas’ mind, Stolas’s intentions, and he was always one step ahead of himself. Having another person control his pleasure was something he never imagined wanting before.

“What-I don’t know what you mean,” Stolas huffed out, thrusting his own hips against the bulge in Blitzo’s pants.

“I-I don’t know,” Blitzo’s eyes were so focused on him, and Stolas got lost in all the yellow that went into making them. “Do… Jesus Christ, Stolas, do you have a dick?”

“No?” Stolas laughed. “I have a…well, it probably easier if I just…”

He didn’t want to give an anatomy lesson on Goetia’s. He wanted Blitzo to keep thrusting against him, wanted Blitzo’s mouth on his neck, his mouth, his chest, he wanted to be explored, to be used, to be…

With a deep breath, Stolas said. “I can show you.”

Blitzo’s rocking stopped, and the shoulders Stolas clung to grew tense. No, no, this could not stop. They had got this far to stop now.

Stolas spoke quickly. “It’s fine, I want to. I want this.” His legs tightened again, trying to encourage Blitzo to move again.

Blitzo did not move, instead, he gave Stolas a soft kiss on the top of his beak.

“You are very drunk.”

“No, I’ve thought about this sober!” Stolas cried, realizing where this was going. “I want you to be my first. You have always been my first everything, and I want you to be my first lover.” His chest heaved, and damn it, he was crying big heavy tears and Blitzo was looking at him with such care and f*ck, he had ruined this. His legs fell from their hold on Blitzo’s back. His brain screamed at him, telling him, he didn’t have time for this pitiful sh*t. He was fifteen and soon he would be eighteen and he would be a watcher of the stars for the Goetia and he would be married and he was running out of time.

Still, he spoke through his tears. “I don’t ever want to do this with anyone else. I just want you. I will always only want you. I’m sorry, darling, I’m so sorry. I’m yours, Blitzo, I’ve always been yours. I will always be yours. I’m so sorry. ”

Another ragged breath and he was being shushed and his feathers were being pet on his head. He had messed this up. He always messed everything up.

He didn’t remember much after that, except Blitzo pulled him to his chest and held him close. Every now and again he could hear Blitzo telling him to stop apologizing, he had just drank too much, and to breathe, but Stolas’ chest hurt so much and he couldn’t stop crying. His very last memory was Blitzo telling him to sleep, and that he wasn’t leaving him, not now, not ever, and then the sound of glass breaking against the wall.

***

Hungover as all Hell, Stolas was woken just as the sun was rising by Mr. Butler cussing for the first time that Stolas could remember.

“Blitzo, you absolute bastard of an imp!” Mr. Butler was hissing from somewhere in the room. “Lesson seventy-two! Do you not ever listen to a word I say!”

“I already said I was sorry!” Blitzo’s voice was less energetic than it usually was. “I don’t know what else you want me to say!”

“I don’t want you to say anything. I want you to draw a bath for the prince and somehow get him presentable in an hour.”

Stolas tried to open his eyes but groaned at the energy that was required.

“And you, Prince Stolas,” Mr. Butler’s voice was much closer. “I will not scold you for that is not my place, but as someone who has known you since you were still in your egg, this was very foolish behavior.”

Stolas groaned again and tried to roll away from the noise, but Mr. Butler wasn’t leaving.

“Up, up, lad, you have a meeting very soon.”

The smell of buttered bread near his face made him gag.

“This is the easiest it is going to be, Your Highness.”

“You gotta eat it, Stols.” Blitzo’s voice cut through Mr. Butler’s demands.

“Blitzo! The fifth lesson!” Mr. Butler’s voice was dying away, as though he was walking somewhere else but the bread remained. “Also, may I remind you of lesson twenty-seven and again with lesson seventy-two!”

The voices died away and he could faintly hear the imps bickering from the bathroom in addition to the running bathwater. He found some sense of bravery and opened his eyes to the harsh early light.

The bedroom was the same except for some clothing scattered here and there. He saw the nearly empty whiskey bottle on the dresser and the glasses must have fallen at one point as there were little shards of glass against the far wall.

He attempted the bread and managed to hold half of a slice down. He was debating on whether he should start on the second when Blitzo and Mr. Butler emerged from the bathroom. Blitzo didn’t look worse for wear at all. In fact, he looked beautiful in his slept-in white shirt and navy pants that had been Stolas’. He could faintly recall what Blitzo looked like in the entire outfit and he wished he had a picture of it.

“I will accompany you to the bath,” Mr. Butler held out his arm.

Stolas shook his head. “Blitzo is my valet, he can help.”

“Blitzo also needs to clean up the mess he caused last night.”

“No, I want-”

Blitzo interrupted him. “Please, go with Mr. Butler. He can help you.”

Stolas met his eyes, pleading with him to change his mind. He wanted to talk to Blitzo. He wanted to apologize for some of his words the night before. Not really apologize for the intent, for he fully meant them, but for the sappy tears that came with them. When Blitzo didn’t budge, he agreed to go with Mr. Butler.

Mr. Butler was a good valet, Stolas knew that. Mr. Butler had known him since he was hatched and knew what preening oil he liked and how he didn’t like his talons messed with.

“Drink this,” Mr. Butler offered him a glass of sparkly liquid. “It won’t take the full headache away, but it will at least get you with the living again.”

“What is it?” He asked as he sipped the smooth liquid.

“A little gift from His Highness Asmodeus,” Mr. Butler said bluntly. “He told me you would need it.”

Stolas would have spit out the drink if he hadn’t known it would be so helpful. “Is he here? How did he know?”

Mr. Butler voice remained professional even through his clear desperation to get the prince clean and looking proper. “He said he could smell teenage depravity miles away. I’m sure he doesn’t know the details.” Stolas started to explain but Mr. Butler held up a finger. “I do not need to know the details, either. To answer your first question, yes, he is here. He arrived less than an hour ago.”

If the Sin of Lust was here announced, then that meant…

“Your father and Andrealphus are here as well,” Mr. Butler confirmed. “As well as Sir Raum and Lady Gem. Last minute party planning.”

Stolas sighed, and let Mr. Butler help him out of the tub. They spent a good portion drying his feathers and getting things worked on.

“Mr. Butler, is there any chance you could…”

“Yes, Your Highness, I will ensure your feathers cover your hickey.”

Once he was preened, and feeling much better than when he left the room, they met Blitzo back in the bedroom to change into quite the dramatic suit, a velvet purple that was so dark it was nearly black, and with a lavender waistcoat. Mr. Butler insisted he wore a small crown that was standard for princes to wear when greeting other royalty, especially the sins. It was delicate and had Stolas’ seal in the middle of the carved crystal.

“Kind of a big shot if you got your own stamp,” Blitzo joked when Mr. Butler had his back turned. “How do I get me one of those?”

“You could either ascend to Goetiahood,” Stolas bent as far down as his pounding headache could allow it. “Or you could cozy up to a prince.”

“Difficult decision.”

“Quite.”

“Goetiahood seems difficult for an imp.”

“It is difficult for a Goetia.”

“Then I will have to go with the second option.”

“Good choice.”

“Now to find a prince…”

Mr. Butler’s voice interrupted them before Stolas could argue against Blitzo’s teasing. “If you both are quite finished, it is time we meet your father in the throne room, Your Highness.”

Wonderful. This was not how he wanted to spend his morning, but the drink Mr. Butler had given him did take the edge out of what would have been a horrible hangover. He would remember next time that whiskey was not for him and stick with wine.

The trio made their way down the hall, and from all the buzzing Stolas knew something big was up. He had met Asmodeus, or Ozzie as he asked Stolas to call him, numerous times throughout his life. His father joked that Ozzie was the kindest of the Sins, which made him an utter fool. Stolas didn’t agree with the fool part, but he was incredibly smart and he was strict on his values.

As they rounded the corner to the great hall of the palace, Stolas saw nearly every imp in they employed through the palace were waiting in the hallway, except for the cooks and a few of the household staff.

“Why is everyone here?” Stolas asked Mr. Butler.

“We were all summoned to attend,” He responded. “Your father would like you to enter first before guests.”

Something didn’t feel right. Never once did Stolas see so many people expect to attend his father’s throne room. It was usually quite boring, more for formalities than anything, and he wasn’t sure how everyone was going to fit inside.

“Are you both coming in with me?” Stolas asked Blitzo and Mr. Butler.

“I will escort you in,” Mr. Butler said. “Blitzo will wait out here with the rest of the staff.”

“Can I request he come in?” Stolas whispered to Mr. Butler.

“Best you didn’t, Your Highness.”

“Go on, Your Highness,” Blitzo said, and then with a soft smile. “I’ll be around when you are done.”

He wished he could hug Blitzo. Actually, he wished he could call this whole morning meeting off and bring Blitzo back to the big tree on the hill to talk about last night. Color in the section he had lost and talk over the sections he remembered.

But he didn’t have that say in matters yet, so he followed Mr. Butler into the throne room through the heavy, purple curtains.

The first difference he noticed in the throne room was a second throne sitting directly next to his fathers. It was of equal height, except it had Stolas’ seal on the back of the chair. His father was already on his throne, looking as daunting and mighty as he always had.

“Ah, Stolas, I feel like it has been centuries since we have last seen one another.” His father motioned with his head to the throne next to him. “I’ve brought you a gift.”

Do not look at Mr. Butler for support, he told himself. Be confident.

“Thank you,” Stolas said with a bow, before sitting on the great seat.

The throne itself was not comfortable. It was hard, with only a little cushion for support. He wasn’t sure why he had to be so miserable while simply doing part of his job. He had decided long ago this throne business would not last very long when this palace was his.

“Were your travels pleasant, Father?” Stolas asked, doing his best to be the polite and caring son.

“As pleasant as they could be.” His father looked at his talons. “Lusty wants to change some points of the party planning, and he wants to see the grounds. Figured we would invite him over and let him pay for all the changes he wants to do.”

Stolas wanted to gag, either from his father’s apathy or the buttered toast. “Wise decision, Father.”

“Yes, I know.”

The clock struck the hour and his father groaned. “Let us get on with it then. Imp, bring the other ones in.”

Mr. Butler nodded and scurried to invite the household staff in. They migrated into the waiting space, all looking exceptionally nervous and confused. A few of them brought larger chairs and placed them to the side of the room, apparently for Ozzie and whoever was joining him, more than likely Gem and Raum. Stolas scanned the crowd for Blitzo and found him next to Tweed in the back corner. He knew he could not make a motion to him so close to his father, but he waited until Blitzo caught his eyes and gave him a small head nod. Blitzo gave him a thumbs up, and all his nerves sunk away.

His father cleared his throat, and the soft mumbling died down. King Paimon did not leave his throne but spoke in a loud voice.

“Little imps, I can only guess your little brains are confused as to why you are all here today.” King Paimon waited for a response, and when he did not get one, he continued. “We have some important guests in our home for the final preparations for our great Summer Solstice Ball and it is important you know who they are and do everything they ask you to do.”

A few imps clapped, and when King Paimon nodded, the rest joined. Stolas watched Blitzo roll his eyes and Tweed give a very soft, half-hearted clap.

The curtains that separated the great throne room from the hallway parted, and the Great Sin of Lust, Ozzie, entered. Stolas liked Ozzie’s ability to shapeshift, becoming whatever size he needed to be to fit inside whatever space was available. Stolas wished he could do that. Truthfully, he probably could, but without having full access to his powers, who was to say what he could and couldn’t do yet.

Ozzie walked to the throne and greeted first King Paimon and then Stolas before turning to the imps.

“Are you all ready to throw the best party this palace has ever seen?” Ozzie’s voice was joyful and boomed over the staff.

A very imps whoot and everyone was much more willing to give an honest clap.

“I will be spending time with every one of you to chat through what we need to do to make this the best party The Pride Ring has ever seen. We can’t do it without all your hard work.”

Stolas heard his father’s noises of annoyance but Ozzie was right. He hadn’t seen his father making a grand feast or cleaning up the guest bathrooms.

“You all will need to be on your best behavior to Asmodeus.” His father told the imps as Ozzie moved to one of the empty chairs. “Anyone stepping a toe out of line will find themselves unemployed for the rest of your miserably short days.”

Stolas winced and looked back to Blitzo, but his eyes were focused on the curtain. Stolas followed the glance to find Andrealphus entering the room with a stranger on his arm.

Her feathers were white, cascading down her back, and she had a small pointed pink beak. She wore a dress of white with soft pink roses trailing down the skirt. Like a snake, she had her hands wrapped around Andrealphus’ arm, and while she smiled, she looked a bit frightened, like a lost bird in a large forest. The two made their way to the foot of the thrones and bowed.

It must have been the whiskey still fogging his mind, for the connection did not alight until his father was standing, pulling Stolas up with him.

“I am very excited to introduce you all to the future lady of this great palace.” His father gave Stolas a light shove to the girl, but he had become stone.

His eyes darted to the back of the room, to where the boy stood to whom he had pledged himself to the night before. He watched Blitzo’s eyes narrowed in confusion, and then widen when the realization came.

“Stolas, you idiot, announce her to the crowd,” His father hissed at him, but he couldn’t talk. He couldn’t move. He was going to faint.

To the larger crowd, his father gave an awkward chuckle. “My apologies, my son is a bit tongue-tied at his future bride. I am happy to welcome Lady Stella to our palace.”

The servants gave a pleasant clap, clearly understanding this was their future boss, and Stella bowed once again to King Paimon, and then to Stolas. He tried to say something to her, try to explain there has been a very great misunderstanding. No, she was just going to have to pick a different owl. Raum, maybe, or Gem, they would both be wonderful for this girl. Not Stolas. Stolas was taken. Stolas had Blitzo.

“I am honored to finally meet my future husband and delighted to spend this week getting to know you,” She held her hand out for him to kiss, but he could not take it.

Stolas eyes darted back to the crowd to catch Blitzo storm from the room with Tweed following close behind. They were silent in their exit, and only Stolas had noticed as his heart was breaking in a thousand different ways. He wondered if everyone could hear how he was shattering and he didn’t care. Not even the slightest. He had to talk to Blitzo.

Chapter 9: Confirmation and Preparations Part III

Chapter Text

The gardens of the palace were immaculate. The vibrant landscape had always been a source of unusual joy among Hell, fresh flowers blooming without the need for Earth’s pollination or sweet air. It was beautiful, highlighting the power of the Goetia. Grand adversity even though they were cast from Heaven’s light.

Great trees flourishing with ripe fruit, petals scattering in the wind, fresh green grass without a single weed in the mix. Something accomplished through healthy magic, loyal staff, and the might of every Goetia to take the oath of blood.

“This is the showcase of your legacy!” Asmodeus called out to the small gathering before him. “Here is where Lucifer will see all you have accomplished and the hardships you will overcome.”

The small gathering clapped. Gem and Raum, standing side by side, looked teary-eyed and proud. Andrealphus and King Paiman stood strong, aware of the risks this ball would take for all attending. Stella giggled and nuzzled closer to the arm she held onto so tightly.

Two generations stood together, putting all their trust into The Sin of Lust, for while he alluded to overwhelming desire, he was the most meticulous in planning and kept a level head. In the small alcoves of the palace, hiding and spying, stood various staff. They were both relieved that Asmodeus was taking over the very confusing party plans the birds had tried to put together and fearful of the amount of work the Sin was now demanding for perfection.

Stolas noticed none of this as he was in the middle of a goddamn panic attack.

Blitzo knew. Blitzo knew about his engagement. Blitzo knew and he had looked at Stolas and he had fled. Stolas had begged him only the night before to never leave him, spilled his adoration out through his whiskey tears, and now what did those promises look like to his dearest friend?

He had to talk to Blitzo, but Stella was clinging to him like a leech. Her scent was overwhelming, artificial vanilla perfume and feather spray. She kept talking to him, kept asking him questions. ‘Are you ready for the ball, Your Highness,’ and ‘I can tell you are going to be a wonderful dancer, Prince Stolas,’ and ‘I’ve dreamt for years about meeting you.’

Stolas couldn’t take this, but he also couldn’t pry her talons out of his arm. Again, the gathering was talking, and Ozzie animated in his plans for the ball while explaining why each element was important. The food had to be perfect. The dancing at to happen without a mistake. The staff had to look uniformed and professional. How many hours had Stolas been walking in this group? How many times had Gem told Ozzie he was a genius? How many times had Stella asked him what his favorite flower was?

“You are so quiet, Your Highness,” Stella tried to whisper, but it sounded so loud in his ears “Won’t you share a thought with me?”

Stolas saw where her make-up caked along her lids and how tight her dress was. Why bother with such fancies when she already had him. What was her aim?

“I am focusing on the party planning is all, Lady Stella,” Stolas offered the piss poor excuse.

She looked away, apparently disappointed, but he couldn’t hold her feelings. He needed to get out of this mess and he needed to talk to Blitzo.

Oblivious to what was happening between the two teenagers, Ozzie continued to speak to the group. “I know you all have worked very hard in planning this event, but this has to be controlled to the very second. Each and every one of you needs to know where you need to be every moment of this entire show.”

“Isn’t this supposed to be a party?” Raum joked before cowering under King Paimon’s gaze.

“This isn’t a party for you,” Paimon’s hissed. “The only person who should be having a good time is our most honored guest. This is why we brought Asmodeus here. We need a plan of action, not a bunch of youngsters looking for the time of their lives.”

“Perhaps we should think of this less as a party, and more of a business transaction,” Ozzie suggested. “If you can convince Lucifer to buy what you are selling, then it will be a success. If not, your heads are on the line. Understood?”

The younger birds nodded.

“Do you hear that, Prince Stolas?” Andrealphus lazily called. “You should be paying attention the most, figuring you are the reason we are in this sh*tshow to begin with.”

Stella’s hold loosened around Stolas’ arm, and he felt all turn their stares on him. “I am listening, Andrealphus.”

“Hm,” The bird huffed but nothing more was said.

They traveled the whole of the grounds, Andrealphus taking quick notes as Ozzie delegated tasks and supplies. By the time the round of the gardens were made, it was well into dinner time. His father announced a feast would be held, and even though Stolas tried to slip away, his father directed him back to the group with a wicked glare.

The feast was grand, as any feast would be, and it was the first time since Blitzo had fled the room that Stolas laid eyes on him again. It was brief, only for a moment, but as he took his seat at the long table he caught Blitzo speaking to Tweed in the hallway. He was too far away to catch the words, but he did catch Blitzo’s quick glance at him. Blitzo allowed him a moment, his expression blank, before he turned and left. Stolas’ talons flexed, desperate to run to Blitzo, but the first course was plated in front of him and the constrictions of polite society kept him locked behind.

“Sister, dearest, how are you enjoying the palace?” Andrealphus started the conversation.

Stella, sitting next to Stolas, wiggled in her seat. “I couldn’t be more pleased with my future home.” Her leg brushed against his and he jerked himself away. “Especially pleased with my future husband.”

Andrealphus, bastard he was, pulled Stolas’ attention to him. “And are you pleased with your future wife, Prince Stolas?”

No, of course not.

“Yes, of course,” Stolas lied softly.

The second course brought on great tales from Ozzie, stories going back to the start of hell and his time spent with the other sins. Raum has tried to divert the conversation and ask why none of the other Sins were supporting this ball, but Ozzie easily turned the conversation back to a grand story. Ozzie was certainly a showman and most of the table was roaring with laughter, except Stolas. His heart was pounding in his chest and he felt like screaming. The third course brought a discussion of the guest list, seemingly every Goetia that had ever been, of course, The King of Hell.

The fourth course brought Raum drunkenly recounting Stolas’ awkwardness in school. The fifth course brought his father giving his grand appreciation to Ozzie for help. The sixth course brought a chance for Stolas to excuse himself, blaming wine he hadn’t drunk, to run to the bathroom to hyperventilate.

Blitzo surely hated him. There was no chance he hadn’t. In Blitzo’s eyes, Stolas had lied last night, told him whatever he wanted to hear just for them to make love…no, it wasn’t even that. It was to screw, to bang, to f*ck, whatever other words he had only read in his books and not experienced. It wasn’t true, certainly, it wasn’t true, but how could Blitzo see it otherwise?

He tried to steady his breathing but he couldn’t seem to catch his breath, couldn't see to find a moment to regulate his gasps for air.

All he had ever wanted was slipping through his hands.

“Hey, kiddo, you in here?”

The soft, muffled voice behind the door interrupted his attack, and the shock helped him take an inhale. Stolas scrubbed his hands down his face, and called out to the voice, confirming he was there.

“The other birdies may be deep into their cups, but I can tell when someone isn’t feeling it,” The voice belonged to Ozzie. “Need an ear?”

The Sin of Lust wasn’t exactly who he wanted to confess his deepest truths to, but he also knew Ozzie as someone who took trust seriously. Ozzie had always been a friend to the Goetias, and someone didn’t gain their favor by starting gossip.

Stolas opened the door and joined Ozzie in the hallway. The sin had shrunk down and Stolas wondered for whose benefit.

“You don’t seem to be having a good time, birdie babe.”

Stolas looked up and down the hallway, before telling him silently. “I’m having a very bad day.”

Ozzie nodded. “You know, when I pulled up today, I knew something was going on. I thought to myself, oh good, this ridiculously bullsh*t forced marriage may actually work out if I’m sensing what I thought I was sensing. Now I’m not so sure. Is there something you wish to share?”

Stolas kept his beak shut.

Ozzie sighed and placed a hand on Stolas’ shoulder. “If you need to talk, I’ve been told I’m a very good listener.”

Stolas wished he could confess his struggles to a kind adult. He wished he could tell Ozzie his feelings for Blitzo would always be stronger than his duties to the stars. He wished he could tell Ozzie he needed help convincing his father he did not want to marry Stella. Instead, he thanked Ozzie for his kindness and they went back to dinner.

When the final goblets of wine were emptied, the party planning finally dispersed. Gem and Raum went back to the suites they had stayed in earlier part of the summer. Ozzie was staying in the grandest of the guest suites with a team of imps to be available at his every request. Andrealphus went to his chambers, thankfully at the other end of the palace, and he called for Stella to follow him.

Before she joined her brother in the hallway, she took Stolas’ arm. “I hope we can spend some time together. Perhaps you could join me on a midnight stroll in the garden?”

Blitzo would be in his room by then and nothing, not even his future wife, could pull him away. “It has been a very long day, Lady Stella. I need rest.”

Stella’s eyes darted to her brother, who was eyeing them both before she raced a single talon down Stolas’ arm. “Perhaps I could join you in resting? My brother is a very heavy sleeper and won’t notice if I slip away.”

With a squawk, he drew his arm from Stella’s clutches. “Um…no, that won’t be necessary.”

She looked disappointed again and he didn’t find it in himself to care. He bid her a good night and fled to his room.

Blitzo wasn’t there, which was fine, since the sun was just setting and he knew Blitzo had things to do. He would come, Stolas would just have to be patient.

Except, Blitzo hadn’t come back for him.

Stolas waited on the bed, his eyes locked on the adjoining door, waiting for Blitzo’s grand appearance. The seconds ticked and the storm in his head grew deadlier with each passing moment. The shadows on his walls lengthened as the sun set and then the room was cast in darkness.

But Blitzo was not coming back.

The thoughts had already wrapped themselves so tight in his mind and squeezed until the terror was seeping out of him. Blitzo hated him. Blitzo never wanted to see him again. The last kiss they would ever share he was too drunk to even remember.

He never told Blitzo how he truly felt.

Stolas wouldn’t let himself cry for he had to stay focused on the noise behind the door. The hours passed and all was silent, but finally, when the moon was at its highest, he heard the hallway door to Blitzo’s room open and shut. Stolas counted down from five minutes, giving Blitzo enough time to get settled and join him. When five minutes passed, Stolas could still hear the noise of rustling next door, so he counted down again from five minutes. When that five minutes passed, he gave Blitzo the benefit of the doubt and counted a third time. When there was no more noise coming from the room, Stolas felt the slap of realization.

Blitzo wasn’t coming for him.

With great speed, he rose from his stoop on his bed and raced to the door. They hadn’t locked it since their nightly visits started, so when Stolas was met with resistance when he tried to tug it open, he could not stop the cry of despair. He had tried to hold himself together all day, slowly falling to pieces, and there was no stopping the tumbling now.

“Please unlock the door,” Stolas called as he struggled with the handle. “Please, my darling, I need to speak with you.”

The door remained locked.

“Darling, please, we have to talk,” He said a little louder. “I have an explanation!”

Nothing.

“Blitzo!” He shouted, and he started to bang his fist against the wood. “Please don’t do this. Open the door!”

It was then the darkness bit at his ankle and knees, twirling up his spine and settling against his shoulders. It pulled at his feathers, trying to find a way out.

Stolas let go of the door, clutched his stomach, and sank to the floor with his back to the door. With steady breaths, he settled his mind. The twirling shadows of all he could be but wasn’t trying to unstitch his resolve tried to chip away at the large wall he had placed around himself. It was hard work convincing the magic to stay put, stay concealed, and it was exhausting.

What had any of it gained him? This secret magic, this secret marriage, all these secrets tore into him. Left large wounds, soaking his clothes with black blood. He was so tired.

With a shaky breath, he let his head rest against the door and he spoke, maybe just to himself, maybe to Blitzo, maybe to the moon.

“I wish I would have had the courage to tell you. I know I should have told you. It was…I just…my father…wasn’t…None of this was my choice and if I didn’t think about it, it wasn’t real.” Stolas said the last words quickly for he had never said the words out loud before. “If I didn’t dally on it, I could have you and be happy. You have always made me so happy. But I see this was a happiness I didn’t deserve because how fair was it to you?”

He couldn’t give the excuse he was a child, because he wasn’t any longer. He knew he was smart, he could think logically, and understood the power he held over Blitzo. Yet, he let him take so much while giving so little.

"You gave me everything and I gave you half-truths.”

He trusted Blitzo, didn’t he? If so, why could he not bring himself to tell Blitzo the very reason he had to leave all those years ago? The truth he held so close to his chest at all times. The fluttering thought in his mind. Stolas was too much, yet not enough.

“How cruel of a monster am I?” He closed his eyes as he sighed. “ I do not blame you for hating me, my darling. I hate me too.”

Stolas' last words sank away as the door opened and he fell onto his back. He had to blink away the tears, but when his vision settled he was looking up at Blitzo.

“Get up, silly bird,” Blitzo told him in a flat voice.

Quickly, he rose and threw his arms around Blitzo and felt such relief when Blitzo held him just as tightly back. Stolas nestled his break in the crook of Blitzo’s neck and ran a palm down Blitzo’s back, feeling the raised bumps similar to the one on his head.

“I’m so sorry,” Stolas cried. “I should-”

“Stolas, not now,” Blitzo whispered into his feathers.

They went to bed, Stolas on the left and Blitzo on the right like they always had with the moonlight the only thing illuminating the room, but neither closed their eyes. Stolas had Blitzo to his chest and he softly traced around his horns. Stolas knew Blitzo was awake because by now, he knew what his breathing sounded like when he was asleep.

“I don’t hate you.”

Stolas’ fingers stopped their movement at Blitzo’s words. He watched as Blitzo left his pillow made of Stolas’ covered chest and crawled up to place their foreheads together. Stolas breathed in Blitzo’s sugar scent.

Blitzo placed his hands against Stolas’ cheek. “Kiss me.”

Stolas kissed him, breaching the division between their mouths and letting Blitzo fall against his body. Blitzo’s chest was warm against his own, and again he let his legs fall open. They were gentle and slow, the kisses becoming the kind of softness one could find in the moment before night shaded to morning. Although he hadn’t a drop of wine, his head felt light, and he let his hand explore Blitzo’s back, feeling the ridges that were emerging.

“You can go under the shirt,” Blitzo allowed.

Stolas paused, remembering Blitzo’s hesitation the prior night. “Are you sure?”

Blitzo’s eyes searched him, their faint glow giving Stolas confidence he hadn’t known before, and they were kissing again. Stolas took Blitzo’s graciousness and let his talons explore the warm skin under Blitzo’s torn-up shirt. The imp seemed to be made of contained fire, so alive and vibrant.

“I will never tire of this,” Stolas murmured against Blitzo’s lips.

A puff of air escaped Blitzo’s mouth, and though he looked like he wanted to say something, he moved to kiss Stolas’ neck, his collarbone, and the feathers along the collar of his shirt.

“You can do anything you want to me,” Stolas said in what he realized must be a moan. “Anything, my darling.”

Blitzo paused, and once again Stolas felt the moment fall to ruin.

“We also don’t have to do anything,” Stolas was quick to backtrack. “We can stop. We literally never have to kiss again if you don’t want to.”

Yes, no more kissing would potentially kill him with his dramatics but it was the truth.

Blitzo rolled over, dragging Stolas along so they lay side by side. They looked at each other, Blitzo’s thumb rubbing against Stolas’ cheek.

“I’m…”Blitzo started and then cursed. “f*ck, Stols, I feel so stupid saying this.”

“You are not stupid,” Stolas declared. “Please don’t talk about yourself that way. Continue.”

“I just don’t think I’m ready,” Blitzo confessed and then turned his face away. “I know it sounds so…ugh, childish.” Then his head shot back up again. “It’s so not because it’s you. I do want to, ya know, I mean, come on, look at your sexy ass!”

Stolas’ heart swelled and his smile grew, not because of the compliment, but because of the immense honor of this honesty. “No, my darling, I know it isn’t me. Thank you for telling me.” He mimicked Blitzo’s motion and rubbed along Blitzo’s cheek. “I will wait until you are ready.”

Blitzo groaned. “That is the problem. You shouldn’t have to wait for me.”

“But I will.”

“Why?”

“Because I want you to be my first.”

Blitzo pressed his lips to Stolas’ forehead. “What if I’m never ready?”

“Well, you would never believe what my books have taught me to do with my own fingers.”

“You are vulgar, Stolas.”

“Yes, my darling, I am vulgar, and my thoughts are a tad crass, but I am still a gentle-owl. My self-control is quite good. You could tease me to the ends of Hell and I would treat you with the respect you deserve.”

Blitzo sighed and pulled Stolas closer. “A guy like me doesn’t deserve you.”

“More like a fool like me doesn’t deserve the wonder that is you.”

They fell asleep in each other’s arms. They didn’t talk about Stella, or the marriage, or the upcoming ball, or the conversation Blitzo had with Tweed in the greenhouse. Stolas knew they probably should, yet when Blitzo was purring against him and his tail was wrapped around Stolas’ thigh, he couldn’t be bothered.

***

Stolas woke the next morning before the sun when he tried to snuggle against Blitzo and found nothing but his cold bed sheets.

“Darling?” He called.

He heard his name being called from behind the door and a moment later Blitzo’s face appeared through the crack.

“Just give me a second.” Blitzo held up a single finger. “There is something I gotta show you.”

The tone of Blitzo’s voice was concerning, and Stolas rose from the bed to wait for him. He found his robe, still a smidge too big on him, and he put it on over his pajamas. By the time he fluffed his sleep-tousled feathers down, Blitzo reemerged. Stolas noticed the soft blush across his face.

“Is everything alright?” Stolas asked as he took Blitzo’s offering hand.

Blitzo led him to the door as he spoke. “Just…try not to be upset.”

“Why would I possibly-”

His thoughts hit a wall when he entered Blitzo’s room. Stolas had only ever looked inside once through his accidental portal and knew it hadn’t looked like this before. Tweed was there, because of course he was, and taped up along the walls and scattered on the floor were dozens of pieces of paper. On closer inspection, he realized they were blueprints of the palace, as well as notes scribbled about the various Goetia. He saw a sheet listed as ‘Gemory’ with some sort of schedule planned out.

5pm: Dinner in the great hall, 14th seat on left 6pm: Opening Dance in gardens, main floor, right hand, 6:15pm: Dance w/ Raum in gardens, main floor, left hand, 6:25pm…

The more he looked, the more names he recognized: Paimon, Andrealphus, Raum…

Stolas.

“What is this,” He asked, his hand slipping from Blitzo’s so he could take hold of the paper with his name on it. It was the schedule created just that morning from Ozzie’s strategy planning.

Tweed held up his hands, and Stolas noticed they were shaking. “Your Highness, before you get upset-”

“I am not speaking to you,” Stolas snapped at Tweed, and then turned to face Blitzo and spoke in a softer voice. “What is all this?”

Blitzo did not falter as he drew his shoulders back. “Operation: Time To Get My f*cking Family Back.”

Stolas blinked and scanned the scribbled notes again trying to make sense of it. He saw various notes scribbled on a list of the household staff. Mr. Butler-neutral but judgy. Stezzy-backstabbing bitch. Albert-nuts enough for anyone to listen to. The list went on and on. Around him were dozens of dinner menus, lists of the planned dancing schedule, and scraps of paper from the party planning sessions that had been thrown out or left behind. He even caught the doodled stars and horses he had drawn as he daydreamed.

In the center of the mess, his eye caught something colorful. He walked to the pinned crumpled flyer hanging on the wall. It showed a circus tent with two young imps front and center. First, a boy with a wide grin holding a balloon animal. Second, a girl with curled horns with such sad and familiar eyes. The closer he looked, the more the memories came back. The little boy with the balloon horse. The girl walking the tightrope.

His Blitzo flying through the sky.

“Your family.” Stolas touched the grease-stained flyer as though it were precious jewels. “You found them.”

“Tweed found them,” Blitzo said, standing by his side. “They are going to be near the palace on the night of the Summer Solstice.”

Blitzo’s eyes were focused on the flyer, but Stolas could see what Blitzo was hiding. The slight tremble in his lip, the way his hands fidgeted at his side.

In all Blitzo did not say, Stolas understood.

“You are leaving,” Stolas stated, and did not pull away when Blitzo’s hand slipped back into his. Confirmation in the loudest form. “You are going back.”

Blitzo did not look at Stolas when he spoke, instead keeping his eyes on the flyer. “When I returned to the palace, I had convinced myself I wasn’t going to tell you. Hell, I convinced myself I wasn’t going to talk to you at all. Tweed and I were working on a plan for how I would escape the palace walls. All I had to do was keep my distance from you.”

Your Highness , Blitzo had called him on their reunion, and suddenly the heartbreak Stolas had felt then shifted in his memories.

Stolas squeezed Blitzo’s hand, and finally, Blitzo looked at him. Stolas saw the fear Blitzo would not name aloud written on his face.

With a shaky breath, Blitzo continued. “I tried so hard, but every time I saw you, you looked so damn sad. Then you wouldn’t eat and I could hear you awake in your room at all hours. I kept waiting for you to ring the f*cking bell but you never did.” Blitzo placed his hand on Stolas’ cheek. “I was so worried about you and couldn’t even ask if you were alright.”

Stolas turned his face to kiss Blitzo’s palm and then placed a protective hand over his. “Darling…”

“No, Stolas, I just gotta get through what I have to say.” Blitzo closed his eyes, took a breath, and continued. “I was so angry all the time and I tried to be angry at you but I couldn’t. So I told myself, we are only talking, that’s it. Nothing more. But each night I would lay awake in this room and wish I was with you. When you gave me an opening, I took it. I shouldn’t have.”

Stolas shook his head, not wanting to hear more but Blitzo met him with a kind glance and a watery voice. “Now I’m stuck because I don’t want to leave you, but I can’t pass up this chance to see my family again. Before you held me that night, I could have walked away from all this and been fine. When you kissed me, if I didn’t think about what I was going to do to you, it didn’t bother me. But last night with what you said…I couldn’t just leave you wondering where I went off to. I couldn’t leave you behind like I left my family.”

Blitzo was crying, and Stolas realized he hadn’t seen Blitzo cry since their first night so long ago. Stolas pulled Blitzo to his chest and felt his dear friend try to hold back his tears. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Tweed awkwardly waiting, and he knew there was something the boy wanted to say.

“Why are you here?” Stolas asked Tweed as he ran his hand up and down the raised spots on Blitzo’s back.

“Your Highness,” Tweed addressed him. “I apologize for any rebellious actions I have done, but I have been working very hard to get Blitzo back with his family. I simply ask that you consider-”

“Goddamn it, Tweed,” Blitzo bellowed, his tears ceasing with his frustration. “I told you it is my decision.”

“Your decision is being controlled by the brain in your pants and not the one in your head, you doofus.”

“They can work together!”

“They absolutely can not.”

The imp left his arms and stomped to his friend's side. Blitzo pointed to something pinned to the wall. “As of today, any of these plans are f*cking wrecked anyway. They moved the party, dumbass. Your little greenhouse escape isn’t going to work.”

“It can still work as long as we time it right!”

“There are too many uncontrollable factors.”

Tweed growled. “You are a f*cking uncontrollable factor!”

“Both of you!” Stolas shouted over the boys, a smidge worried fists might start to be thrown. “Walk me through this.”

“No,” Tweed fumed as he placed a hand over Blitzo’s mouth. “Your Highness, with all due respect, you are not someone we should make privy to the plan. You are a-ouch! Goddamn it!”

Tweed pulled his hand from Blitzo’s mouth and a few tiny pinpricks of blood spurted from his hand.

“Before your big blue guy showed up, we had it all figured out,” Blitzo explained as Tweed whimpered at the bite mark. “I was going to leave at the start of the ball, during the first dance. At that time, the south wall would be unoccupied for around ten minutes when the hellhound guards would be changing positions as security would more heavily settle into the ballroom. I would simply slip out into the night. Now, since this bullsh*t moved outside, there will be no change. The walls will be monitored the entire time and the big rooster hired extra security.”

“How do you know all this?” Stolas asked.

Tweed rolled his eyes. “You birds are assholes.”

“Excuse me?” Stolas huffed.

“You never notice who is in the room with you. I heard the entire plan this afternoon while you all were wandering around the gardens. If I don’t hear it outside, Blitzo does on the inside.”

“You are loud, silly bird,” Blitzo teased.

Stolas blushed and for a moment, he forgot what they were talking about, but it came back with full force as his eyes caught the circus flyer again.

He allowed himself fifteen seconds of uncertainty. Fifteen seconds of thinking of everything that was expected of him. His ancestry, his destiny, his marriage. What was he supposed to protect? Goetia security, his future wife, the safety granted to them by Lucifer so long ago?

No one had asked him what he wanted.

What did he want?

“I could portal you.”

Whatever conversation that had sparked in those moments of quiet died away. Both imps looked to Stolas, mouths open and eyes wide.

He continued. “I could portal you. You wouldn’t have to worry about guards or getting caught. I could easily get you there without all this complicated planning.”

“I…Stols, I don’t understand.” Blitzo’s eyebrows furrowed and he looked confused.

“I’m even better at portal opening than I was as a child.” Stolas grinned. “As easy as a flick of my finger.”

“Why would you help him?” Tweed said, bluntly. “He’s leaving you, Your Highness.”

Stolas smiled, knowing for the first time in his entire life exactly what he wanted. “It’s really quite simple, Tweed.” He then looked at Blitzo and although he was a few years late, took his stardust covered offer. “Blitzo, my darling, let’s run away to the circus.”

Chapter 10: The Summer Solstice

Chapter Text

“Look, Stols, there is a full moon tonight.”

Blitzo’s voice was low and sleepy as he murmured the words against Stolas’ thigh. From Blitzo’s resting spot on Stolas’ lap, he had a good view of the balcony doors. Stolas enjoyed the soft breeze and the scents of the flourishing garden at night and had formed a habit of keeping the doors open.

These quiet moments had been their nights since their plan was hatched, yet Stolas had not grown tired of this calm, this softness of the midnight sky stealing their shadows. Occasionally, he wondered if he should be getting into more mischief like Raum and Gem, clubbing in Gluttony, and drinking. Still, teenage rebellion never interested him when he was miserable. Why should it interest him when he was so happy?

Stolas had his own rebellion planned.

“Not quite, my darling,” Stolas cooed as he circled Blitzo’s right horn with a finger. “Tomorrow is the full moon. It will coincide with the Summer Solstice.”

“On purpose?” Blitzo yawned the sentence.

Blitzo always looked so at peace during these late hours. Stolas often sat awake, finding the silence the best time to think, and would watch the imp settle into a restful stillness.

“No, the full moon and the solstice land together every decade or so. My father says the stars show this as an honored event, but I can’t read the stars yet.”

“Will you soon?”

Stolas paused his finger’s dance and considered Blitzo’s question. For his entire life, he had studied the stars. He knew each pattern they held and learned of the secrets' existence but not their contents. His days had been working up to his oath, his birthright into the ancestral watch.

Yet, he would not take the blood oath. He would only read the stars what the common eye deciphered. The grimoire collecting dust on his shelf, tomorrow being the first time he had opened the book since he arrived back at the palace, would never be useful in his hands.

“The stars will not be our problem,” Stolas said. “Whoever takes my spot will have the right to be privy to the star’s demands.”

Blitzo lifted his head from Stolas’ lap. “I could be privy to your demands.”

“Oh hush,” Stolas giggled, knowing the day before them would be challenging. “Rest, my darling.”

Blitzo murmured something Stolas didn’t quite hear, more than likely a silly nickname, and fell back against the pillows.

“I will miss this bed,” Blitzo sighed and pulled Stolas to him, for it was the owl’s turn to be petted. “Circus cots are not as comfortable. Damn near on the floor.”

“I’ve never slept on a circus cot,” Stolas chirped, both in excitement and from the feeling of Blitzo’s claws through the feathers on the top of his head. “How thrilling!”

“I’m not sure thrilling is the right word,” Blitzo chuckled. “Irritating would be a better description.”

“Nothing can be irritating when I’m next to you.” Stolas nuzzled his beak against Blitzo’s chest and closed his eyes.

In his mind, Stolas considered his life in three parts: before Blitzo, the static between, and finally, when he knew he would leave the Ars Goetia behind. Since entering this new realization, he felt stronger, braver, and less likely to cower under the weight of all expected of him.

He wondered if this happiness was what life was meant to be after all.

“You don’t have to come with me.”

The words were said so delicately, so quickly that Stolas had to pick apart what they were. When the picture was painted, he pulled himself up to meet Blitzo’s face and took both of Blitzo’s hands in his own.

“Blitzo…”

“I’m just giving you an out.” Blitzo would not look at him. “If you have second thoughts or something. You don’t have to do this for me.”

“I’m not doing it for you,” Stolas sighed and gave Blitzo’s hands a kiss. “I’m doing this for us. I’m coming with you because I want to.”

Stolas dropped Blitzo’s hands and placed his palms against Blitzo’s cheeks, feeling the heat and curiosity sparkle under his skin.

“You are throwing away more than I am risking,” Blitzo said. “It’s so stupid to give this,” Blitzo looked to the top of the four-poster bed and then out the open balcony doors. “To give all of this up for a nobody.”

“My darling, you are not nobody!” Stolas huffed in disbelief. “You are the Great Circus Clown Blitzo! You are my best friend! You are…”

Stolas felt Blitzo’s jaw clench under his hands, and Stolas lightly massaged against the tension.

Stolas said, “I am a very foolish owl but also selfish. I know I am deliberately disobeying my father and my duties, but…”

Blitzo finally turned to him with such folly, such pure hope, that Stolas could not help telling him how deeply entrenched his heart had become.

“I am so terribly, horribly, devastatingly in love with you.”

Whatever barrier holding his most beloved back shattered, and Blitzo kissed him. The kiss was not passionate, nor was it innocent. Blitzo’s kiss was secured, reassured, and a promise. Blitzo did not say the words back, but he wrote his love with his claws against Stolas’ back as they lay side by side, their legs twisted, and their future bright ahead of them.

Even if the stars did bow to him, Stolas wouldn’t have asked them for anything more than what Blitzo had given him.

***

The morning of the ball, the palace was busier than it had ever been. Stolas didn’t quite understand the enormity of Ozzie's undertaking of the household staff until Mr. Butler pulled Blitzo from his bed at the break of dawn to help. Stolas had stopped caring if Mr. Butler or Tweed wandered in on them.

Blitzo was his, and he was Blitzo’s, and there was nothing more to it.

If he had more power, he would banish all other staff from his quarters and lay in bed with Blitzo as long as he chose, but his father’s expectations were still upon him. The most annoying were times he had to be social with his family, participate in the social gatherings of the Goetia, and practice his dancing with Stella, the latter being his least favorite.

Stella was undeniably beautiful by Goetia standards; she was stubborn, cold, and adequately trained as a future wife. Every time she walked into the room, Stolas wanted to run out of it. She would sit as close to him as she possibly could and leave a soft kiss on his cheek. Then, there was the constant barrage of questions and requests to go on walks. He had avoided most of them, and the ones he couldn’t excuse himself from, he kept very short with great distance between them.

Andrealphus was another handful over the preparation weeks. If Stella wasn’t suggesting they find time alone together, Andrealphus was. He even suggested Stolas sneak into Stella’s room a few times: ‘you know, as young owls do.’

Stolas avoided Stella’s room and cared little about what Andrealphus expected of young owls.

In the day leading up to the ball, Andrealphus had all the young Goetias confined in their guest rooms. Although Stolas had spent as much time away from the guests as possible, Andrealphus had confirmed that the dozens of Goetia youth taking their blood oath had safely arrived. Stolas knew them all from school and hadn’t missed any of them. School had been so cold, so lonely, so exhausting, and his peers had only made it worse.

After tonight, none of this would matter.

By the late afternoon, Blitzo and Tweed reappeared with a suit bag and enough preening oil to keep his feathers tidy for the next 15 years. First, they bathed him, scrubbing every inch of his body until he could feel the roots of his feathers and the beds of his talons. A few times, Blitzo managed to sneak a quick kiss to where he had scrubbed particularly hard, and Stolas pretended not to notice Tweed rolling his eyes.

Once bathed, he dried and sat for an intense preening session. For once, he enjoyed the pampering. Before, the attention to detail on his body made him squirm, but having Blitzo’s swift fingers gently pull away old feathers and fluff up the new made him feel incredible.

As Tweed pulled out the makeup kit Stolas kept in his vanity, Blitzo cursed.

“I f*cking forgot to shine the buttons on this jacket,” Blitzo groaned. “I’ll be right back, gotta go get the stupid polish.”

Which left him with Tweed, wonderful.

“Could you please look towards me, Your Majesty?” Tweed asked, holding an eyeliner brush.

Stolas was ready with some sort of snarky comment to Tweed’s request, but the poor imp only wanted to do his job. Even Tweed’s presence would not bring Stolas discomfort today.

As much as Stolas disliked the imp, he would not deny that his assistance had been most welcomed. Tweed had collected the plans needed to make this escape possible, had done the hard job of convincing the other imps to look the other way, and had found Blitzo’s family.

Yes, Tweed could be annoying and judgmental, but Stolas had to ask himself if these traits were true or just his jealousy, knowing Tweed had been there for Blitzo when Stolas could not.

An act so grand should be applauded, not shunned.

“I would like to thank you, Tweed,” Stolas said. “Your help has been most…helpful.”

Shoot, he said that twice.

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

Tweed focused the soft kohl pencil along the water lines of Stolas’ eyes, the lightest of touches, unlike Blitzo’s thick swipes during their drunken night. Tweed then moved to a shiny powder and blended it against the lid of his eyes.

“Could I trouble you,” Stolas asked softly. “To call me Stolas?”

Tweed did not falter in his work, his hand steady as he finished the last line of smoky shadow on his lid.

“I would prefer to keep our relationship strictly professional,” Tweed said bluntly, taking a fluffy puff and dabbing the setting powder against Stolas’ beak.

“As you wish. It is only that you have gone above your expected duties to help me…”

“I am not helping you.”

Stolas co*cked his head, forcing the puff against his mouth, resulting in a small coughing fit. When his lungs had settled, Stolas replied. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m helping Blitzo.” Tweed put the puff down and began to put away the makeup. “This escape is what he wants, and even though I don’t agree, I will help him.”

“You don’t agree?”

“Absolutely not. I think he is making a horrible decision by dragging your tail along.”

Ugh, Tweed.

Stolas turned his face back to the mirror and mocked the imp's reflection.“If you disagree, it seems a bit silly to help him.”

This question caused Tweed to pause, think, and then meet Stolas’s reflection. “Do you know what it is like for dirt-poor imps to fit in with the assholes at the school you made Blitzo go to? I had been there so long by myself and suffered the worst of it alone. But Blitzo talked to me when no one else would. Even if he was often upset, he wasn’t cruel or ever hurt me.” Tweed's voice was stern but determined, and for the first time, Stolas truly listened to what he was saying. “Probably hard for a prince to understand this, but he was my very first friend. I’ll protect him as long as he will allow me to.”

Stolas turned in his chair and looked at Tweed for the first time without jealousy or contempt. “Yes, I believe I do understand that.”

Whatever more could have been compared between this prince and this servant was silenced by the swinging of the door, and Blitzo reappeared with a loud proclamation. “Hey now, you two aren’t making out without me?”

Stolas and Tweed did not speak to each other the rest of the afternoon as they dressed Stolas in over-the-top attire. Andrealphus had been in charge of the formalwear and had made sure to tell Stolas just how expensive everything was, from the golden waistcoat to the soft red cape. These are Lucifer's colors, Andrealphus told the Goetian youth when they first spied the outfits. Looking at himself in the full-length mirror, he could admit it was not a bad color scheme: gold, red, and white.

“How do I look?” He asked Blitzo.

“Like a strawberry-covered funnel cake,” Blitzo said as he stood beside him.

“What is that?”

“You don’t know what a funnel cake is?”

“No?”

Blitzo wrapped his arms around Stolas’ waist. “Oh, silly bird, I’m going to teach you so much about the circus.”

Stolas turned in Blitzo’s embrace, kissed him, and sighed. “I cannot wait.”

***

Every citizen of Hell knew of the deal struck between Heaven and Lucifer. The details weren’t as much taught as they were felt each year. For the hellborn of the Pride Ring, the Goetia, the Sins, and those protected by the contract between Heaven and Hell, it was a day to stay inside and pretend to ignore the screams. Imp children would watch Voxcartoons, and Hellhounds would guard the doors of those with more status. The Goetia would look out of their mansions, palaces, and thrones and know that no harm would ever fall on them from the angels that had cast them out.

This was Hell; screams would happen, and as long as the screams weren’t from their throats, why should it matter?

And it hadn’t mattered for a very long time until a little owlet threw a tantrum over leaving his best friend, opening an uncertainty those in power hadn’t known was a possibility.

Above all else, the deal was about balance—the balance of Heaven and Hell, yes, but also the balance of Earth.

The Goetias played a very specific role after their fall from grace. With their mystical power, the kings were the first of the Goetia to step amongst the rubble of Hell and take their responsibilities from Lilith's mouth.

Paimon shared little of his life with his youngest son and nothing about those early days of Hell. He had never shared that Lilith had laid a finger between his eyes. He promised to craft art, develop science, and keep the winds in check. In return, she granted him the ability to pull secrets from stone, flesh, and air.

Paimon also shared little with his youngest son about the responsibilities entrusted to them by Lilith and, in turn, the careful fabric of balance. The Kings of the Ars Goetia held the duties that the angels did not want to deal with. Magic, flames, unholy creatures, powers that frightened them. With this steady tightrope walk, they all held the center of their worlds.

It had all gone fine for 10,000 years. The angels did their jobs, and the royal of Hell did theirs, paying mind to keep their distance from one another. It would have continued to go fine until Stolas unlocked a complication, caused a ripple in the stars, and had Heaven questioning whether the protection granted to the Hellborn should continue if the Goetias could not prove their loyalty to the precious balance.

As much as Paimon bowed to Lucifer, he did not trust him. Above all else, Lucifer would strike a deal to save himself and save his daughter. The rest of the Goetia would burn, and Paimon would not see this come to pass.

So Paimon sat at Lucifer's right-hand side, with Asmodeus, who had once walked amongst the Goetia, to Lucifer's left. They both hid their fear of what could come to pass. With the sound of trumpets, the ball began.

Ozzie had done a spectacular job of transforming Paimon’s Palace into an elegant work of art. The entire garden was decorated with floating lights, and in the center was a large wooden dance floor amongst the grass. Goetia of all ranks waited along the edges of the wood, nervously looking towards Lucifer for a sign of…well, anything.

The three sat on thrones that looked over the dancefloor. Lucifer was in the center, his throne dazzling white with golden apples, and it seemed to engulf the small king, but he didn’t seem to care. Paimon had known Lucifer for longer than he had known his own being and knew something had shifted in the king of all king’s world, but he had no right to question him.

The trumpets ceased, and the band began, signaling the entrance of those who would take the blood oath that night. They emerged from a portal held by Andrealphus, Paimon’s future son-in-law and the only other Goetia Paimon could put his trust into for their goals.

Stolas led the dancers, and for the owlet that sparked this disaster, his baby-faced appearance would not have suggested it. Paimon wanted to groan in embarrassment at his son’s short height, round cheeks, and large eyes. This was not a bird of prey Paimon had hoped for, but a chickadee. Still, Paimon did not forget the mercy granted to them that Stolas was too dumb to realize the power he could only if he could snatch it.

The waltz was as perfect as could be said. Paimon watched his son move in step with his future bride right on cue and without complaint. He knew his son did not care for Stella, and truly, who would when her snarl was as strong as Andrealphus’? They would create an heir worthy of their blood.

When the waltz was finished, King Paimon experienced two very great disappointments.

The first: Lucifer did not clap at the end of the waltz. The audience did, a polite because-we-have-to clap, but Lucifer remained unusually stoic and silent. His eyes were glassy, and it looked like he hadn’t been paying attention.

The second: Stolas’s attention had been flicking to the left side of the dance floor the entirety of the waltz, only too quickly for King Paimon to catch who he was looking at with such a look of utter devotion.

The other dancers joined the floor, and Paimon placed the two facts in his thoughts. 1) Lucifer was not impressed, and 2) Stolas was not trying. This would change by the night's end, of this he was certain.

***
The dreaded waltz had ended, and Stolas counted the minutes until he could escape this torment.

Stella’s hand was in his, and he led her off the dance floor like he had been trained to do. He guided her to the thrones, and they both bowed.

“My King,” They both said in unison and bowed again.

Stolas had met Lucifer once when he was just a boy. It was tradition for Goetias to be presented to Lucifer once they were old enough, and this was not the same king he had met before. He looked like the same king, but back then Lucifer had smiled at him and given him a small rubber duck. This Lucifer looked stern and ready to leave at a moment’s notice.

Lucifer did not return their greeting, and Ozzie indicated with his head that they should move along. Gladly, Stolas led Stella away from the thrones so the others could introduce themselves. Once they were out of eyesight, he tried to drop her hand. Like velcro, she dug her nails deep into his feathers, twirling them around so they would be ripped out if he tried to escape. She pulled him close and leaned closely in.

“Walk with me,” she flirted. "We have a good ten minutes before anyone notices us.”

The moon was not quite at the crest of its height, and until it was, he had to do his best to remain calm and not cause a stir. His freedom hinged on this.

“Yes, Lady Stella,” He accepted. “We can’t be gone long. This is our party, after all, and we are due to dance again in ten minutes.”

The couple walked along the secluded paths of greenery. Soon, other couples would be walking along, looking for a place to kiss or f*ck, but the night was still too early. They came upon a stone bench and Stella yanked Stolas down to sit with her.

“You are such a handsome dancer,” Stella told him as she scooted close, her voluminous golden dress pressed against him.

“Th-thank you?” Stolas hesitated. “You as-”

Her mouth was suddenly on his, and all the air was sucked from him. A part of his brain lit in defense, run run run, and he pushed against her. Using the weight of her ballgown to her advantage, she pressed harder, her nails cutting into him. It took all the force he could muster to buck her off of him. She landed upon the stone path with a ‘oof!’

“I do not want to kiss you, Stella!” Stolas cried as he gripped his arm. “I’m sorry, but I cannot kiss you like this!”

“And you think I want to kiss you?” She fumed, trying to get up from the ground, looking like an overturned turtle.

“You–you don’t?”

“Why would I want to kiss you? I would rather kiss an imp! No, I have to kiss you, and you have to kiss me, but it feels like I am the only one who is trying! Gods, Stolas, you are so…ugh!”

Stella managed to pull herself up from her fabric disaster and smooth out her dress. “We have to get married. My brother and your father decided this years ago. It does not matter if we want to or not.”

Stolas had never considered Stella did not want this, but seeing the anger in her eyes, the disgust, it was clear she was as forced as he had been.

“Why should we allow this?” He asked, nearly pleading with her. “Soon, we will be in power, and what they want won’t matter.”

“No, Stolas, you will be in power.” She shoved a finger into his chest. “You are the prince. You will take the blood oath. You will be important.” She crossed her arms against her chest and turned from him. “I will just be your wife with one singular purpose. So, the sooner we make an egg, the sooner you never have to pretend to like me again.”

“An egg!” Stolas screeched. “I’m fifteen!”

“As am I!” She turned back to him and clenched her fists to her side. “Do you think Andrealphus cares how old we are? As long as we conceive the precautionary heir, then I have succeeded in my task, and you can go about f*cking whoever you’d like. Who is it, by the way? Raum? He seems more your type.”

“Raum?I haven't–I’ve never–” He wasn’t sure why he felt he had to explain himself to her, but the fury in her stance didn’t seem to only stem from him. She looked like a child being scolded for doing something her parents weren’t fond of. “It doesn’t have to be like this.”

“But it does.” She took a long breath, ran her hands down her long hair, and stood tall. “Come, future husband, let us return to the party. Certainly, they will be missing us.”

Taking her hand, he led her back to the party. Andrealphus found them first, scanned them with piercing eyes, and took his sister’s hand more harshly than needed. The siblings left him to the side of the party to continue their scheduled dances, and Stolas obediently followed.

The party was picking up, the drinks were flowing, but everyone was sticking to their strict schedules. Stolas danced with Raum, and then Gem, and then Stella once again. He went around and around the floor, a different partner with each set, but his eyes always drifted to the left side of the floor. It was the best spot to see Blitzo with his tray of champagne flutes.

The rest of the Goetia didn’t seem to notice Blitzo and did not say thanks as they took the drinks from him, but Stolas thought he was the most beautiful creature in all of Hell. Blitzo had shined his horns until Stolas could see his reflection in them. Blitzo wore the gold and white uniform the staff was required to wear, and the color brought up the yellow of his eyes until they sparkled like shooting stars.

Two more hours, he told himself. Two more hours and this would be over.

Stolas held himself to the highest of standards for the two hours. He danced as he should, spoke with whom he should, and smiled as he should. The air was uncomfortable, for the fear of disappointing the uninterested king lived deep in them all.

Lucifer did not leave his throne, accept the drinks, or participate in the conversation. His eyes were focused on the ground, and Stolas wondered what he was thinking so hard about. The contract? The deal? The party? Or perhaps nothing at all, which made Stolas nervous.

As Stolas danced with Gem, he was drawn to Lucifer's presence. For the first time that evening, Lucifer lifted his head. Stolas nearly stumbled but kept his eyes on the embodiment of Pride as he kept his eyes on Stolas. Lucifer’s expression shifted, and he looked like he was calculating something in his mind.

It was only a matter of time before Lucifer found out…

Fifteen minutes before midnight and five minutes before their planned escape, Lucifer rose from the throne, whispered something to Ozzie, and disappeared in a flash.

The party fell into complete chaos. Gem immediately dropped his hand and ran towards the stage, closely followed by Andrealphus and Raum. Ozzie stood and tried to hush the nervous Goetias while Paimon fled from the thrones to the other kings in attendance. Imps and Hellhounds immediately sprung to action, trying their best to soften the eruption.

Amidst this mess, Stolas found Blitzo, took his hand, and they raced from the gardens. It was a little early, but it didn’t matter. Everyone was distracted; he would not have to feign an excuse to leave. The only noise inside of the palace was the sound of their footsteps racing down the hall.

Blitzo led them through the maze of the grand home, and Stolas had no desire to say goodbye to any of it. All he felt in his veins was adrenaline and promises of a better life. No more father telling him who he had to be, no more Andrealphus telling him he wasn’t good enough, no more Stella and a future he didn’t want.

Blitzo’s fingers were interlaced with his, and whatever fear that may have sprouted was burned like a weed.

“Here,” Blitzo pointed to the room that used to be Stolas’s study. “Quick!”

They raced into the room, and Stolas shut the door behind him. Tweed was waiting for them as they had planned, with a small pouch holding all the money Blitzo had saved and the proceeds of the gems and clothing Stolas had given Tweed to sell. They quickly changed into the street clothes Tweed had hidden away: a simple black hoodie and long pants for Stolas to try and cover his feathers and Blitzo’s favorite black t shirt and zip-up jacket. The uniform and the priceless outfit that had once been on their bodies were disregarded as though they were rags.

“I cannot thank you enough, Tweed.” Stolas took the imp’s hand, too excited to remember they were not best friends.

Tweed said nothing to him, took his hand back, and then turned to Blitzo. “Please be careful.”

Blitzo smirked at his friend. “I always am.”

“That is a lie.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Blitzo pulled Tweed into his arms, and Stolas averted his eyes. This moment wasn’t for him, and it was not right for him to judge the soft sniffles or promises to see each other again. When he turned back, the imps had separated, not because their hug was completed, but because another imp had emerged from the doorway.

“sh*t,” Blitzo blurted. “Mr. Butler–”

Stolas froze, trying to formulate an excuse to convince Mr. Butler not to tell his father, but there was no need.

“The Goetia are starting to return to the palace, Your Majesty.” Mr. Butler’s voice was as calm as ever. “If you are going to go, may I suggest doing it now?”

“Please don’t tell Paimon,” Blitzo asked before Stolas could make the plea.

Mr. Butler took a step back into the hallway. “Lesson seventy-two, Blitzo lad.”

And although it meant nothing to Stolas, Blitzo nodded in understanding. “Thank you.”

Mr. Butler nodded to Blitzo and then to Stolas before calling to Tweed to follow him. Tweed hesitated as though he meant to say one last thing, but he swallowed whatever it was, squeezed Blitzo’s shoulder, and joined Mr. Butler in the hallway. The light rumblings of scared Goetia began to emerge somewhere deep in the palace, and Mr. Butler shut the door.

There was nothing left to do but open the portal. With a deep breath, Stolas called for the magic within him. It took a moment for the rust shavings to chip away from so long unused, but like riding a bike, the violet power left the tips of his fingers and formed a portal in front of them, a little wobbly but still good.

“Well, silly bird, this is it,” Blitzo told him. “Are you ready to join the circus?”

“I’m ready for anything as long as you are with me.” Stolas took Blitzo’s hand. “Let’s go.”

They stepped together onto the circus grounds, and the portal closed behind them. They had emerged behind a tent, and luckily, no one had been paying attention enough to notice them. Hand in hand, they left the hiding spot and emerged into the thick of the festivities.

The traveling circus was very much as it had been in Stolas’ memories. Booths encircled the largest of the tents, selling popcorn and sugary drinks. Stolas could hear the sounds of hoofs somewhere amongst the clutter of noises, whizzing music, and joyful laughing. He saw so many children carrying animal balloons (all horses with legs, surprisingly) and the adults trying to keep those children from wandering off.

It was overwhelming, it was ridiculous, it was loud, and it was brass. All the qualities he loved about Blitzo.

Clowns danced around outside the big tent, beckoning people inside. Showtimes were displayed on a big screen, and they arrived just in time for the midnight time slot, the very last one of the day.

“Looks like we…”Stolas stopped whatever words were going to come out of his mouth when he saw the look on Blitzo’s face. Stolas took time to work it out. At first, he was nervous that it was a look of disappointment, but no, that wouldn’t have been right. “Darling?”

“I can’t believe I actually made it back,” Blitzo said softly, his voice small and tight. “I’m home.”

Stolas squeezed Blitzo’s hand, high off his own pride and accomplishment of this night. “Let's find a seat.”

Although Stolas was considered short by Goetia standards, he still stood a little taller than most of the imps in the circus tent stands. To avoid possible stares, they found seats in the very back corner. Blitzo suggested it, and Stolas noticed some hesitation in his actions for the first time.

“Are you nervous?” Stolas asked when they were safely seated.

“It’s just been a few years,” Blitzo stated. “What if…f*ck, I don't know. I’m in my own head.”

“Talk to me, darling,” Stolas bumped his shoulder against Blitzo’s. “Don’t keep your thoughts from me.”

“Pushy prince. It’s just…what if they forgot about me?”

“I don’t think that is possible. Everything about you is remarkably unforgettable.”

Blitzo turned to him. “Are you flirting with me at a time like this?”

“I’ll flirt with you till the end of time,” Stolas placed a soft peck on Blitzo’s horn. “Till my very last breath.”

“You are such a dork, Stols.”

With a light tug on the hoodie’s strings, Blitzo pulled Stolas down to meet his kiss. The lights dimmed, and Blitzo released Stolas so they could watch the show begin.

A spotlight emerged to showcase a platform that held a young girl, and with a swish of air, she was flying through the air, holding on tightly to a rope. Stolas watched the imp twirl on the rope before throwing herself into the open air. He gasped, fearing she was falling, but she caught herself on a trapeze. Again, she flung herself through the air before letting go. Her body was spinning in the air as the spotlight followed, and she landed safely on the ground. The imp nailed the landing, and the crowd clapped, but Stolas was more focused on Blitzo’s hand squeezing his own so tightly it was nearly painful.

“Blitzo?” He spoke in a hushed tone. “Are you alright?”

Blitzo did not look at him but spoke in a whisper. “That is my sister, Barbs. The last I saw her was…we were children.”

Stolas wasn’t sure what to say to Blitzo, so he squeezed his hand back. “She looks so much like you.”

Barbs’ aerial dance went on for a few minutes, and Stolas couldn’t count how often he felt his muscles tighten, fearing the teenager would fall. The longer the show continued, the more Blitzo’s own tenseness softened. Soon, he whispered to Stolas about the different moves Barbie was making, how she managed to twist and flip simultaneously, and how her landing was more difficult than anyone could imagine. Stolas realized that if Blitzo had stayed, he would have been dancing through the air like a comet leaving orbit with his sister.

Barbie stood for a final applause, and dozens of dancing clowns emerged behind the grand tent. They did somersaults and juggled, danced, and threw confetti into the crowd. Stolas had a hard time keeping track of them all as Blitzo pointed them out by name. Horses emerged and a few clowns did flips on their backs.

It was a chaos of a different sort, and Stolas was more than excited to join this life.

Once the overwhelming surge of performers settled, the spotlight landed on a lanky teenager with a bright red clown nose in the middle of the stage. Stolas knew this was Fizz before Blitzo told him. He had recognized the teenager as the little boy in Blitzo’s show who could make a balloon horse with legs.

“What a crowd we have tonight!” Fizz called out to a reemergence of cheering. “Are you ready for some jokes?”

There was more applause and cheering, and the little clown clearly thrived in it. Fizz’s smile was so vast, showing crooked teeth and a sense of confidence.

“Fizz always knew how to win a crowd,” Blitzo whispered to Stolas.

“Soon, you can do it together,” Stolas replied.

Blitzo blushed, and Stolas was over the moon.

Fizz cleared his throat as he paced the ring, but before he could tell his first joke, his eyes stalled in the crowd. The clown’s stare grew hard, and Stolas followed it to the seat beside him. Blitzo leaned forward, the light gently landing upon the tattoo in the middle of his face, and Fizz made a barely audible ‘huh’ noise.

The clown, obviously a professional, could pull himself from his daze and started his routine. The jokes were clearly funny, for the crowd laughed, but neither Blitzo nor Stolas heard them. Fizz had noticed Blitzo.

“Do you think he is mad?” Blitzo asked quietly.

Stolas shook his head. “I think he was shocked.”

“I hope so. After this, we are going straight to the performer’s tent,” Blitzo told him.

Stolas would not be able to recall the last half of the show that night. He could remember the bubbling of what lay ahead, the ‘soon’ that had only been a ‘maybe’ before tonight. He could also recall how the lights turned on when the show had ended, and they were a sharp white light pressuring the crowd to leave.

Instead of following the others out through the main entrance, Blitzo guided Stolas to the other end of the tent.

“Okay, before we go in, I need you to promise me something,” Blitzo said. “I need you to let me do the talking. I’m not sure what my dad told my mom, but whatever it is, I know how to smooth it over. I’m used to my dad’s bullsh*t. Also, the whole ‘runaway Goetia prince’ thing might freak her out, but I know how to convince her that everything will be okay. Just stay behind me.”

Blitzo was fidgeting with the hem of his tee shirt and tapping his foot nervously. Adorable.

“I will not embarrass you,” Stolas giggled. I know how big of a deal meeting my boyfriend’s parents is!”

Blitzo grinned. “Boyfriend, eh?”

“If you wouldn’t mind, I would very much like to call you that.”

Blitzo clicked his tongue. “Only if I can call you my boyfriend.”

Stolas held out his hand, mimicking the overlords that walked the streets of Pride. “Deal?”

“Deal.” Blitzo shook, kept their hands clasped, and entered the tent.

At first, Stolas wondered why it was so quiet backstage. Only moments ago, there had been so many performers that he would have expected the back to be crowded. He realized this must be something other than the performers' rooms, as there was only a single cot and a beaten up trunk.

A slow rocking noise drew his attention, and he turned to find a very old imp with very large horns in a rocking chair. He had a long cigar and blew the green smoke out with a cough. Although age had hit this imp hard, Stolas recognized Blitzo’s father, and from the deep breath from Blitzo, he had recognized him too.

“Who the f*ck are you?” Cash pointed at them with his cigar.

“Your f*cking son.” Blitzo let go of Stolas’ hand and gently pushed the prince so he was behind him. “Remember me?”

Cash narrowed his eyes, took another puff, and grunted. “That really you, Blitzo?”

“In the flesh.”

“Hm. Who is the tall fella.”

Stolas pulled the hoodie further down his face. He couldn’t let the man recognize him.

“It's not important right now.” Blitzo stepped into Cash’s vision of Stolas. “Why didn’t you come back for me?”

Cash rocked on the wooden chair, took another long drag of the cigar, and flicked the ash off the tip onto the dirt floor. “You still upset about that?”

“Still upset?!” Blitzo’s laugh was loud and frenzied. “I was ten, Dad! You sold me to a royal asshole as a playdate, made me steal his sh*t, and then you just skipped town. The sick f*ck made me into a servant.”

It hurt to hear the words, but Blitzo was only telling the truth—the truth that just so happened to feel sharp in his side.

Cash nodded and continued to rock in the wooden rocking chair. Blitzo wore a snarl, and his fists clenched.

“Well, what do you want?”

Blitzo tsked. “I want to come home.”

“Kid, this is really going to put a wrench in the rest of our summer plans,” Cash said after another exhale of smoke. “Mammon is looking for his next big thing, and I got it right here in this circus. You showing up is going to create problems.”

“I don’t really f*cking care if my return home is at a bad time,” Blitzo hissed. “I want to talk to Mom.”

Cash’s eyebrows met in confusion, but then his face fell. “Your mom ain’t here, boy.”

“Finally left your drunk ass?” Blitzo ribbed at his dad with a toothy smile.

“Yeah, for a pine box six feet under.”

Stolas’ heart dropped and the vitriol in Blitzo’s face drained away.

“No, you are lying.” Blitzo took another step towards his dad. “You f*cking sack of sh*t, where is she?”

Cash rocked back in his chair. “You know your mom had a bad heart. Just gave out one day. It's how things go.”

“Stop f*cking lying to me!” Blitzo screamed as he grabbed onto the arms of the chair to stop it from rocking. “Where is she!”

“On her family’s plot back on Wrath.” Cash’s grin was wicked. “You can go visit anytime you’d like. I’m sure her headstone would love to chat with you about how the search for your sorry ass tired her out. Now let go of my goddamn chair.”

Blitzo let go, the force bringing the chair to rock again, and he took a few steps back. His eyes searched the ground as the truth set in.

“Mama.” Blitzo sounded so small, like a lost child.

This had not been part of the plan, and although he promised Blitzo to stay in the shadows, he raced to his boyfriend's side and placed his hand on his shoulder.

“Yes, yes, very sad,” Cash said in a faux sob. “Best you get going now. Wait, tall fella. I know you from somewhere…”

“Fizz and Barbie,” Blitzo cut him off. “I need to see them.”

“You need to take your tall-ass friend and leave my circus.” Cash took another puff of his nearly finished cigar. “Those brats were sh*t clowns for a good year after your burglary went wrong. Barbie couldn’t walk a straight line on the ground, and all of Fizzie-boy’s jokes fell flat. Luckily I had all that loot from those f*cking beaky f*cks. It took a lot of my precious time convincing them you were dead just so they would do their jobs.”

“You told them I was dead?” Blitzo said through clenched teeth. “Did Mama think that?”

“Only thing that made her stop looking. Didn’t know it would be the thing that did her in, but what do you do?”

Stolas squeezed Blitzo’s shoulder and Blitzo fell silent. They had not planned this.

This was going all wrong.

The rocking chair creaked against the dirt floor one last time before Cash got to his feet. “It's best if you leave and don’t come back now, you understand? Fizz and Barbs are doing better without you than they ever did with you.”

“Come on, Stols,” Blitzo said, his voice clipped and short. “Let's get out of here.”

Blitzo turned away from the smiting grin of Cash, but Stolas could not so easily. All their friendship, Blitzo had spoken so highly of his world. He had worked so hard to return home. Stolas was not going to let his horrible disgrace of an imp take Blitzo’s dream from him.

Stolas would not allow it.

“Apologize to your son.”

Cash turned to him and barked a laugh. “Nothing to apologize for.”

“Stols, let's just go,” Blitzo said. “He isn’t worth it.”

No, Cash might not have been worth it, but Blitzo deserved an apology from this man. At least one son should get an apology for a careless father.

“I am ordering you to apologize.”

Stolas didn’t recognize his voice, which was somehow darker and deeper but familiar. It seemed to echo off the fabric walls, not booming and grand but eerie and chilled.

The ever present darkness in himself spoke to him for the first time.

The son of the Mighty King Paimon finally shows his face.

Someone grabbed his wrist, but his mind was set. Stolas did not use his hand to push who was holding him back but felt a tendril of magic do the work for him.

Somewhere behind him, he could hear his name being called

“I’m not-” Cash started but stopped with a cough that turned into a violent hacking.

“I will not have a co*ckroach upset what is mine.”

Stolas’s hood fell away as the most determined strands of magic escaped from any crack in his demeanor they could find. The imp’s eyes widened, and he pointed a gnarled finger at Stolas. His cracked and dry lips tried to form words, but all that came out was an airy creak.

Stolas felt the darkness reach for him, and he let it go.

His vision blurred as he felt the gentle stretch of his limbs. The world's loud and painful noises ceased. The world's colors melted away, blending to a comforting ruby. Anxiety, dread, and embarrassment ebbed away, and all he felt was a stillness in his core as he became encompassing.

The imp, under his reddened gaze, shook and held up his hands. The coward said something Stolas would not hear, for it was all silver-coated lies.

“May the Hells be cleansed of careless fathers.”

The words sprouted and grew, vining their way from Stolas's most painful memories and forming into thick roots. Developed from the deep loneliness of Stolas’ childhood, the fear of never experiencing love, the need to be cherished by someone who didn’t know how to hold him. The roots, gnarled and coarse, dug from his fingers into the dirt floor, and he felt the living things cover everything in their way.

No more fathers telling their sons they were too weak.

No more fathers telling their sons who they were meant to be.

The branches shot towards the skies, tearing into whatever stood in their way.

No more father telling Stolas he was an abomination in the worst sense. No more secrets pulled from his head to be used to control him. No more being hidden away. He needed his father to just stop with it all, stop, stop, stop.

“Stop!”

A record skipped, a sharp snap of a branch, and a tightening around his ribs.

“Stolas, please!”

Pressure under every tendril of magic, hundreds of chances to hold someone down, steal a choking breath, someone begging, stop stop stop

“Come back, Stols, please come back.”

Arms around him, all of him, pulling him back. Kind arms, loving arms, arms that held him through the worst of it all.

Blitzo. His Blitzo.

“Darling,” Stolas tried but could not find his mouth, tongue, or breath, yet the arms did not leave him. Again. “Darling.” Better, clearer. “Blitzo.”

Like a puzzle, disassembled needing to be safe back in the box, Stolas pulled all the pieces back into himself. It was painful for the magic just didn’t fit, but he shut the lid tight enough that it wouldn’t reemerge, and he held himself closed until he was sure.

When Stolas opened his eyes, his real eyes, all four of them, he found himself staring into Cash's unseeing eyes. His arms were holding him up above the dead imp’s body, and a wooden stake, once an arm of his rocking chair, stuck out of his chest. If Stolas lowered himself even half an inch lower, it would penetrate his own heart. But he couldn’t even if he wished to, for Blitzo’s arms tightly held him around his waist, holding him up.

“Darling,” Stolas tried again, his voice raspy.

Then the arms were gone, and Stolas pushed himself to his side and off the body. Every inch of him was in pain with the vibrating demand of the magic to escape again.

He found Blitzo on the ground near him, his legs drawn into himself as he shook. His eyes were wide as he stared at Stolas, a glassy fear that Stolas had never seen.

“Darling?”

“What did you do, Stols?” Blitzo’s voice cracked, and Stolas noticed the black blood smeared across Blitzo’s face, splattered across his cheek and chin.

“Are you alright?” Stolas painfully reached for him and winched when Blitzo pushed himself backward, further from him.

No, no, Blitzo was not hurt. Stolas could see the trail of blood leading from where Blitzo sat trailed back to Cash. Only Blitzo’s father’s blood. Blitzo was okay.

He was frightened, but he was okay.

“What did you do?” Blitzo repeated. “What are you?”

Stolas didn’t understand. He tried to understand, but his head was so murky and sluggish, and keeping the darkness at bay took all his energy.

“I’m just me, my love,” Stolas reassured Blitzo. “Your boyfriend.”

Blitzo closed his eyes and put his head in his hands. Like this, Blitzo looked like the fifteen year old that he was. Stolas tried to get Blitzo’s attention, begging him to look his way, but the bricks of the invisible wall he had built were so damn bright.

How had this gone so wrong?

Stolas didn’t understand why the tent they were in was in shambles, why splinters of wood littered the room, why heavy slashes at the very top of the tent’s fabric let in the light of the full moon…and why the room was hazy with green smoke. He followed the haze past the destruction, past the dead father, and saw the nearly finished cigar next to the rising flames of the circus tent.

“Fire,” Stolas hissed, and although his body ached with each movement, he rose to his feet. “Blitzo, we have to go.”

The fire was fast, zipping up the cloth tent and hitting the rafters. He tried to force his magic out to stop the spread, but nothing emerged. He was too drained from the efforts of holding the darkness back.

He made it to Blitzo’s side on wobbly legs as the smoke became thick.

“Darling, we have to move,” Stolas begged, shaking Blitzo.

Blitzo did not pull himself from the protective hold he had on himself.

“Then I’ll carry you.”

Using the strength that hadn’t been stolen to hold back a force he could barely control, he pulled Blitzo to his feet. The imp did not fight back and let Stolas half carry, half drag him out of the tent through a significant slash that hadn’t been there before. There was no time to ask, no time to make sure Blitzo was okay. They had to move.

The fire spread to the larger tent in less than a minute, and at that point, there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.

The families who were still lingering ran from the circus grounds . The overwhelming amount of flammable structures made the air smokey and almost unmanageable to see through. Horses dressed in colorful saddles ran through the bedlam. Half-dressed performers raced from the smaller tents that were now catching alight.

In the past five years, Stolas had only been to his father’s palace, the tower, and school. He didn’t know where he was or where to go. Nothing looked familiar, and at every turn, he was met with burning smoke.

He tried again with his magic, tried to push his power out but nothing emerged. A portal would not form where he willed it. He could not loosen his hold on the darkness but could not find a drop of his own magic in his body to spare. Every breath felt like swallowing glass, and he coughed away the debris.

Suddenly, Blitzo was fighting against him, trying to escape his hold. Although confused, Stolas was quick to tighten his grip.

“Barbie!” Blitzo screamed as he fought against Stolas.

In the distance, nearly hidden by the cloud of smoke and flames, was the trapeze girl, Blitzo’s twin. Her brother's voice stopped her in her tracks. She called for Blitzo, waving to him to follow her. She screamed for him to help her.

She was running towards a tent ablaze, running into the fire, not away from it.

“That way isn’t safe!” Stolas took wide steps in the opposite direction.

Blitzo struggled. “Goddamn it, let go of me! Barbie!”

The imp fought harder against Stolas’ already damaged chest and used his sharp heels to stomp on Stolas’ feet. Blinding pain burned in his mind, but he would not lose Blitzo. He couldn’t, not after they had come so far. With wide steps, he pulled them both as far as he could.

“Bastard!” Blitzo bit, kicked, and dug his sharp claws into Stolas’ arm.

The sharp, electric taste of magic filled his beak and ran up his spine. Stolas thought for a moment that his strength had returned and they would be safe, but a quick hand gripped him from the back of his hoodie, and he was pulled into clean, cool air.

Stolas gasped as he landed on the cold tiled floor. He tried to take a deep breath but coughed until his head swam. He kept his forehead to the floor and would have happily stayed there, but the hand that held him down pulled up to his feet.

“Did you have a nice evening out, Prince Stolas?” Andrealphus’ sour voice filled his head.

No.

Blinking away the smokey tears, he saw they were back in the palace, just outside the throne room. His vision cleared just in time to see the mighty King Paimon dragging Blitzo into the room by his horns.

“Blitzo!” Stolas tried to yell, but his voice was broken and wheezy.

Stolas tried to race after Blitzo, but his broken body was slammed against the hallway wall and Andrealphus’ arms pressing his sore shoulders down.

“What were you thinking?” Andrealphus spat in his face. “All you had to do was control your sh*t. You have royally f*cked us!”

“Get off of me,” Stolas pushed, but Andrealphus pushed back harder.

“I’ve spent my entire life working so hard to give you a comfortable life. I molded my gorgeous sister into the perfect f*ck doll for you. I am still paying back the radio demon for his precious time to train you. I even convinced your father to let you keep your disgusting imp clown to keep you content, and you go ahead and throw all my efforts away.”

Andrealphus pressed the bony joint of his wrist against Stolas’ sore muscles. “If we aren’t all dead by morning, I will personally kill you, you pathetic waste of feathers.”

Then they were moving again. Stolas felt himself being walked the short distance down the hallway and into the throne room. His vision was still blurry from the smoke and the efforts to hold back the magic trying desperately to emerge. It wasn’t until he was forced to stand beside Andrealphus off to the side in the great hall that he could truly see the scene at play.

Ozzie stood near King Paimon’s empty throne, wearing an odd frown and holding a tied scroll in his hands. Mr. Butler stood near Ozzie, and for the first time in Stolas’ life, he saw the man nervously wringing his hands. King Paimon rose from his throne at Stolas’ entrance and took the two steps to loom in front of a Blitzo, held in place by the magic of his father’s sigil.

Blitzo did not cower at Stolas’ father’s looming presence. With his jaw set and his fist clenched, Blitzo stood his ground. Stolas tried to run to Blitzo to defend him, but Andrealphus’ claws dug deep into his arms.

“Don’t you say a word,” Andrealphus whispered to him.

The room darkened, surely the use of his father’s magic and the soft glow of Paimon’s sigil lit under where Blitzo stood.

“The Little Imp Thief,” Paimon announced. “Twas not so long ago we stood here. I did not expect to ever have to see you in my throne room again.”

“If it was up to me, I wouldn’t be here either,” Blitzo snarled, and Stolas wanted to clap at Blitzo’s bravery.

“Temper, temper,” Paimon sang as he walked along the utter rim of the sigil. “I gave you a grand gift. You do not see the honor bestowed on you in my actions. Why commit such a great treachery against one who has done you a great kindness.”

“I haven’t done sh*t to you.”

“Is that so?” Paimon stopped when he was back at the start of the circle and directed a single claw towards Stolas. “Is that my son?”

Blitzo would not look at him.

King Paimon sighed. “Defiance will not rid you of your guilt. Again, I will ask, is that my son?”

When Blitzo would not look, Paimon snapped his fingers. With a cry of pain, Blitzo’s head turned towards Stolas. Stolas could see the effort in Blitzo’s eyes to not meet his own, but the power in Paimon’s sigil was stronger than the might of a fifteen-year-old.

“Yeah,” Blitzo finally said.

King Paimon snapped his fingers again, and Blitzo gasped as the magic let go of his face. “See, little one, it's not so difficult to follow a task given to you. Especially one given to you by someone so merciful. Was it not I who gave you a home after your father abandoned you? Was it not I who gave you an education? Was it not I who gave you so much access to my son? My heir?”

Blitzo cried out as his jaw rose until he had no option but to look Paimon in the eye.

“Which is why I question why you would try so hard to turn my son against me?”

Blitzo’s eyes widened, and he fought against the magical hold. “You’ve got it all wrong. Stolas didn’t do-”

“I am not asking the actions of my son!” Paimon’s voice boomed as it was thrown against the walls. “Stolas is part of the mighty line of Ars Goetia, those blessed by Lilith at the very start of Hell. He does not need an imp to defend him.”

Before anyone could respond, a ruckus from outside the hall drew their attention. Gem entered first, holding a familiar shoebox Stolas had seen before. Stolas watched as she took her place next to King Paimon. As Stolas tried to work out where he had seen it before, his attention was driven to Blitzo’s sudden failed attempts at leaving the sigil.

“Let him go!” Blitzo yelled as he threw himself against the air, only to be thrown back by his father’s magic to the center of the sigil. “He didn’t have a damn thing to do with this!”

Raum emerged through the entrance, looking roughed up but holding Tweed like a victory prize by his wrists. Tweed’s left eye was swollen, and Stolas watched as drops of blood fell from his broken nose onto the floor. Blitzo tried harder to escape the hold of the sigil as Raum threw the imp to the floor in the space between Blitzo and Paimon. Tweed managed to get to his knees but kept his eyes on the floor.

“You are new to this home,” Paimon spoke down. “What is your name?”

“Tweed, Your Majesty.”

“Your headmaster highly recommended you,” Paimon recalled. “You are intelligent, hardworking, and already familiar with my home due to the time you spent with your roommate, a certain Blitzo, correct?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Paimon nodded. “How I love smart little things. Pity you were so heavily involved in the plot against me.”

“You f*cker!” Blitzo screamed.

“Language,” Paimon shushed Blitzo, and with another snap of his fingers, no more sound emerged from Blitzo’s trap. “Gemory, could you hand the shoebox to the imp?”

Gem handed the shoebox to Tweed, who took it with shaking fingers, and it was then Stolas remembered. Those early days of sneaking out with Blitzo, the night Blitzo had kissed him, Tweed had been waiting in the greenhouse with the shoebox.

“Can you explain the contents inside?”

Blitzo’s motions in the unbreakable hold of the sigil became more frantic. Stolas knew that although he couldn’t hear him, Blitzo did his best to tell Tweed not to say a word.

“Notes, Your Majesty.”

“Notes about what?”

“The ball, Your Majesty.”

His father groaned, “Does anyone have time for these short answers? Hm?” When no one said anything, Paimon sighed, " I didn’t think so.”

King Paimon pressed his finger to the spot between Tweed’s eyes, and the imp screamed.

Stolas fought against Andrealphus’ hold, for he knew the pain Tweed was experiencing. He knew the sharp heat of King Paimon’s powers, the searching and digging feverish search for information hidden in one’s memories. The flames of Paimon’s magic.

“Father, you are hurting him!” Stolas cried and felt Andrealphus roughly pull him back.

As quickly as the invasion happened, King Paimon pulled his finger away and kicked the shoebox with such force that hundreds of scraps of paper, menus, flyers, notes, and doodles were thrown into the air and scattered around them like rain.

“What is it about this stupid boy!” King Paimon shouted before grabbing Tweed by his collar. “Tell me, imp, is your love for him worth your life?”

Tweed said nothing as he whimpered with pain. Paimon threw the imp off to the corner of the room as though he were a crumpled-up piece of paper from the shoebox.

“I am through with these games being played under my nose.” Paimon placed his hands against the magic keeping Blitzo trapped. “Whatever hold you have on my house ends.”

“Just let us go.”

Stolas did not know he would make the plea until it left his mouth. His father turned to him, everyone turned to him, but he did not feel anxious at the stares. Andrealphus tried to cover his Stolas beak with his hand, but King Paimon waved him away. Andrealphus removed his hold on Stolas’ arms, and Stolas fell to his knees before the king.

Stolas felt so tired, so drained, and on his very last leg.

But he was done being terrified of his father.

“You said it yourself, Father. I am a danger to the Goetia.” Stolas made sure to keep his eyes on his father’s burning gaze. “I will revoke my title. I will willingly give up whatever magic I can. Make Andrealphus the Watcher of the Stars. He deserves it far more than I do.”

Andrealphus made a noise of surprise from behind Stolas, but he didn’t care. Give it to Mr. Butler, for f*ck’s sake, it would not keep him awake at night.

“It is not that simple, my son,” Paimon told him. “You are the heir. A grand power has never just been willingly given to someone else.”

“Then be the first to do it.” Stolas held out his hands. “I will do what I have to to figure out a way to give this power to someone else.”

“We’ve tried–”

“We were trying to break the power apart,” Stolas reminded his father. “The darkness doesn’t want to be separated. I don’t want any of it. I will give it willingly to Andrealphus. I will give it willingly to you.”

King Paimon knelt before his son, and he pulled Stolas’ dusty grimoire from his cloak. Stolas looked at the tome, once his key to knowing all he could about his powers, but now it made him sick.

Once again, he met his father’s gaze. “Blitzo and I will go far away, to another ring entirely. You can tell everyone I am dead. We will never bother you again.”

King Paimon set the book down at Stolas’ side and sighed. “How young you are, my son.” His father’s great hand cupped his cheek. “My boy.” Paimon’s other hand smoothed down his feathers. “My stupid, stupid child.”

Paimon’s finger landed between Stolas’ eyes, and he felt the heated daggers in his mind. All the air left his lungs, and he could not fight the scrapping along his skull. Ever so slowly, his father pulled at his memories, letting them boil in his mind.

You can have a sleepover in my room!

The first moment I can, I will free you…

For once I feel happy…

I’ve missed you, Blitzo.

My first kiss from my first friend. How lucky am I?

I will always be yours.

Like scissors to a taut wire, his father released the hold on him. The room had fallen silent, and the only noise was his own sobbing.

“Really, Stolas?” His father’s voice did not hold the incredible power of a mighty king but the exhausted disappointment of an unwilling father. “After all the work in the tower to break you of his hold, you would still choose that boy.”

Stolas swallowed his hiccuping cries. “I do not want a life without him.”

“Very well.”

His father rose, and Stolas saw Blitzo pressed against the magic holding him. Their eyes met, and Stolas wished he could provide some comfort and reassurance that things would be okay.

King Paimon snapped his fingers, and the silencing that had taken Blitzo’s voice fizzled.

“Your Majesty,” Blitzo started but stopped as soon as King Paimon held up a finger.

“Asmodeus, would you kindly bring me the scroll?

Stolas watched Ozzie shift from one foot to another before clearing his throat. “Paimon, we’ve known each other for a very long time, my friend, from the start of Hell itself. This,” Ozzie held up the scroll. “This isn’t what we are about. Why don’t play sinners’ games.”

“You are right, my dear friend.” Paimon turned to Ozzie. “About the fact that we have known each other for a long time. You are very wrong about what the Goetia are about, for you haven’t been one for a long time. Give me the damn scroll.”

Paimon snatched the scroll from Ozzie’s hands and turned back to Blitzo. Stolas squinted to read any writing on the rolled scroll, but he was too far, and the lighting was too dim.

“I think I understand the situation better,” King Paimon said to Blitzo. "When I showed compassion for a little lonely thing in my throne room all those years ago, I did not have the wisdom to foresee what difficulties you would present. I will take the blame for this.” Paimon waved his wrist towards Stolas. “My son is a hopeless romantic, no matter how we try to burn that piece of him away.”

“You are cruel,” Blitzo hissed.

“Thank you,” Paimon offered. “Now, I know imps have itsy-bitsy brains, so let me explain this in a way that will grant you clarity. My son must take his blood oath. My son is a fool and believes you will rescue him from his responsibilities. My son apparently needs a reason to do the very thing he was created to do.”

Paimon reached his hand through the magic keeping Blitzo at bay and placed a finger to his chin. “I have every reason to kill you where you stand.”

“No!” Stolas shouted and tried to get up, but Andrealphus quickly held him down to his knees. “Father, please!”

“Hush, child, Daddy is talking,” Paimon mocked, turning back to Blitzo. “So I’ve decided to once again grant you mercy and offer you a deal.”

The scroll, so lovingly wrapped in a golden bow, undid its wrapping and unwound. Stolas focused on the words and felt the twinges of his magic flare. The writing looked familiar…

A body contract.

“Don’t sign it!” Stolas called to Blitzo and then to his father. “Father, don’t make him sign it. I’ll take the oath!”

His father did not heed his pleas and spoke louder to be heard over Stolas’ shouts. “I will allow you to continue working in this home. You will still be paid whatever meager sum you are paid. You will still have access to my son. Be his mistress, I really don’t care, just as long as he manages to create a precautionary heir per his upcoming marriage agreements. In return, you will end your failed attempts at turning my son against me. You will forget your family. Your clown nonsense will end. In fact,” Paimon scanned the scroll for a moment. “Ah, yes! Right there! From here on out, you will not step foot in another circus and vow to give up your ridiculous clown ways. Starting with your name. I was thinking Blitz sounds a bit less silly, don’t you?”

“f*ck you,” Blitzo swore.

“Lastly, you give your right to full autonomy to my bloodline. Nothing big, just if we need you, you will have no choice but to answer regardless of the request. What do you say?”

Stolas tried to fight against Andrealphus’ hold. He remembered the work his father and the overlord had done to perfect the contract for beings without human souls. He knew how airtight it was. He knew they had unlocked the secrets to total control over another hellborn. He shouted at Blitzo again not to sign it.

Blitzo looked at the contract. “Why would I agree to this?”

Paimon sighed. “I’ve already explained that, you idiot. My time is quite precious and I am tired of these questions. Let's just get to the point.”

Everything happened quite quickly once King Paimon snapped his fingers.

Blitzo, who had done so well standing so strong, was forced to the ground. The right side of his face and body was pressed against the sigil in the floor, except now it was glowing hot as welded steel. The smell of the searing of his flesh hit the crowd before Blitzo ever felt it. He fought against the hold, pressing his palms, stomach, and tail against the ignited sigil to push himself up. Like a trapped animal, he screamed and twisted but could not get free.

Raum and Gem screamed for Paimon to stop, both overwhelmed and shocked that things had escalated so far. They were still so young, and while they knew the power Paimon possessed, had never seen him enact it. Ozzie tried to coax his old friend to cease this torment and consider what he was doing, but in his heart, he knew that Paimon had made up his mind hours ago as to how he was going to punish his son.

Mr. Butler raced to Tweed, who was screaming for his oldest friend. The elderly servant held back the teenager, knowing his fateful words to Blitzo so long ago had come true. No one could save him at this point without risking themselves. Blitzo could only save himself.

Paimon kneeled to his sigil, fully aware of the power of his fire. His magic burned hot, it always had, and he held a feathered pen to the pathetic imp he had captured. Sign it, he called over the imp’s scream. Sign it, and the pain will end. Sign it, and you will live.

What choice did Blitzo have when his very death could be stopped by a single signature? Using the feather, he drew the sloppiest ‘B’ he could manage.

Except Paimon didn’t free him. In fact, shimmering violet chains held him down onto the burning sigil. He screamed for help, screamed for Mr. Butler, screamed for his mom, screamed for Tweed.

“Take the oath, Stolas!” Paimon called out to his son. “Your little toy isn’t having a fun time over here!”

Through the noise and the disaster, the choice Stolas was forced to make was finally illuminated. The circus had been a pleasant dream for a few weeks, but it wasn’t the actual circus he wanted, but the freedom it had promised. For that short while, he could plan a future with Blitzo. They had talked so much late into the night about what they wanted to do, and it would have all been their choice.

It was always going to come to this. He knew it now. Blitzo could not save him, for what beautiful flower could save an oak with roots entangled so deep in the soil?

Using the point of his beak, Stolas tore into the flesh of his hand. He tasted the twinges of magic and spit it to the side. Andrealphus, clearly not understanding what was happening, hollered at Stolas for spitting but quickly let him go when he saw what Stolas was doing. The black blood ran down his palm, and he placed his wounded hand on the cover of the grimoire and spoke in a language he didn’t even know he knew.

Was there supposed to be some big event? Were the stars' secrets supposed to hit in like a tidal wave? He felt the same until he pulled his hand back, and the book opened independently. Or perhaps not its own, but through Stolas’ desire for information. It was a bit funny, but the book landed on a page, a simple restoration spell, a way to quickly regain energy from magic lost.

Yes, it was a bit funny. It was so funny that Stolas spoke the words on the page and felt the magic creep back into his fingers. His magic. Not the darkness, but his sparkling violet magic, which he was comfortable with—the kind that could create a small flower to make a little boy laugh.

So, he didn’t use his magic for what he did next. No, his magic was his, and he would choose what to do with it. The darkness that tried to tangle itself in him was different, and he didn’t really give a sh*t how he used it.

For the second time that night, he let the tendrils of magic escape him with the only intention of never facing another careless father again.

Cash had been weak, old, and fragile, but Paimon was a king. Stolas let his form shift, let the darkness do whatever it wanted to him. His very being stretched, and in the far distance, he could hear screaming, but he didn’t care. Ruby eyes were set on Paimon, and knew that this was a proper match of power.

Paimon was quick to meet power upon power, but he did not have the anger his son held in his heart. Stolas reached out through the void he had become to find a handhold, a place to tear into the fibers of this being.

Honestly, what did any of it matter anymore?

Lucifer hadn’t been impressed, Stella was not going to give up, an innocent family had been torn apart, Cash had been killed, Tweed had been hurt, and Blitzo…f*ck.

None of it really mattered, and he reached out again. The hundreds of hands created by shadow and mist found the grip they were looking for. He squeezed and thought that perhaps once Paimon was gone, things wouldn’t be so bad.

But it wasn’t Paimon. Not really. Once Paimon was gone, it would be Beleth, Curson, Vinea, or whoever. There would always be someone telling him what he should do.

So he squeezed harder, wanting the solidness under him to pop, deflate, dent. He wanted to cause pain. If he was going to hate himself, he might as well make it worth it.

But then the pieces were being forced back into the box so sharply. With such speed, he didn’t have a chance to fight against it until he was back in his body, one hand still clasped around his father’s neck and the other pulled away by a tiny blessed rope wrapped around his pinkie.

It was Tweed holding the other end of the rope. “Blitzo is hurt.”

Stolas looked back to his father under him, very much alive and smiling up at him even though his beak was bloody.

“There is the son of Paimon.” Paimon laughed. “I knew he was in there somewhere.”

Luckily for Paimon, Stolas cared more about Blitzo than he ever hated his father. He rose from the floor and saw the disaster he had caused. The thrones were destroyed, the windows were blown out, and the other Goetia hid in fear. Andrealphus was standing before Gem and Raum, using his body to block debris. Ozzie was the only one meeting his eye with concern.

“Prince Stolas?” Ozzie called to him.

Stolas did not answer Ozzie as he grabbed his grimoire. As he left the room, he heard his father tell Ozzie to assure Lucifer his concerns were taken care of, they now had a way to keep the power under control, but Stolas no longer cared.

He followed Tweed out of the throne room and towards the servants’ hall. He could see the trail of blood, and the closer they got, the sicker he felt. A part of him thought this wasn’t really happening. It was a nightmare he would wake from, he would be back in Blitzo’s arms soon. When he entered the servant's quarters, he knew this was reality. Tweed led him to a room, but Stolas would have easily found it by the sound of the screams. Bracing himself, he entered.

Blitzo was on the bed crying out as Stezzy tried to put a salve on the festering burns. Mr. Butler was doing his very best to hold the teenager down but was failing. Tweed raced to help the older imp, but Stolas knew these were not standard burns. They were burns from a Goetia sigil, and those did not heal quickly.

“The cream won’t work,” Stolas told the room. “I need all three of you holding him down. The only thing that can stop the burning is the thing that caused it.”

Stolas placed the grimoire on the small dresser, and then he recognized the room. It was Blitzo’s old room, and the bed was the one they had slept on as children. He couldn’t let himself get caught up in memories, for Blitzo was in pain, and he was the only one who could help him.

The grimoire opened to the page he needed, and he quickly read it. This spell would have been tricky, and he was thankful he understood it now.

“Make sure you keep your hold strong,” Stolas demanded. “I am pulling the magic from him, which isn’t pleasant.”

Tweed, his eye still swollen, held Blitzo’s feet as Stezzy and Mr. Butler took an arm. Stolas reread the page and, with a breath to calm his nerves, approached Blitzo. He wasn’t sure what was drawing him into this bravery, but he had to do it. If he wanted Blitzo to live, he didn’t have any other options.

His dearest friend struggled against his confinement and cried out. The burns were deep against the flesh, and an even untrained eye would notice the sizzle of magic along the edges. Blitzo was delirious, and it broke Stolas' heart to hear him crying out for his mother.

“Darling, look at me,” Stolas said in a firm voice. “I’m going to help you.”

Blitzo turned to him with a whimper. “Just end it. Stols, please just end it.”

“Shh, love, shh,” Stolas hummed as he touched Blitzo’s unmarked cheek. “Take a breath with me.”

The imp tried to take a breath, but it came out ragged. Blitzo tossed his face against the pillow and tried to kick Tweed off his feet.

“Blitzo, eyes to me,” Stolas demanded, and Blitzo’s eyes shot to him with such force they were both surprised. No matter. “Keep looking at your silly bird. I’m going to help you.”

Stolas placed his free hand on Blitzo’s chest and said the words. He felt his father’s magic presenting itself, glowing like coals, and heard how painful it was in Blitzo’s voice. Still, he could not stop now and kept going. Pulling his father’s magic away was like picking up shards of glass. Still, the discomfort he felt was a necessary burden.

He couldn’t say how long it took to pull each strand of his father’s horror from Blitzo, but a gleam of sweat covered Blitzo’s body when he was done and at least twice Blitzo had lost consciousness. In the place of charred flesh and blood, Blitzo’s skin had smoothed, leaving only white scarring along his face and patches of his body that had touched the sigil.

Blitzo’s chest still drew breath, and for that very reason, he was still the most beautiful being Stolas had ever seen.

“There we go,” Stolas said softly, his hand still pressed against Blitzo’s uninjured face. “All better, darling.”

Blitzo’s gaze, which only moments ago had been unfocused, settled upon him but not with the same look Stolas offered. His features were confused, a mix of anger and disbelief.

“What the f*ck did I sign?” Blitzo demanded, pulling himself up in the bed with a hiss of pain.

The body contract. Stolas hadn’t the time to process all that had happened in the last…how long had it been now since the fire? Less than an hour?

“Rest, love, we can talk-”

“I don’t need goddam rest!” Blitzo cursed and pushed Stolas’ hand from his face. “What haven’t you been telling me?”

Stolas stuttered out an answer. “Why-why-nothing! I’m not hiding anything from you!”

“Nothing?” Blitzo pushed his way past Stolas onto shaky legs. Tweed reached out to support him, but Blitzo turned away from his friend. His teeshirt had to be cut off of his, as had his pants, and he seemed to be looked for an old set in the drawer. “When were you going to tell me you can turn into a f*cking monster.”

A monster. Blitzo had called him a monster. He let his eyes shut but answered him in a steady voice.

“It never came up.”

“Was I supposed to bring it up?” Blitzo said as he found a pair of servant’s pants. “I don’t go around asking people if they turn into a shadow creature, Stolas!”

Mr. Butler and Stezzy stood to the side as Blitzo searched the room for a shirt. Tweed once again tried to help, but Blitzo told him to f*ck off. His movements were jerky, and he was cursing under his breath. He was exhausted, and Stolas was concerned he would pass out at any moment. The full force of Goetia magic was harder on the body than one would suspect.

“Please sit down,” Stolas asked.

“Do you have any more secrets you’re dying to tell me?” Blitzo hissed when he finally found a shirt. "It's not like you’d share, but I'm just curious if there will be any more surprises.”

“Blitzo, where are you going?”

“Back to find my family,” Blitzo said through his teeth. "If I’m lucky this time, maybe they haven’t packed up and run away without me. Maybe…what is this?”

Blitzo looked over his hands, catching the white scars, and raced to the small hand mirror on the desk. He took one glance and slammed the mirror down again.

“What did you do to my face?”

“Blitzo, you have to sit down–”

“Don’t f*cking tell me what to do!”

Blitzo tried to leave, and looking back, Stolas knew he should have let him. He should have let Blitzo walk away and cool down. He shouldn’t have tried to keep him there. Blitzo had needed time to process and Stolas didn’t allow for it. He shouldn’t have felt the desire to keep Blitzo near him.

That desire to keep Blitzo close to him manifested into the shimmering violet chains attaching themselves to Blitzo’s neck and forcing him to his knees in front of Stolas.

Stolas didn’t understand right away what had happened. He knew Blitzo was on his knees before him, looking up at him with more profound contempt than Stolas had ever experienced. It was only when he heard Tweed's gasp that he realized he held the other end of the chain tightly wrapped around his fist.

“No, no, I didn’t–” Stolas dropped the chain and watched the magic disappear. “No, Blitzo, I…I didn’t mean to do that!”

Blitzo’s shoulders sank. He schooled his face into a blank expression even though his watery eyes betrayed them, and replied to Stolas even though his voice shook. “Apologies, Your Majesty, but I believe it’s Blitz now.”

“No, darling, no, it isn’t,” Stolas cried, his hands shaking from the chains he had just held. “Blitzo, please, talk to me.”

Blitzo rose from his knees and walked past Stolas to his bed. He rolled away from the group, drew his knees up, and faced the wall. No matter how much Stolas begged him to talk to him, careful to make it a request and not a Goetia demand, Blitzo would not face him.

Stolas didn’t know what to say or do. His thoughts were racing and he didn't know what to do. What could he do?

He turned to the other imps for support and found them huddled together. Tweed was shaking, and his eyes darted from his dear friend to the prince. Stezzy would not meet his eye.

It was Mr. Butler who found the bravery to speak to him. “Your Majesty, if you would be so kind, I think the staff is exhausted from the day's events.” Then as more of an afterthought. “Is there anything else we can assist you with?”

Stolas couldn’t do this. They were looking at him like he was a monster.

Like he was his father

Stolas stepped back to flee from the imps and found himself falling, the harsh chill of magic swallowing him, until he landed on cold, white sand. Nearly ten feet above him was a portal, and he realized he must have opened it. Through it, he could see the bed with Blitzo curled up on it, his back facing him.

Stolas stared up at the portal from his spot in the white sand until the magic fizzled away. The sky above him was hues of twirling purple and blue, and in the distance, a comet shot cut through the galaxy. He found the strength to move his head, and if he had tears to cry, he would have sobbed at the reality of where he had brought himself. It had been years, but he was on the planet he used to visit with Blitzo.

After a time, how long he wasn't certain, when he found the strength to move, he let his feet carry him along the familiar path. It all looked the same, yet the passage of time was different up here. The more he walked, though, the heavier things felt. The heavier things felt the louder things became.

..disaster at last…

...never love you again…

...fail to rise to the task…

...worthless son worthless son worthless son..

He put his hands to his ears and tried blocking the singing voices, but it was no help. They grew louder and louder until he couldn’t hear his own heartbeat. He tried to run from the berating comments, but they circled in his chest.

...ruin upon Goetia…

...your fault your fault your fault…

They were prophecies; he knew in his heart it was only possibilities that could come to pass, but with each dig, his steps grew harder to take. If only he had studied harder and spent the last few weeks learning how to handle this.

...failure…

He didn’t know how to handle this.

...too short, too chubby, too cute, too pathetic…

He didn’t know how to handle anything. How had he thought tonight was going to work? What had he been thinking? What damaged had he caused to the only person who he had ever loved?

...crybaby Stolas, loser Stolas, worthless, unloved Stolas…

“Stop it!” He screamed, unable to take another step under the weight of it all.

Silence, and he fell to his knees in exhaustion. It was only at this level that he noticed the piles of stardust surrounding him. Odd, he thought, why should a great amount of stardust be littered amongst the planet?

No, not just piles of stardust. A broken plank board, a pile of shredded rope, a smashed ship wheel.

Frantically, he scanned the ruins around him and realized he was standing upon the wreckage of a pirate ship.

Deep in his memories, he could remember a terrified little boy who wasn’t sure what was happening to him, running away to his place. He remembered the little boy trying to pull the darkness back, begging it to just stay still, but he could not control the darkness as much as the darkness could control him.

It felt good to just let the darkness go, and he had hid among the ruins for three days until his father pulled him away. He could remember Andrealphus squeezing his arms as he dragged him to his room. He remembered stardust falling from his pockets and thinking: How shall I ever explain to Blitzo what happened to our ship?

What had Stolas' desire to be loved take from Blitzo? His home, his mother, his father, his sister, his friend, his happiness, his joy, his childhood, his future, his name...

All Stolas knew how to do was take, take, take until there was nothing left for Blitzo to give.

He was a monster.

“I did this,” Stolas whispered. “I’ve destroyed everything important to him.”

He let himself fall back onto the destroyed planks made of stars. He could not say how long he would stay there. Perhaps a few days. Maybe until someone came to find him. Hopefully, no one would, and his body would turn into ash and scatter amongst the stardust he had so cherished.

“Yes,” Stolas whispered to the stars. “That would be for the best.”

Chapter 11: Lessons From Mr. Butler (500 Kudo + Thank you!!!!)

Chapter Text

“First, you ask Prince Stolas if he would like some tea.”

Mr. Butler’s voice droned on about tea service as if Blitzo hadn’t just had a whole class on serving tea. But Blitzo was only eleven, and it would be hours before Stolas, ahem, Prince Stolas, could open up the super cool portal and bring them to the stars.

In fact, Stolas sat at the little table in the afternoon tea serving room, his legs just a mite too short to reach the floor. The little owl wore a cape and his crown and looked very uncomfortable. Mr. Butler had said something about Stolas ‘needing these lessons more than you do, lad,’ and Blitzo didn’t really know why someone needed lessons in drinking the dirt water.

Blitzo cleared his throat obnoxiously and spoke in a very ridiculous voice. “May I offer you some tea, The Royal-y-est of Feathery Princes?”

Stolas giggled, but Mr. Butler cleared his throat louder than the hoots. “Properly address the prince, Blitzo.”

Blitzo rolled his eyes but readdressed Stolas properly this time. Stolas nodded, and Blitzo picked up the very delicate teapot. It had King Paimon’s sigil on it, as he was taught to recognize all the sigils as though they were important or something, and poured the tea. He had only just started to pour when Mr. Butler cleared his throat again.

“Slower,” Mr. Butler instructed. “So you do not spill.”

Blitzo eased up on the pouring, and still, Mr. Butler cleared his throat.

“A little faster, Blitzo, you do not want to keep the prince waiting.”

Blitzo groaned and poured the tea a smidge faster. When Mr. Butler cleared his throat again, Blitzo set the teapot down harder than he should. Unfortunately, the teapot shattered at the force and just missed Stolas’ lap by a hair. The hot liquid did soak into Stolas’ heavy cape.

“No, no, no!” Blitzo yelled and leaped to action.

Blitzo was quick to undo the cape's latch and pull Stolas off the chair and onto the floor before any of the liquid got on him. The owl landed on Blitzo with a screech, but the boys were far from the tea. Stolas was looking down at him, all four of his eyes wide, and his beak open and shut as though he wanted to say something—probably something angry, as Blitzo had just tried to scald him with burning dirt water.

“That is not how we pour tea!” Mr. Butler said in a raised voice.

Well, like, yeah, Blitzo knew that. Mr. Butler called for a house servant to clean up the mess and instructed Stolas and Blitzo upstairs to change Stolas into a new outfit. It didn’t really make a ton of sense, as Stolas’ outfit was perfectly fine; it was just his cape that was damaged, but Mr. Butler insisted. So up to Stolas’ room, they went.

Blitzo hadn’t set out clothes for Stolas yet, but Mr. Butler talked through the process as he pulled out a clean undershirt and a new vest and cape. Blitzo stood off to the side to watch as Mr. Butler changed Stolas from his wrecked-but-not-really outfit into the new one.

“Preening is done with each change of clothing,” Mr. Butler spoke aloud to Blitzo.

“What if Prince Stolas doesn’t wanna be pruned?” Blitzo asked, deliberately ignoring Mr. Butler’s correction of ‘pruned.’

“Prince Stolas is expected to always look his best,” Mr. Butler said as though Stolas wasn’t standing right there. “He will accept feather maintenance between outfit changes and daily sessions as expected.”

Blitzo looked to Stolas, who didn’t seem bothered by the discussion of 'Prince Stolas' happening around him. Blitzo would be so annoyed if buttholes did that to him. Honestly, he was a little annoyed Mr. Butler was doing it to Stolas.

Mr. Butler took the bottle of very smelly oil and began to massage it into Stolas’ head. Blitzo watched in fascination as Stolas closed his eyes as though he enjoyed it. Hold up, the owl was enjoying it, there were the hoots. Blitzo wondered if Stolas would make those noises it if Blitzo did that to him, but then Blitzo felt funny and stopped thinking about it.

They were about to embark on a lesson on which preening oil was appropriate for what time of the day when a bell rang somewhere in the castle. Mr. Butler immediately turned, told Blitzo to continue his duties to Stolas, and left. Blitzo knew that bell as ‘Mr. Butler, stuff is getting crazy, come save the day’ so he turned to Stolas with a smile.

“We are free of Mr. Butler!” Blitzo snickered.

Stolas’s cheeks grew very red, which was funny to see on a bird, and he clapped his hands.

“Let’s go to my library!” Stolas’ voice was joyful and light.

“Uh, why?” Blitzo asked. “What’s so fun in the library?”

Stolas’ demeanor didn’t drop. “Lots of things, but no one ever goes in there. We can play without anyone catching us!”

Blitzo grinned when Stolas took his hand, and they snuck down the hall to Stolas’ personal library. It was a smaller room, with a few bookshelves and heavy curtains along very high windows. Stolas had been right; no one bothered them for a long time, and they could continue their game of pirates from the night before.

Stolas was a very different owl than Prince Stolas. Stolas liked to play games, he liked to do the dramatic parts of their epic battle scenes, and he liked telling Blitzo about the stars. Prince Stolas was quiet and boring and let people say things to him even if they were mean. Blitzo liked Stolas way better. He liked it when Stolas laughed at his jokes.

He liked hearing Stolas laugh.

They were pretending they were on a deserted island searching for treasure when footsteps interrupted them.

“Oh no!” Stolas whispered as he popped out from behind a bookshelf. “Someone is coming!”

Blitzo searched the room and thought the heavy curtains would be the easiest spot to take cover. He hissed at Stolas to follow him, and they slipped behind the opaque fabric.

Which would be fine if the curtains reached the stupid ground. Blitzo's boots and Stolas' talons were exposed

“Damn it,” Blitzo cursed, but Stolas put his finger to Blitzo’s mouth to silence him, and with a wave of his hand, they lifted off the ground as though they were on a step stool, but it was made of magic and totally invisible.

It was pretty cool.

The door creaked open, and Blitzo felt a chill run up his spine.

“Young Prince?”

Blitzo knew now that voice belonged to that stupid blue bird with the stupid long name. Out of everyone who talked down to Stolas, Blitzo liked him the least. Blitzo couldn’t see anything through the stupid curtain but heard the bird move around the room.

“Stolas?” The bird called. “Where oh where has the little owlet gone?”

Stolas said nothing as his hands covered his beak. Andy-boop or whatever his name was would halt his walking every few seconds, call for Stolas, and then move some more. After a time, who the heck knew how long, they no longer heard footsteps.

“Is he gone?” Blitzo whispered into Stolas’ feathers, not entirely sure where his ear was under all the fluff.

Stolas shrugged and leaned to look out past the curtain. The curtains were too heavy and dark, and Stolas had to try to look past them without causing them to ruffle. Perhaps the prince would have succeeded but ran out of invisible magic step stool space.

Blitz thought of only one thing as Stolas lost his footing: Lesson Seventy-Two: Discretion.

Blitzo knew he would be put on a short leash if they got caught. Mr. Butler would keep a closer eye on him, and their pirate ship would be at risk. If King Paimon got that upset, he could send Blitzo back to school or give him a different job where he didn’t see Stolas. The king could separate them.

Stolas wouldn’t laugh as much without Blitzo, and that just wouldn’t freaking do.

Using his tail, Blitzo pulled Stolas up before he hit the ground and wrapped his arms around the prince to steady him. Stolas quickly corrected himself but held hard onto Blitzo's waist. Blitzo thought he could hear how fast Stolas’ heart was racing.

“Damn that spoiled brat,” The bird cursed. “Where is that ungrateful…”

Blitzo and Stolas didn’t hear the rest of the curses as the intruder left, letting the door shut behind him. Once they were certain he was gone, the magic gave way, and they fell onto the hard floor. Blitzo was the first to crawl out from behind the curtain, and Stolas followed close behind.

“You saved me!” Stolas declared as he rose from the ground. “I could have fallen, but you caught me.”

“Of course I saved you,” Blitzo shrugged as though it was the most ‘duh’ thing in all of Hell. “I’ll always save you.”

Blitzo wasn’t sure why his words made Stolas’ feathers fluff or why his own face grew so hot.

It felt weird.

“But Pirate Stapler won’t!” Blitzo put on his pirate accent. “Hands off my treasure!”

Laughing, Stolas raced away from Blitzo, and Blitzo followed.

Chapter 12: An Intermission in Friendship II

Chapter Text

Three days after his world fell apart, Blitz woke with a pained head and a jumbled memory.

Fire, magic, ink, stone, and chains.

He couldn’t piece it together. He couldn’t f*cking remember his dreams, his thoughts, his own mind. He couldn’t understand the deep pain below his skin or why his bones felt brittle, closer to dust than structure. Pieces of his history were waterlogged and dull or lost entirely.

He took his time opening his eyes. He had waited, patient, and, honestly, f*cking scared of what he would find. The air smelled like soap and clean linen. Sterile and fake.

Blitz usually woke to the smell of freshly tilled earth and sweet berries.

When Blitz finally opened his eyes, he found Tweed snuggled tightly against him on a small bed. Blitz’s bed, not the large royal bed, not the long-unused bed in the adjoining room, but his old bed from his childhood. Not a circus cot, no, that was destroyed in the fire.

The fire.

Green flames licking the dry hay, the fabric tent, Barbs…

He had seen Barbs. He had seen Fizz.

He had seen his dad.

But his mama…

Fire. There had been a fire. Someone had been there. Someone had held him back from chasing Barbie. Someone’s arms around his waist, holding him tighter than he ever had before.

Blitz had held someone’s waist, too, hadn’t he? But it was all darkness, all shadow. How could Blitz have held a shadow?

There had also been burning, searing, scorching without flame.

The Little Imp Thief

“Tweed?” Blitz spoke, and his throat felt like it had been scrubbed clean with a broken bottle.

Tweed stirred, blinked his big eyes once, and drew Blitz into a tight embrace. Blitz groaned and fought against the touch. His skin felt raw, peeled, and brand new. When Tweed gently let go at the wince of pain, Blitz noticed the new white markings on his hands and up his arms.

Fire, magic, ink, stone, and chains.

“sh*t, sorry!” Tweed murmured, but his hand remained painlessly on Blitz’s unmarked shoulder.

Slowly, Blitz pulled the cotton blanket off his legs and closed his eyes when he saw the white scars along them, which only disappeared at the start of his nightshirt.

He remembered the mirror. He remembered his face.

....you have to sit down…

“Is my face still f*cked?” Blitz asked Tweed.

Tweed offered a pitying smile, which was answer enough. “It isn’t f*cked, Blitzo-”

“It’s Blitz.”

Tweed and Blitz both caught each other’s look of surprise. Blitz had not meant to say the words. He hadn’t meant to let the name pour from his mouth, but it was pushed out like a force. Blitz hadn’t thought, but it automatically emerged from his chest. Blitz. His name was no longer Blitzo.

His name was Blitz.

Sorrow flooded Tweed’s expression as he nodded. If Tweed was giving him this much f*cking pity, what would Mr. Butler do? Stezzy?

Sto-

f*ck, Blitz just…he just couldn’t think…

...I just want you. I will always only want you...

Of course, Blitz remembered his voice. He would always remember his voice.

“Where is he?” Blitz asked, hollowed and quiet.

Tweed had always looked so young, baby-faced, and innocent, but now his eye bore a nasty yellow bruise, and his lip was split. Tweed had gotten hurt because of Blitz, hadn’t he?

Blitz’s head throbbed at the memories. Everything had been so loud and so sudden. But now, the world seemed to move like molasses. This silence was horrid. There were no sounds of the wind through an open balcony door, no humming, no pages being flipped, not a single soft sleepy hoot.

“The Goetias left,” Tweed spoke the words softly as though they were prone to explode. “All of them.”

Gone, the Goetias were all gone? No, that didn’t make sense. None of this made any sense. Blitz and…goddamn it, they were supposed to be together. They were supposed to be at the circus. They were supposed to be boyfriends, look at the stars, eat cotton candy, and be each other’s first.

...I’m ready for anything as long as you are with me…

“When…” Blitz tried to finish the sentence, but the word came out cracked.

“No one knows,” Tweed answered. “Mr. Butler said he was told to keep our daily tasks as though the house will be occupied again soon.”

Blitz tried swallowing the lump in his throat, but it just worsened the soreness. “Did…”Blitz couldn’t say his name, and he felt like a coward. “Did he try to see me?”

Tweed couldn’t meet his eye. “The prince left with his father.” Tweed squeezed Blitz’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t like him, but I know how much you did.”

The prince was gone.

Blitz had been left behind again.

...I am so terribly, horribly, devastatingly in love with you...

Blitz didn’t cry. He laid his head back down, the unmarred side of his face against the pillow, and closed his eyes. Tweed stayed in Blitz's bed for a few hours, and then Mr. Butler took a watch from a nearby chair. Blitz knew because he didn’t sleep. He couldn’t sleep in his bed.

The next morning, he finally ended his pretend rest. He was wasting everyone’s time, so he rose from the bed, woke Mr. Butler from his sleep in the chair, and asked if he could help him bathe.

He had f*cking work to do.

***

Each morning after his world ended, Blitz woke up with the sun for no good goddamn reason, but he did not rise with it.

He would watch the morning light slowly paint the darkness a violent red from the large window across from him.

...Fire, Blitzo, we have to go...

“The fire was green, you stupid bitch,” He reminded himself.

When he found the courage in his bones to leave the bed, he did so with eyes closed and hands outreached until he felt the curtains. He would shut them closed, and once he knew the gardens and the large tree was gone from view, he could start his day.

He learned how to dress without mirrors and in the dark. He knew what his simple cravat should feel like, how his jacket should fit, how his expressions should settle. He knew it all by heart now.

Three months? Four months? How long had he been doing this routine?

Blitz would sit at the table in the servant’s dining space each morning. He would sit next to Tweed and eat the toast and bacon but not taste any of it. He would listen to Tweed jabber about his day but not hear a word. Mr. Butler would tell the servants the morning schedule, Stezzy would complain, and Elva would try to get out of tasks. Still, it didn’t matter because they did the same f*cking sh*t every goddamn day, and they would until one day they would fall over and die alone.

Anyway…

Blitz started by dusting. He would dust the prince’s entire study, the empty classrooms, and the well-loved greenhouse. Then, Blitz would check correspondence, never looking at the letters but passing along a preprinted address card he couldn’t read even if he wanted to look for the prince.

By eleven, he was supposed to change the unused bedding in the prince’s room just incase the prince returned home, but instead, he would grab whatever clean linens were in the closet and pass them along to the laundry. They didn’t notice, and if they did, they didn’t care. Blitz hadn’t gone into the closed room, and he wouldn’t.

He would avoid the long hallway with the prince’s portraits.

Lunch came and passed, and then he would assist Mr. Butler. The older imp moved slower these days, took longer breaks, and asked Blitz to finish his tasks for him more than once.

The same chores every goddamn day for a prince-less palace.

One afternoon, Blitz found himself sorting the King’s paperwork for Mr. Butler as he rested in a nearby chair. The soft snoring accompanied the shuffle of paper, and Blitz could have also fallen asleep. Perhaps he would have if he hadn’t opened the drawer he was instructed to place the documents and found the bottom had a crooked panel. The desk was well crafted, so the misshapen drawer didn’t seem right. When he pushed on it with his claw, it opened with a creak.

“A secret compartment,” Blitz whispered and, with more effort, slid the panel open.

Inside was a stack of weathered papers, some worn beyond recognition and others charred along the edges. Blitz darted a look at Mr. Butler, but the imp was still fast asleep. Blitz knew this wasn’t his place to look, and it wasn’t his place to read something belonging to King Paimon.

But, honestly, f*ck that guy.

Blitz pulled the papers up and looked at the documents. He concentrated, using the tricks Tweed had forced him to learn to get the words right.

“Contact…no, not contact…contract,” Blitz mumbled as he said the words aloud. “Full control…magic…Sto-”

Blitz stopped, took a breath, tried to look at the contract again, and felt the side of his face burning, the flesh of his palms searing against the floor, King Paimon’s fury at the core of him. He placed the contract back in the hidden space, closed the panel, and slammed the drawer shut. Mr. Butler woke up with a start.

“Blitz! Lesson…lesson…oh blast it, I can’t remember the lesson, but no slamming windows, doors-”

“Or drawers,” Blitz interrupted. “Lesson 92.”

It wasn’t until that night, when the moon flooded his room and he couldn’t see outside from where he lay in bed, that he thought about the papers. That hadn’t been his contract. None of those had been any of the servants. He knew the name on the top so well.

Why hadn’t he just told Blitz? Had he not trusted Blitz?

“He didn’t trust me to handle my dad at the circus,” Blitz admitted to himself. “We should have just left. None of this-”

His tired heart couldn’t finish the thought and instead went to bed.

***

The days turned into weeks, and then into months. Blitz turned sixteen, and Tweed baked him a cake. The imps sang to him, but Blitz noticed the lack of candles to blow out.

Blitz noticed what all the others tried to do for him, and he wished they f*cking wouldn’t. He knew no one asked him to clean the mirrors in the bathrooms. No one asked him to start the fireplaces. No one asked him about the prince. No one asked him about the night. No one asked him if he was ok, but they all looked at him like he was a broken toy.

He wasted each day on the same routine. He did nothing on his nights off. He sat with Tweed and played through the motions but felt nothing. He didn’t tell Tweed to avoid the hallway with the prince’s portraits, but Tweed did. Tweed would laugh, cuddle with him, and do whatever Tweed did, but Blitz acted in a way he didn’t know he could.

But goddamn it, he knew Tweed could see through him, and it was so f*cking annoying. He didn’t need his hand held or snuggled at night or any of this. He didn’t need anything.

The days continued, so he continued. He put on the same outfit every day. He passed the closed door to the prince’s room every day, ignoring the open secret that the prince’s valet was unwanted property.

Blitz had been left behind, so what was the point of this contract?

Some nights, Blitz felt the chains around his neck. He knew he was imagining it, but he thought he could feel the weight, the softest pressure against his throat. With only the moon to provide light, he would place his flawed hand on his collarbone so his thumb could hover over where the chain would hold him down.

The worst part was that the idea of the chain gave him some type of comfort.

“Sick bastard,” Blitz would whisper, knowing he meant himself instead of the asshole who had forced it upon him.

Still, the days came and went; the palace was dusted, the chores were done, and Blitz wasted his teenage days away. Seventeen came, Tweed baked him a cake, and the imps sang to him. All Blitz could think that had changed was his spines had emerged, and his braces had come off.

For the most part, things stayed the same. He worked, he smoked, and he watched the moon grow and shrink. Some nights, Tweed came to his room to snuggle. Some nights, he didn’t. Some nights, Blitz stayed awake until the sun. Some nights, he didn’t.
Like a pirate ship among the waves, back and forth, back and forth. Which was such a stupid sh*tty metaphor.

Halfway through Blitz’s seventeenth year, Tweed’s mother died. Blitz hadn’t been there when Tweed found out because he was hiding in the car garage, avoiding the monthly ‘air out the empty rooms'. By the time he emerged from his hiding space, Tweed was gone to settle his beloved mother’s affairs.

When Tweed returned to the palace late that night, with his eyes swollen and bottom lip quivering, Blitz let the imp join him in bed. Tweed no longer smoked, but he still smelled like cheap shampoo. The imp always cried so easily that Blitz wondered how someone could do that.

“What do I do now?” Tweed asked, his voice broken.

How the f*ck should Blitz know?

“You go to sleep,” Blitz told his friend because he knew no other answer.

Maybe Tweed had been looking for sympathy, or empathy, or whatever, but Blitz didn’t have anything to give. He could hold Tweed. He could let his friend cry into his nightshirt, but there were no words he could spare.

Over the next few weeks, Blitz watched as Tweed grieved his mother. He watched his friend yell at Mr. Butler for clearing his throat before he gave the morning report. He watched Tweed cry over a broken clay pot. He watched Tweed break apart a hundred times only to put himself back together again. Before long, Tweed could smile again, and then he could laugh again.

And then, one night, as they rested in Blitz’s bed, Tweed cleared his throat. “She offered to bleach my hair when I told her I was a boy.”

Blitz, having been half asleep, opened his eyes and made a confused noise. Tweed sniffed, not quite crying but not quite…not?

“Yeah, she said if I wanted to, she would bleach my hair,” Tweed laughed. “I never really minded my hair being dark. We did dye it red once. Do you remember that? I got in so much trouble.”

“Who the f*ck are you talking about?” Blitz asked.

“My mom,” Tweed replied.

Shortly after, Tweed fell asleep, but Blitz was wide awake. He held Tweed to him, feeling both comforted and uneasy at how loud Tweed purred, content and healing from such a grand loss.

Blitz had spent so long grieving his family, he hadn’t considered the emptiness he felt could get worse. How could Tweed talk so openly about his mother after such a short time when Blitz couldn’t start to say his name.

The days continued to pass. Blitz turned eighteen, Tweed baked him a cake, and the imps sang to him. Nothing had changed, and nothing was going to change.

Until they did.

A few weeks after Blitz’s birthday, he realized something. He had been walking the grounds of the property, mostly because Stezzy was pregnant and couldn’t stand the smell of his cigarettes, when he dropped his lighter. It bounced just under the fence and past the property line.

Blitz stared at the lighter and was ready to accept the loss, but no. Not this lighter. Not this time.

So he scaled the fence, which was a huge f*cking deal since Blitz hadn’t left the palace since that night. He wasn’t invited to run into the city anymore. He wasn’t allowed in the car. His duties were to remain in the palace, and through sheer fear of pain, he stayed.

Blitz wasn’t sure if it was due to boredom or too many years sitting on his ass letting the world pass by, but he scaled the fence so fast he swore he was flying. Without hesitation, he jumped to the other side, and when his boots hit the ground, he waited for the pain.

It never came.

He picked up the lighter, took a few more steps, and still nothing. A few more steps, and he was walking. A few more, and he was running. He ran so far, past the grassy grounds, until his boots hit the blacktop. He kept running as the scent of the city winds turned foul and harsh. He shoved past imps, succubus, sinners, and whoever the Hell got in his way. He ran until his sides hurt, and he couldn’t run any longer.

He was on a mostly deserted street. There was a liquor store with its window knocked out. Across the street was a fast food joint like the one his mom used to take him, Barbs and Fizz to on really good circus nights. There were streetlights, cigarette butts on the ground, and so much noise from every direction. A tall spider sinner strutted by him wearing a mini skirt and blew him a kiss.

“Jesus Christ on a stick,” He laughed as the sinner walked by.

He smiled so wide his face hurt. He started to walk back towards the palace but at a much slower pace. He knew he couldn’t be gone forever, but he was gone now, and he was going to savor it.

He didn’t reach the palace again until well after nightfall. He scaled the back fence and crossed the large gardens, avoiding the tree, until he got to the back servant door. He knocked once, and the door immediately opened, and Tweed pulled him inside.

“Where the Hell were you!” Tweed hissed.

Tweed was wearing his nightshirt and robe, but it looked like he hadn’t slept yet.

“I can get past the gates,” Blitz smiled a toothy grin.

Tweed copied it at first, but then his face fell. “OK?”

“It means I can leave,” Blitz shrugged. “It means I don’t need to stay here.”

“Blitz-” Tweed started but sighed. “Let's just go to bed, ok?”

Blitz followed Tweed not because his friend was right but because Blitz had to think. Tweed joined in that night, his head on Blitz’s chest, but Blitz didn’t sleep. He stayed awake and thought about what he would do with his newfound freedom.

By the morning, Blitz knew what he was going to do. He did his chores faster than sh*t, so as soon as the lights were out he could enact his plan. When he told Tweed what he was doing, his friend was more pissed than what Blitz would have expected.

“That is a stupid idea,” Tweed told him. “It isn’t even your night off.”

“So? Not like anyone is f*cking checking. Do you see any birds anywhere?”

“That isn’t the point. You could get in a lot of trouble.”

“Maybe,” Blitz replied. “But I also don’t care. Are you gonna help me or not?”

Although he clearly wasn’t happy, Tweed agreed to his new part in Blitz’s scheme. So when the darkness fell, Blitz changed into a plain pair of servant’s pants and a cut-up shirt and headed out to the city. He tried to get into the first bar he found but was quickly denied entry for ‘looking like a dweeb.’

Blitz wandered for a long time until he found a club without a bouncer. He slipped inside and was immediately lost in the noise and the crush of bodies. He pushed his way to the bar, probably paid way too much for the warm beer, and joined the rest of the bodies on the dancefloor.

The music was so loud that Blitz couldn’t hear his thoughts. He hadn’t a clue how to dance, so he just jumped a bunch until it made sense. The bodies grinding around him were sweaty and pressed so close together that he forgot what was his and what was a stranger.

He drank until things felt weird, until the ghost of him left Blitz’s mind.

He had little memory of what he did that night. In fact, he couldn’t even tell Tweed how he made it back from the bar and stumbled to the back door at nearly four in the morning. But Tweed held his side of the deal, let Blitz back in, brought him to his room, and threw him into bed. Blitz slept alone that night.

Mr. Butler cared little for Blitz’s behavior. A few hours later, he woke Blitz up, made him get dressed even though he still smelled like whiskey, and decided that day would be the day Blitz vacuumed all the rugs.

That morning was a different level of Hell.

Yet the next night, he did it again. And again. And again. Until he had no money left. Then he waited until his next paycheck and did it again. Everyone knew what he was doing. All the other imps in the household were aware Blitz was sneaking out and sneaking back in. The issue was no one could do anything. He was under a contract through the King, so while Mr. Butler could boss him around, no one could make him leave.

Each night, Blitz would ask Tweed to stay awake to open the door. Each night, Tweed begged Blitz to be back by midnight because Tweed was tired and wasn’t getting sleep. Each night, Blitz promised, and each night, he stumbled back right before the break of dawn.

Finally came the day Tweed said no.

“What do you mean?” Blitz scoffed. “It isn’t a big deal to open a f*cking door.”

“You are staying out all night,” Tweed whined. “I’ve been screwing up my job. I planted a whole row of cucumbers instead of tomatoes. A whole row!”

“Who the f*ck cares about cucumbers,” Blitz snarled. “I’ll be back on time tonight.”

“Except you won’t.” Tweed crossed his arms. “This has been going on for weeks, and you say that every time. Just stay here tonight, Blitz. We haven’t hung out since you started going into the city. I miss you.”

Tweed looked at him with those stupid, pathetic eyes, and Blitz just wanted Tweed to understand. He wished Tweed could see he needed these moments of silence in the nosey bar. These moments without the white patches of his skin burning and his memories on goddamn cycle in his mind.

Instead, Blitz pointed a claw at Tweed. “You stopped sleeping in my bed...”

“I don’t want to sleep by you when you're drunk!” Tweed cried. “I just want you to stay back tonight with me like the old times. Can’t we do that?”

It was like Tweed forgot the old times were long gone.

“Are you getting the door for me or not?” Blitz asked.

Tweed blinked, and a few pathetic tears escaped. “No, Blitz.”

Fine. f*ck Tweed.

When Mr. Butler and the other imps went to bed, Blitz snuck into the wine cellar. He knew better than to go down there; that was Mr. Butler’s domain, and he kept very good care of his stock. At first, Blitz figured he could sneak one bottle, but then that turned to two, and then Blitz was stumbling up the cellar door to the palace.

Except after two bottles of wine and a third on its way down, he had no f*cking idea where he was.

The palace was huge, and with a soggy brain, he couldn’t find anywhere he was going. He stumbled down the halls, bumped into vases, and pulled himself along by the curtains. It was all a mess, and he didn’t really care. The wine made him feel like he was on a pirate ship.

“Stupid sh*tty metaphor…” Blitz tried to say but stopped dead in his tracks as he looked into the eyes of the prince.

When the eyes didn’t blink, when the beak didn’t make a sound, Blitz realized he had found himself in the portrait hall looking at a painting of the prince as a child.

Blitz remembered the prince when he was this young. He remembered the prince taking his hand and bringing him to the tree. He remembered the prince creating an icey flower. He remembered the prince calling him his friend. He remembered their pirate ship. He remembered the stars.

...I am just —, and you are just Blitzo. We are both eleven, and we are friends. None of the other stuff matters...

The prince had said his own name, and Blitz wouldn’t even think it.

“Except the other stuff does matter,” Blitz told the portrait. “We were just too stupid to see it.”

Blitz tried to take a drink from the bottle but spilled half down his chest. In a fit of frustration, he chucked the bottle of wine at the portrait. The bottle shattered, forcing Blitz to cover his face as the shards fell and the deep red wine soaked his pants. The wine had been so tart, like a horrible type of berry, like…

...Prunus spinosa? Are those the berries you are looking for, Blitzo?...

“No,” Blitz told the wine-stained portrait. “And even if they were, where the f*ck are you to help me pick them? Huh? Where the f*ck are you?”

The portrait of the eleven-year-old prince said nothing.

“Yeah, that is what I thought. Can’t even admit what you did. Can’t even admit you f*cking hightailed out of here the moment things got too hard.”

...The first moment I can, I will free you...

“Then why didn’t you!” Blitz screamed at the portrait.

Blitz’s heart felt like it was racing out of his chest. He knew the prince wasn’t talking to him. Regardless of how small and drunk it was at the moment, the rational side of his brain knew these were memories. He knew these were all things he had heard before. The prince wasn’t here. The prince wasn’t talking to him.

“Blitz?”

Blitz turned, half expecting to see the portrait come to life, but it was Tweed who was walking towards him. He looked like he had just woken up and held his robe close to his chest. Tweed stopped short of Blitz.

“Are you drinking wine?” Tweed asked.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Blitz mumbled as he stood in the bright red puddle on the floor.

From what Blitz could tell, the imp looked tired, but he guided Blitz out of the glass and towards the dry section of the carpet. Tweed made him sit on the bench as he inspected Blitz for cuts. It was Tweed who found a towel and soaked the wine up.

It was Tweed who had always been there at the dorms—the little imp who taught him how to read and baked him birthday cakes. Now, it was Tweed sitting on the bench with him. It was Tweed grabbing his hand and telling him he needed to sleep.

A portrait couldn’t do that. A memory couldn’t do that. This haunting voice couldn’t do that.

...I’ve missed you, Blitzo...

That wasn’t Tweed’s voice in his head, but he could pretend.

Perhaps it was the wine, but Blitz leaned forward to bring his friend into a kiss. He couldn’t even tell himself why he did it. He had never wanted his friend this way, but he did it anyway.

His friend fell almost at once into Blitz’s arms. Tweed’s lips were soft, as were his neck and his stomach. His skin was smooth, without a single feather-

No, f*ck, imps don’t have feathers.

Blitz wouldn’t go there. He was kissing an imp whose body was soft, and he was letting Blitz grope at his ass, his chest, weave his fingers through his hair. His tail was around Blitz’s thigh, pulling Blitz down with him. Blitz pushed the body against the bench, ignoring everything telling him this shouldn’t happen.

But Blitz was being kissed back, fingers were undoing Blitz’s buttons, their bodies ready and willing.

Blitz paused to draw a breath. “Silly bird-”

The impact of the blow was worse than the knee to the stomach itself. It took Blitz's breath away, but it also might have been how hard he was tossed to the floor.

“The f*ck St-”

No, that wasn’t him on the bench. That wasn’t him looking at Blitz as though he had taken a hammer to his heart.

sh*t.

“My name is Tweed.” His best friend’s voice was cold as he rose from the bench.

Blitz tried to get up, but the room was spinning. “f*ck, dude, Tweed, I-”

“Not ‘Silly Bird’ or ‘My Prince’ or any of the other stupid sh*t you whisper to me at night.”

“What are you talking about?” Blitz asked as he tried again to stand up.

“Don’t.” Tweed took two big steps from the bench and wrapped his robe tighter around him. “I have been trying so hard to make your life better, Blitz.” Tweed wiped his eye, and his voice grew higher and shakier. “I have been doing your job for years. Who cleans the prince’s room? Who picks up your slack? Me!”

Blitz pulled himself back up to the bench. “I never asked-”

“You didn’t have to!” Tweed cried. “I did it to help you. I did everything to help you. I gave up my childhood for you. I came here for you. I wasn’t with my mom when she…”Tweed’s voice cracked. “I covered for you that night, you know? I found like hell to keep our plans away from them. I got my ass kicked by those f*cking Goetia for you. The King forced my memories because of you.”

Tweed gripped at his dark hair and let out a choked sob. “And you just keep using me, and I keep letting it happen.”

Blitz’s mind tried to process what he was being told.

“Got nothing to say?” Tweed asked, and Blitz could see through his wine-stained eyes that the boy was shaking. “I have accepted that you will never share the feelings I might have had for you, but this…”

“We don’t have to make it weird,” Blitz finally said, unsure how else to defend himself. “You are making a bigger deal-”

“It’s a big deal to me!” Tweed shouted, and then in a hoarse breath. “You don’t want me. You never wanted me.”

Tweed turned to the portraits, his eyes scanning the dozens of oil paintings covering a childhood so different from theirs. Blitz tried to reach out this hand, but Tweed pulled away.

“I would do anything to make you happy,” Tweed said softly. “But I can’t be him for you. I’m sorry, Blitz.”

Tweed did not give him a second look. The imp left Blitz on the bench in the portrait hallway, but there was no way he would sit there with the dozens of owl eyes staring at him. He got up on wobbly legs and ran the opposite direction.

He ran until he got to the door, fumbled with the lock, and then took off into the night air. He didn’t bother with the back step; he hopped to the front. He ran until he found the first bar he could find.

It was so loud and there was so much noise. There was a bouncer, but he didn’t care because he was smaller and faster and could slip by. The wine was still sloshing in his head, and the neon lights and loud drums did not help his understanding of where he was, but he didn’t care. He wanted to be lost. He wanted to get so drunk he couldn’t remember who he was.

sh*t, he didn’t have any money.

There was one imp at the bar, a taller guy with spiky white hair. Blitz staggered up to him, not quite sure what he was going to say, so when ‘Will you buy me a drink’ came out all desperate and pathetic, he wasn’t shocked, and the guy laughed at him.

“What are you, sweetheart, like twelve?”

Blitz hissed. “I’m eighteen, you asshole.”

“Hm,” the imp said, knocking back the rest of his drink, and then turning back to Blitz. “You help me with something, and I’ll help you get that drink. Deal?”

Sure, what the Hell, Blitz could deal. What did the dude want? His car cleaned? Blitz didn’t care, or at least he thought he didn’t care until the imp had him rough by the shoulders and led him to the bathroom. Once inside, the imp pushed the disgusting trash bin to keep the door shut.

“The f*ck-” Blitz started to say, but the imp’s mouth was on his.

This was not where Blitz had thought this was going. The imp’s breath was horrible, and he smelled like a gas station. Blitz pulled his face away but the imp pulled him back.

“You want that f*cking drink or what?” The imp asked.

There was no noise in his head. There was no Tweed pulling him back. There was no Mr. Butler with his lessons. There was no Barbie with her good advice. There was no Fizz with his promises of fun. There was no Mama and her hugs. There were no dates on the balcony or stars in his sky.

Blitz had nothing, not even a drink.

“Better be a stiff one-” Blitz’s joke turned into a gasp as he was turned and pressed against the sink.

Blitz managed to close his eyes before he could catch his reflection in the mirror. The sink had a faulty faucet; he could hear it dripping. Blitz could not see what was happening behind him, but he could hear the guy messing around with his pants.

Blitz felt his own pants give way and get caught halfway down his legs. The air was cold, and he felt an invasive hand in between his legs as the imp adjusted Blitz’s pose. Blitz tried to spread his legs as far apart as he could, but his pants were caught around his knees, and his horns kept hitting the f*cking mirror.

He wasn’t going to raise his head. He wasn't going to look. He was going to let this prick push himself inside and f*ck him. Then the imp would buy him a drink. This was just f*cking and it wasn’t a big deal. He didn’t need to make it weird.

It would be ok.

...I will wait until you are ready...

Blitz raised his head at the voice, and for the first time in nearly three years, he caught his reflection in a dirty mirror.

...I want you to be my first...

Blitz saw the divide of the color of this face and saw how the texture of the burned skin was just ever so different but hardly so. He saw his own gaze staring back at him. His face looked so gaunt, and he had deep bags under his eyes. Was this what Blitz looked like that night? Is this why the prince had left?

Blitz felt the stranger’s hands on his ass and felt something press against him, a bluntness trying to enter him. The imp pushed forward, trying to break through Blitz’s body’s refusal, but it burned something terrible. Blitz tensed.

...I am so terribly…

“I’m not ready,” Blitz told his reflection, told the voice in his head, told the man trying to f*ck him.

...horribly…

“You want that drink?”The imp snickered and tried to enter him again. “Then you will need to be f*cking ready.”

...devastatingly…

“I said I’m not ready.” Blitz tried to fight away from the imp, but his claws dug into his hips.

...in love…

“You ain’t relaxing, babe, so if you’re hurting, it’s your own f*cking-”

...with you…

Although drunk, Blitz was fast. He stomped his heel as hard as he could on the imp’s ankle and then kicked up to the asshole's exposed dick before swinging around to push him against the wall. It was a lucky push as the imp hit his head hard and sank to the ground.

Blitz had never fought before beyond play fighting, and he thanked his lucky stars that the dickwad went down as fast as he did. Digging through the imp’s pockets, he found the guy hadn’t a single cent on him, but he did have half a pack of cigarettes.

Blitz spit on the guy, pulled his pants up, took the cigarettes, and left the bar. He then walked back towards the palace, smoking nearly all the cigarettes, which might have been a few too much because he tossed up the wine in some shrubs before he entered the palace walls.

The door was locked, and Tweed was not there.

f*ck it, he would sleep outside.

Then it started raining.

“Goddamn it!” He yelled at the sky and searched the palace for an unlocked window, a forgotten door, a balcony…

A balcony.

Blitz stared up at the balcony. He shouldn’t go up there. He hadn’t been up there in years, but his hands found the holds like he was fifteen years old again. He remembered where to put his feet against the bricks to keep him steady. He remembered which plants to grab.

Soon, he landed on the wet, stone floor of the balcony. This was where he used to smoke at night and where he learned about planets and constellations.

And there was the door they didn’t lock because the prince liked the night wind.

Blitz pushed the door open gently and watched as it swung open. The rain was pouring down now, and if he kept the door open, it would make the floors even more wet, so he stepped inside.

With only the full moon's light, he looked around the room. It was like nothing had changed. The books, the small couch, the bell—it was all still there.

Blitz crawled up into the bed onto the right side like he had all those years ago. He took a breath. He took another breath. And then he spoke.

“I don’t understand what I did wrong. Why didn’t you take me with you? Was I too ruined for you?”

The voice, the ghostly fragments of a moments long gone, said nothing.

“I think I’m messing everything up. I think I hurt Tweed. I think I’m letting down Mr. Butler. I think…”

Blitz looked out towards the balcony and realized that he had never seen it from this angle on the bed before until now. There had always been a body before him, a feathery prince to nuzzle him.

“I think I miss you so much that I’ve lost myself. I don’t know who I am anymore.”

The only noise was the rain hitting the glass door. He ran his hand along the underside of the pillow and felt a change in fabric. He tugged, just to see what he would find, and pulled out a red robe. He recognized it immediately and pulled the bundle from where it had been stashed between the mattress and the bed frame.

Because he was utterly hopeless, he brought the robe to his face and inhaled. The scent was faint, so very faint, but he could smell the wet earth and berries.

He brought the robe to his chest and, for the first time in years, let himself cry until he had nothing left to give.

***

Blitz woke up the next day feeling like an ass, but he dragged himself from the bed rather quickly. Hungover and in the daylight, he regretted the choices that led him here. He changed the sheets, tidied up, and left. He would leave last night behind and pretend as though he did not sob hysterically in the prince's room like a weirdo.

Blitz returned to the servant's quarters and found everyone eating breakfast but Tweed, which was good because he didn’t want to unravel that yet. He knew he f*cked up, kind of crossed a lot of different boundaries there, but he could fix it.

Tweed and him fought all the time, but Tweed always forgave Blitz. He was just a good guy like that.

But when lunch came around and Tweed was not there to discuss what the plants were doing today in the greenhouse, he became concerned.

“Hey, Mr. Butler,” Blitz called. “Where did Tweed run off to?”

Mr. Butler set down his teacup and said. “Tweed put in his notice this morning, effective immediately.”

Blitz’s stomach dropped.

“He did what?” Blitz spat. “That isn’t f*cking funny.”

“Language! Also, a resignation is never funny, lad.”

“Where is he?”

“I can’t say for certain. He did not leave a forwarding address for his last paycheck. I believe his exact words were: Just give it to him to drink away. Of course, I do not have the faintest clue who Tweed is referring to.”

Blitz fell back in his chair.

“sh*t,” Blitz whispered.

Mr. Butler did not correct him.

***

The days came and went quieter and lonelier than they ever had. Blitz ate his meals in near silence, spent evenings in his room, and did not return to the bar. He told himself it was because he had lost the one person willing to help him sneak back into the palace, but he knew that wasn’t it. He didn’t spend Tweed’s paycheck but put it away for when he saw him again.

Because Blitz would see Tweed again.

The seasons came, and soon spring was upon them. Hell didn’t change much, but everyone always seemed to know when it was spring. Demons got all lovey-dovey and chipper. Flowers were blooming in the gardens. Stezzy had her new baby who totally didn’t look like Albert. Mr. Butler was even feeling better.

Blitz couldn’t say if he had changed. Probably, since he wasn’t drinking every night. He was still smoking because habits are hard to break, and he was hiding in the garage when he heard the big bell.

At first, Blitz couldn’t figure out what the Hell the bell meant. There were lots of bells used, but this was almost like a gong.

Blitz stepped out from the garage and found the staff lining up along the front of the house. Uncertain of what was happening, he put out his cigarette, adjusted his required waistcoat while throwing on the black jacket, and raced to meet everyone else.

They were lining up in an order Blitz did not understand, and Mr. Butler called him to his side.

“What is going on?” Blitz asked as Mr. Butler turned Blitz to stand the proper way by his side.

A long black car rolled through the palace gates and parked before them. Blitz tried to look through the tinted windows but only saw his own reflection.

“Keep calm, lad,” Mr. Butler whispered to Blitz.

Blitz whispered back. “I don’t even know what in the name of Jesus’ tit*-”

The door opened, and a taloned foot emerged from the car. With wide eyes, Blitz saw a tall Goetia, wearing a long red cape and a suit with shiny buttons, step out from the car. His feathers were gray, nearly blue, and he stood feet above the imps. Four red eyes took up nearly all of his heart-shaped face, and he had a small black beak.

He was the most beautiful thing Blitz had ever seen.

The Goetia's long legs carried him forward two steps from the car, but he stopped before the household staff. This Goetia seriously had the longest legs. It was like they went on for miles.

“I hope your travels were pleasant, Your Highness,” Mr. Butler spoke.

“Yes, my travels were...”

The Goetia stopped as his eyes met Blitz, and Blitz felt his tail swish behind him. The Goetia tilted his head ever so slightly to the side, and Blitz found he wanted to copy him. The owl’s voice was so soft, so gentle, so familiar.

“...pleasant,” He said, and then his eyes darted back to Mr. Butler. “Please bring my bags to my chambers. I will be in my study for the rest of the evening.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Mr. Butler said.

The Goetia avoided Blitz as his bright red eyes scanned the staff before turning and entering the palace. At once, everyone but Blitz lowered their heads in a bow and said: “Your Highness.”

Only Blitz stood tall above the bowing imps, so it was quite easy when the Goetia turned for one last glance to meet his eye. The Goetia took in a deep breath and let it out, and ever so slightly, his feathers ruffled just like they always had when he was happy.

With a sigh that felt like it had been held in his chest for the past three years, Blitz uttered his name.

“Stolas.”

Chapter 13: Trust and Space

Chapter Text

Barbie always said Blitz was a mama’s boy, but Blitz figured she was just jealous. She hadn’t been anyone’s anything. She never gave people the chance to get close to her. For being her twin, Blitz only felt a connection when she would smile at him after nailing a difficult tightrope act. Otherwise, she was too feisty, too independent, too wise beyond her years.

Blitz couldn’t live that life, or at least he couldn’t when he was a child. Even at age ten, he would run to Mama if the crowd didn’t laugh at his jokes or if Fizz’s refused to play the games he wanted to play.

Mama would let him lay his head in her lap, and she would trace the features of his face. Slowly, she would run her finger between his eyes, along his cheeks, and down his jaw until he felt sleepy and heavy. She would ask him what was wrong, and with his tears dried, he would tell her. She would listen, but her answer was always the same.

What does your heart want you to do, Blitzo?

As a ten-year-old, that didn’t make sense. Blitz's heart wasn’t telling him anything at all. Mama said he would understand one day.

He wished he could talk to Mama now.

“Come on now, lad, help with the bag.”

Blitz heard Mr. Butler, he felt his hand on his elbow, but he couldn’t tear his gaze from the empty spot Stolas had stood.

“He said move, loverboy.” Stezzy pushed him, and then his feet moved, but his mind was stuck on the scene that had played out before him.

Prince Stolas of the Ars Goetia had returned.

Blitz grabbed the two large bags from the car trunk and followed Mr. Butler on the familiar path to Stolas’ room. Mr. Butler was silent on their trek, which Blitz appreciated as his thoughts merged into questions that were buzzing around him in the air.

Why had Stolas returned?

Would Stolas want to talk?

Where did they stand?

Did Stolas still mean what he said all those years ago?

I am so terribly, horribly, devastatingly in love with you.

f*ck, but what about about the hurt? What about that night? What about Stolas leaving him behind, alone and in pain and confused as all Hell. No f*cking letters, no f*cking word, no f*cking portals, no f*cking anything.

What did Blitz even want?

Did he even have a choice?

Did he even want a choice?

“The key, Blitz?”

They were in front of Stolas’ bedroom door and Blitz had never felt so small.

“Right, yeah, hold on.” Blitz dug in his pocket for his keyring and handed it to Mr. Butler.

With the door unlocked, Mr. Butler led them inside. It was strange to see the room sober in the daylight. Almost as though he was in a place carved in history, unchanged and untouched, except it wasn’t. It wasn’t that long ago Blitz stumbled to this bed before him, a little shattered and mostly drunk, and cried to a boy who wasn’t there.

He couldn’t stay in that part of his memories. He could and might have preferred it, but Mr. Butler was giving him instructions, and he was meant to listen.

“We must remove the older outfits from the closets,” Mr. Butler ordered. “We shall pack them away for the prince to decide what he would like done with them. We shall also need to restock the soaps, linens, and perhaps a new stack of parchment for his writing desk. The royal tailor will be here in the morning to take the prince’s measurements. You will make sure he is awake for this appointment.”

“Yeah,” Blitz mumbled as he placed the suitcase on the small sofa against the wall.

Mr. Butler cleared his throat. “Are you listening to me, Blitz?”

“Yes,” Blitz said through his teeth. “I can hear you.”

The butler waited until Blitz met his eye, and then he continued. “You must speak to the prince to determine his new schedule. His father does not intend to return to the palace until late summer, so Prince Stolas will have time to learn what works for him. As his birthday is at the end of this week-”

“Birthday?” Blitz interrupted.

Blitzo, this has been the best birthday ever.

Eight years already, huh?

f*ck, he rubbed the space between his eyes.

Mr Butler tapped Blitz’s shoulder. “With his upcoming eighteenth birthday, he ages into many of his responsibilities. On that day, this palace is his to control, but he will need someone to keep him on task. You must help him with his schedule, attire, and meals.”

Blitz knew this but also knew that Mr. Butler spoke for those who remembered more than they learned. Mr. Butler would never tell him to his face, but he tried to remind Blitz of the expectations he needed to uphold.

“I am his valet,” Blitz said in a flat voice. “I know my responsibilities. I don’t need your help.”

Mr. Butler eyed Blitz, his mustache twitched, and then he nodded.

“I know you don’t.”

Mr. Butler left Blitz to complete his duties, and Blitz immediately regretted sassing off. The room was much larger when he was alone, but he did as he had been taught. First, he restocked the linen closet, then changed the sheets even though no one had slept on them since Blitz had. He dusted, cleaned the windows, and packed away all the old clothing without paying attention to what he grabbed to avoid memories.

Unfortunately, he could not avoid the small scratch in the wall he found when he was sweeping. It was small, and it really could have been from anything, but Blitz remembered that night. He remembered throwing the glass in frustration at himself. He remembered watching a drunken Stolas fall apart in his arms. He remembered Stolas' sweet words, his desperate promises.

That was the night Blitz gained a semblance of hope, and it had ruined nearly everyone around him.

He swept the dirt pile away from the wall and under the bed. Not like Stolas would care or even notice.

Finally, he moved to the suitcase. Stolas had packed so little, but it would explain if the tailor was coming tomorrow. Rich folks didn’t care about their possessions when they could just buy more.

“Everyone is replaceable,” Blitz whispered as he put away long linen pants and several pairs of long black gloves.

The first suitcase was empty, but he felt something shift when he tried to place it on the ground. Thinking he had forgotten something, he opened the bag again. He felt around the sturdy bottom and found the smallest zipper he had ever felt. If he hadn’t been looking, he would have missed it.

“What is up with birds and their secret compartments?” Blitz whispered and unzipped the bag.

The pocket was so thin that his fingers barely fit. After pulling and pushing from both ends, he finally tugged out a long, flat box. The box itself was plain black and sturdy. Blitz turned the box around and felt the weight inside shift slightly. Although hidden at the bottom of the box, Blitz found the tiniest lock.

Blitz was the son of a sleazebag and knew how to pick anything with a hole.

Blitz didn’t need to see inside. It was probably just some fancy pens or some stupid jewelry, but it would drive him mad if he didn’t check. He bent the key ring in his pocket until the thin metal was straight enough to fit in the opening. He was careful and precise until he felt the shift of gears and the lid open.

It was a blessed knife.

Blitz lifted the white silver to the light and watched it glittered against the sun.

“Why do you have this?” Blitz asked the knife, but it was a knife, so it didn’t have an answer.

He placed the knife back in the box and then the box back in his suitcase. Stolas had secrets. King Paimon had secrets. Everyone had goddamn secrets. Blitz intended to find out what the Hell was going on.

***

The door to Prince Stolas’ study remained closed until late evening. Blitz knew this as he sat on the cushioned bench outside for hours, waiting to be called upon.

When the Goetias left the night of the Summer Solstice Ball, Blitz often would find himself frozen in place, waiting to be told what to do, where to go. His body felt the chill of hesitation in his actions. Nothing he did ever felt quite right. On the bench, below a portrait of stars, he felt the temperature turn his bones to ice, and he worried if he moved too fast, they would splinter and crack.

Blitz’s place was not with the other servants. It never really had been, and they had just been kind enough to pretend. His role as a valet left him in a different category than them—not better or worse, just different. Mr. Butler was the head of the household operations; he decided everyone's roles. The rest were responsible for keeping the household going, managing the gardens, cooking the dinners, and cleaning the palace.

Blitz did not belong to the household. He belonged to Stolas.

It didn’t feel that way. Hadn’t for a long time.

It had to be close to nine at night when Mr. Butler appeared. He was quite good at silence for an old imp with a bad back. He held a covered dinner tray like a waiter in those fancy restaurant windows that overlords and Sins ate at.

“The prince never took dinner,” Mr. Butler said.

Blitz shrugged. “He never asked for it.”

“It is your duty to offer it,” Mr. Butler reminded him as he pushed the tray into Blitz’s hands.

“f*ck, yeah, it probably is.”

The tray was lighter than he imagined, and he balanced it with one hand as he stepped up to the door. It was made of solid wood, and the handle was shiny with polish and from being unused. Blitz took a breath, opened the door, and stepped inside.

Stolas’ study wasn’t a room Blitz had been in often, perhaps a handful of times over the past few years and only ever in the daylight. During the evening, the dark sky did not diminish the glory and utter indulgence of the space. Leading into the room were busts of past Goetias, all of whom Blitz did not know and did not care about. Figureheads or leaders in some kind of war. In the center of the room was an empty desk with an oversized backed chair, and nearly every wall was either a bookshelf or crowded with portraits, none of which were of Stolas. Behind the desk was a series of stairs leading up to a second and third floor of books and parchments. Hanging from the ceiling was a giant globe, which Blitz figured was supposed to be a planet, with smaller ones hanging down like chandelier gems.

The only thing not present was Stolas.

Blitz placed the covered tray on the desk and tried to spot where the prince could be hiding. The room was so large, but the candles and starlight lit it up enough that corners were not shadowed, and hiding places were few.

Blitz spotted the movement first, a subtle change in the environment. As though the reality of the world before him opened like a curtain, Stolas appeared through a crack in the space before him at the top of the stairs. Ever so faintly, the portal closed, but Blitz could see the whirling purple colors of a sky he had once seen in a place in his earliest memories.

Stolas stood at the top of the stairs with an expression neither surprised nor thrilled. Curious was a better way to describe it. He no longer wore the ridiculous cape, but his suit of crinkled black velvet was still laced up tight. Something shimmered in his feathers, and he did not move to brush it aside.

From where Blitz stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at the prince before him, he felt he was witnessing something he had no right to see.

This was Stolas, but it wasn’t the same Stolas he had held to his chest. It wasn’t the same Stolas he had kissed and rutted against. Blitz could see the similarities, but this Stolas didn't feel like the owl he knew, even in the way he stood, tall with his hands clasped carefully in front of him.

This Stolas was so tall and thin. These feathers were sleek and shiny. He did not smile, which was throwing him off the most. His Stolas, the one he didn’t let himself think about, had always been smiling. Always laughing.

Stolas spoke first. “Blitzo-”

“It’s Blitz”

Blitz regretted the words as soon as they left his body, but it was another choice made for him by the powers that be. It was almost like magic. f*ck, it probably was magic, and he nearly groaned at the annoyance of it all.

Stolas’ expression remained unchanged, but Blitz caught the slight shift of his hands, the light wringing that he knew too well.

“I…understand,” Stolas said and descended the stairs.

In his mind, he could still picture Stolas as he had been. He could see the roundness of his face and body. He could see the tufts of feathers that stuck out at all angles. He could see him sitting against the big tree with his blushing cheeks from their first kiss.

He held onto that memory as Stolas walked past him without even a soft brush of his hand. In his wake, Blitz could smell dust and ink, which wasn’t his Stolas' scent that stained his clothing and sheets.

“I did not request dinner,” Stolas said in a voice so unlike his own, more profound and clipped at the ends. “You may take it away if you’d like.”

Stolas stood at the desk amongst the towers of books and stacks of clean parchment. He had a gloved hand to his beak as he scanned the various ink pots in his desk drawer. He would not look at Blitz.

“You didn’t even see what it was,” Blitz said. “If you don’t like it, I can get you something else.”

Stolas did not answer him as he continued to rummage through his desk drawer.

Blitz groaned. “You have to eat something, if you don’t-”

“I’ll lose brain cells?” Stolas interrupted in a soft exhale as though it was a joke.

It may have been a passing shadow, but it almost looked like Stolas had smiled. Blitz could not find what was funny about this, and Stolas must have noticed, for whatever might have been growing died away.

“My apologies, Blitz-” Stolas’ sentence was cut very short with a pronounced pretend cough to cover up a dead ‘o’. “Excuse me, I am not feeling well after my travels. If you would like, you may take the food away.”

“Would you like me to take the food away?” Blitz asked.

“If you would like,” Stolas responded.

“No, I’m asking if you would like me to.”

Stolas met his gaze. “If you would like.”

What the f*ck was that about?

“I would like you to eat the damn food.” Blitz lifted the tray cover, and they both saw the simple bowl of soup and bread.

Stolas clicked his beak once, grabbed a few books from the desk, and walked back up the stairs. Blitz watched Stolas’ tail gently sway with each step, and at the top, he turned back to Blitz.

“I shall be finished here in an hour. Do whatever you would like with the meal. Thank you.”

Then Stolas was gone in a ripple of purple magic. The only proof he had ever been there was the red cape and untouched meal he left behind.

Blitz did not swear, although the words stained his lips. He did not yell or break things. He simply picked up the tray, left the study, and, once in the hallway, chucked the whole damn thing out the window. After that, he felt a little better and didn’t care that Albert would have to pick it up in the morning.

Stolas took another three hours before he emerged from the study. He looked tired, and the top button of his vest was undone, but he was back. Blitz waited on the bench outside the door even though Mr. Butler reminded him that Stolas had the bell and could call on him whenever he wanted.

“Oh, Blitz, I didn’t know you were waiting,” Stolas said in a voice similar to the one in his memories. “You could have gone to bed.”

The tired look in Stolas' eyes concerned Blitz in ways he hadn’t felt in years, for it had been years. He could remember Stolas returning to the palace as a new teenager with the same sad look. Blitz couldn’t ask him then if he was ok. He wasn’t sure if he could even ask him now.

Blitz didn’t know what the f*ck to do.

“My job is to assist you.” Blitz hopped off the bench. “So let me assist.”

“If you would like,” Stolas repeated that annoying phrase.

The two walked quietly to Stolas’ bedroom. They had not often walked to Stolas’ room together, which felt strangely intimate. They passed the portraits, and although Stolas glanced at the wine-stained canvas, he didn’t ask what had happened. He didn’t say anything at all.

Once at the door, Stolas turned to Blitz. “I can undress myself. I do not believe I shall need your assistance with anything.”

“Are you sure?” Blitz could not see the backing of Stolas’ suit, but he expected it was tightly buttoned.

“Yes, I am sure.” Stolas hovered by the door, his hands flexing at his thighs. “Where shall you be sleeping?”

My, what a f*cking question.

“I have been sleeping in my room.” He offered.

“Next door?” Stolas asked.

“No, the one in the servant quarters,” Blitz said.

Stolas’ composure broke. His shoulders fell, and the stoic expression turned sour.

“You do not need to sleep in the servant's quarters. You have a space here. These rooms will always be yours.”

Stolas’ hands shook at his side, and Blitz watched as the owl’s mind raced, for it was so plain on his face. This new knowledge of Blitz’s sleeping arrangements had sparked something.

This conversation felt stunted, unmovable. This whole f*cking day felt that way. This wasn’t how he had pictured their reunion, but then again, he hadn’t pictured it at all. Since that night, he hadn’t pictured a future further than a few hours.

Blitz couldn’t even remember the last thing he had said to Stolas before he had left. He didn’t remember much about that night.

“Your Highness,” Blitz started and saw the flinch. Probably would have hurt Stolas less if he had just stabbed him in the chest. “No, not that, just–f*ck…I…”

The words weren’t forming, and his chest ached. The night was so dark, and no one was awake. This is what being alone together again looked like, but that didn’t mean it was safe.

“You may sleep wherever you feel best,” Stolas told him carefully.

“What would you like me to do,” Blitz whispered because he couldn’t say, ‘Tell me what you want of me. Tell me you still want me. Tell me I am not worthless to you. Tell me I am not ruined to you. Tell me you did not forget me. Tell me you did not mean to leave me. Tell me what I said to you that night that drove us to this.’

Stolas looked pathetic as he stood tall as a mountain while trembling like a weed. Blitz wished he could do something, but he feared Stolas would snap in two if he tried to grab him.

Stolas shook as he spoke. “Whatever you-”

Blitz couldn’t do this.

“Alright, you have the bell.” Blitz quickly answered.

He turned away from Stolas and walked back down the hall. When he realized he was going in the wrong direction and would have to take the long way around, he was already too far gone and much too stubborn to turn around. He would not look back to Stolas. He just couldn’t.

Later, he remembered something as he tossed and turned in his sleep. It was so inconsequential that he hadn’t placed it.

Ok, so you aren’t answering me. Which makes me think you are probably losing brain cells from lack of food.

f*ck, those words had come from a much younger version of him. Stolas wasn’t just making a joke. He was bringing up a moment that was wholly theirs.

Stolas hadn’t forgotten.

***

Blitz woke well before the sun to get Stolas ready for the day. Stolas was an owl and if given the chance, he would sleep in until noon. The tailor was supposed to be at the palace shortly for Stolas’ fitting, and it was Blitz’s duty to ensure he was awake.

Or, at least, Stolas had been a night owl. When Blitz snuck into the room to prepare his clothing, Stolas was already awake at his writing desk, jotting something down. He wore a simple red tunic and black pants, far from royal garments. He did not look up when Blitz entered the room.

“I do not need any assistance, Blitz,” Stolas hummed.

“Dressing casually today?” Blitz asked.

“The tailor should be here soon. I shall have to undress anyway.”

Blitz nodded. “Right, of course. Duh.”

He did not ask Stolas if he wanted tea because he would get the ‘if you would like’ or whatever bullsh*t that was about, so he went down to the kitchens. The new cook, Cora, was not pleased with the early morning wake-up call, but she had some biscuits set aside that she added to Blitz’s tea tray, along with jam and butter.

“Make sure he eats this,” Cora scolded Blitz. “Albert said he found my stew in the rose bushes.”

When he returned to Stolas’ rooms, dozens of fabric bolts were leaning on the hallway wall. Mr. Butler had shown the tailor up to Stolas’ room, and when Blitz entered, it was clear he had missed quite a bit.

Stolas was standing on a small platform, almost nude, except for a pair of black briefs and the long black gloves he wore the night before. The tailor had Stolas facing away from the door so they could measure his legs. His legs, those f*cking legs, were so damn long, and he had the slightest curve of a hip. Stolas’ feathers had grown beautifully all over, and Blitz could not stop his eyes from scanning the owl over. It wasn’t until Stolas looked over his shoulder at Blitz and damn near batted those big eyes at him that Blitz realized he was gawking at him.

Blitz felt his arm’s strength nearly give way, and he quickly placed the tray on the side table.

“If this is your valet, Your Highness?” The tailor asked.

Stolas turned away from Blitz to look at her. “Yes, his name is Blitz.”

“Wonderful,” she said. “Blitz, could you please help me get the prince’s measurements?”

In his schooling, Blitz had been taught how to take measurements. Dressing the prince was one of the most significant parts of his job, so it would be ridiculous for him to not know how. The issue before him was that he hadn’t had to measure anything other than a mannequin. Still, it was his job, so Blitz stood by the tailor and listened as she gave instructions.

“I just need you to take his bust measurements, please.” She directed. “With you measuring, this process should go by much faster.

She handed Blitz a step stool and took up her half-full notebook. Stolas stood before him but turned his head away, even after Blitz stood on the step stool and they were nearly face to face.

“If you could lift your arms,” Blitz asked quietly.

Still looking away, Stolas lifted his arms above his head. Blitz wanted to ask about the gloves, but Stolas’ expression burning a hole in the ground told him it was better if he didn’t.

“At the widest part, please,” The tailor said as she tapped her notepad with her pencil.

Blitz unraveled the measuring tape and leaned as close as he could without touching Stolas to get the measuring tape around Stolas’ back. Unfortunately, Blitz’s balance on the small step stool was relatively poor, and he fell directly into the soft patch of feathers against Stolas’ chest.

He should have fallen to the ground. Stolas should have moved away or even let him slide down his chest, but instead, Blitz felt strong arms around his back, long gloved fingers in between his spines.

He could stay here in this mess of feathers and be fine for the first time in years.

That wasn’t an option, though, so he quickly wrapped the measuring tape around Stolas’ back and pushed himself back into a standing position on the stool.

Stolas said nothing as he released Blitz from his hold.

Blitz gave the measurements to the tailor, who wrote them down before saying. “Of course, for the new crown, how could I forget? Could you get a head measurement as well?”

Blitz did not need to ask Stolas for him to turn his head towards Blitz. It would have been too hard to avert his eyes for this task. It would have been too silly for Blitz to let his cowardice win.

Blitz looked into Stolas’ eyes, and Stolas looked back into his, and f*ck, that feeling never went away. New feelings had emerged, doubt, shame, betrayal, and hurt, but this feeling never left. The one he couldn’t name as easily as Stolas could.

He didn’t want to be in his room any longer. He didn’t want to look into Stolas’ eyes as if nothing had happened. As he hadn’t lost so much without him to turn to. As if this Stolas was the same boy who called him darling, love, his boyfriend. As if Stolas hadn’t left him shattered and alone.

“This will take only a second,” Blitz reassured Stolas, the tailor, and himself.

He let his fingers linger too long on the soft feathers where the measuring tape met itself again. If Stolas minded, he said nothing, nor did he say ‘please wait’ when Blitz immediately left the room the moment he was of no more use.

***

A week could pass rather quickly when spent staring at a closed door. The hours pass by in silent anticipation of being needed. Of being wanted.

Blitz found much of his day was waiting on the damn bench for Stolas. Stolas was always dressed well before dawn and did not want Blitz to help him get ready for bed. Blitz would try to clean and organize, but mostly, he waited around until he could bring Stolas his meals. That was an uncomfortable affair: Blitz would set the tray down, Stolas would say he would need no more assistance, Blitz would leave only to return an hour later to retrieve the tray.

Except for the day before Stolas’ birthday, when Blitz attempted to bring Stolas a dinner he wouldn’t eat, he spoke to Blitz.

“Whom of the staff do you trust?”

Blitz had just set the tray down and hadn’t expected Stolas to say anything, so the question caught him off guard. He tried to sneak a peek at Stolas’ writing, but his penmanship was too pretty for Blitz to understand.

“You are going to have to be more specific.”

Stolas sat back in the highback chair, and Blitz saw the wrinkles in his suit vest. Blitz felt a stab at his own pride. If he was doing his job correctly, Stolas wouldn’t be in shabby clothing, and his black gloves wouldn’t have started to fray.

“Which members of the staff do you trust to keep information private?” Stolas asked.

Blitz thought for a moment before he started sharing names: Mr. Butler, Cora, the kitchen staff, the laundry staff. Not Stezzy, never Stezzy, maybe Albert.

“What about Tweed?” Stolas set his feather pen down.

Blitz shut his eyes to let the passing wave of sickly guilt that struck him whenever he thought of his friend make its way through his body.

“Tweed no longer works for you,” Blitz said.

Stolas co*cked his head to the side in that curious way he did. “Oh. I did not know that.”

Blitz opened the tray cover (which contained more soup and bread than either of them could eat) and pushed it towards Stolas.

Stolas shifted his gaze from Blitz to the food in front of him. The prince counted the slices of thickly cut white bread as though he was dividing up the portions, and a silly hope sparked in Blitz’s mind. He desperately wanted Stolas to ask him to stay, sit together, and eat the stupid bread.

Blitz wanted to be wanted again.

But Stolas simply nodded and said. “I don’t think I should need anything else. If you want to go, you may.”

Blitz took the suggestion and left before his mouth could spurt out the bitter vile in his throat. Assumptions had grown, as had new fears, and he was having a hard time pulling them both like weeds.

Stolas didn’t want him to be his friend or his employee. Instead, Blitz was his burden.

So he didn’t wait on the bench that night. He returned to the servant quarters, past the imps he had just tattled on to their prince, and went to bed. There was nothing left to do, no one to talk to, no warm body to press himself against. No Tweed and no Stolas.

f*ck, he had been so lucky back then, and he had always been too busy seeking a past that had moved on without him to notice.

The heaviness of that weighed on Blitz harder than it should, and maybe he cared too f*cking much. Stolas didn’t care. If Stolas cared, he would have stayed with him that night. He would have laid in that little bed with him and held him. Or maybe he had, how the f*ck would Blitz know? He could faintly remember that night beyond the pain and thoughts of dying.

Fire, magic, ink, stone, and chains.

A glimpse of the worst moment of his life and sound bites of events he couldn’t recall. He could remember his own voice begging for death, but yet he was here.

Shh, love, shh, take a breath with me…

Stolas didn’t call him love anymore.

Blitz fell asleep trying to piece together fragmented memories and woke just as the moon began to sink. With his eyes closed, Blitz shut the curtain and began to dress.

It was far too early in the morning, but even at his earliest wakings, Stolas was awake before he was. Blitz was doing a terrible job at this valet bullsh*t, and a new fight woke up with him this morning. If Stolas was going to avoid him at all costs, Blitz would be more aggressive. Just because they were nothing didn’t mean Blitz would be nothing.

He walked the silent halls, past the chandelier in the ballroom they had laughed under, past the little library they played pirates in, past the linen closet Blitz had pulled Stolas into to press their bodies together, past it all, until he got to Stolas’ room.

This was his role, and if Stolas wanted him to do it, then Blitz would do it right. He pushed open the door and shut it as silently as he could, but apparently, it didn’t matter as Stolas was not in bed. He also wasn’t in the bathroom or in the oversized closets. Panicking, Blitz almost left the room to find him when he felt a soft breeze.

Stolas always slept with the balcony doors open and Blitz could hear soft cries in the wind.

He found a weeping Stolas sitting on the cold stone floor. He wore his red robe, sitting much high up his thigh with his new length, and his legs were pulled up to his chest. In a shaky, ungloved hand, he held a cigarette. The smoke waved up to the sky from the tremors of his body, and Blitz saw then why he wore the gloves.

“What happened to you?” Blitz asked carefully.

Stolas sharply turned his head to look at Blitz, took another drag of the cigarette, and then turned back to the night sky, but he didn’t respond. He didn’t explain the missing feathers, the deep scars, and the slow new growth. Blitz knew what molting looked like, and this wasn’t it. In fact, it looked like he had been burned.

Like Blitz.

“Your Highness?”

Blitz watched Stolas’ eyes squeeze closed, and another choked sob left his chest. The prince put his forehead against his knees, and the cigarette dropped on the stone. Blitz took two steps to pick it up and then two steps back.

He didn’t know what to do.

What does your heart want you to do, Blitzo?

It wants me to sit with him, Mama.

So Blitz sat down, far enough from Stolas to give him space but close enough to offer an opening. He didn’t know what that opening was, but he gave it to Stolas. He also smoked the rest of Stolas’ cigarette and didn’t even pretend he wasn’t thrilled to get this close to his lips again. He savored every puff as he joined Stolas in looking at the sky.

When the night became dawn and the first light of morning hit the stone on the balcony, Blitz turned to Stolas. Stolas was calm now, his head no longer resting against his knees, and he was also looking at Blitz. With so much to say and no starting point, they looked at each other, waiting for the other to talk. Blitz broke first.

“That robe does not fit you anymore.”

Stolas looked down at his beloved robe, his chest fluff sneaking through the front and the hem only reaching mid-thigh.

Then Blitz added. “Your legs got too damn long.”

Stolas made a noise that might have been a chuckle. “For miles?”

“Yeah, something like that.” Blitz smirked.

The sun continued to rise, and the shadows of the night were swallowed by the rays on the balcony's stone.

“I am trying so hard to keep my distance from you,” Stolas whispered, the confession sounding painful. “It hurts more than I imagined it would.”

Blitz wanted to look away from Stolas. He didn’t want to get this deep this early, but Stolas was brave. Blitz could be brave.

“I never asked you to,” Blitz said.

“I know,” Stolas said as he reached into his robe pocket and pulled out his cigarette case. He took one and then held out the golden case to Blitz.

Blitz took one and lit it with his lighter. Almost on instinct, he leaned over with a lit flame for Stolas. Stolas hesitated but leaned down and let Blitz light his cigarette. Blitz watched, slightly memorized, as Stolas sucked in a breath before turning to let out a puff of smoke.

“Do you want me to stay away from you?” Blitz asked.

“No.” The answer was so quick, short, and determined.

“Then why are you acting like this?”

“To keep you safe,” Stolas said.

Blitz scoffed. “From what? Your dad? I think f*cker already did the most damage he could do to me.”

Stolas shook his head as he took another drag. He didn’t offer any more of an answer.

Blitz finished his cigarette, smashed it against the stone, and stood. His back wasn’t happy with how he sat, but he usually felt some sort of pain. The burns had left more than just white patches on his body.

Stolas did not join him, and for once, Blitz could lay out an outfit for Stolas to wear. He was tempted to pull out the most intricate outfit, one that could not be put on without the help of another, but he was not that cruel. So he laid out a simple cotton shirt, slacks, and a pale blue vest. He opened the drawer to grab a pair of black gloves and found a new pair, cream with embroidered flowers along the arms, and then it hit him.

He stuck his head out the open door, and Stolas was no longer sitting but leaning against the railing with his face pointed to the morning sun. For a bird of the stars, the sun looked good on him.

“Happy Birthday,” Blitz said.

Stolas did not turn to meet him. “Thank you, Blitz.”

“You are welcome, Stolas.”

That caught Stolas’ attention and Blitz was brought back to another time. How many of these conversations would be a reflection of a past moment. Only at that time, he had run. He had told Stolas he missed him and left before he could read Stolas’ face.

Blitz remained, bolder though chipped, and he was glad he did for Stolas’ face lit up in joy. If his name was the only gift Blitz could afford to give Stolas, then so be it. Stolas didn’t seem to mind.

Chapter 14: Stars

Chapter Text

Two truths were circling in Blitz’s mind as he grabbed the tray of food from the kitchen.

First: the damn palace, like the actual f*cking building, knew it was Stolas’ birthday. King Paimon’s sigil, the one Blitz was intimately familiar with, had been replaced by Stolas’. The wallpaper, door knockers, tapestries, any place that once bore that horrible image was now the one carved on Stolas’ crown. Blitz didn’t feel relieved if he was being honest with himself. He really didn’t feel anything at all.

Second: Stolas was still getting married to Stella.

Blitz hadn’t thought about the upcoming royal nuptials in years. He didn't have a reason to think of it either. Not like Stolas had been there to remind him.

So when Mr. Butler told Blitz to inform Stolas that Andrealphus had arrived for a visit, Blitz almost asked, ‘Why the f*ck would Stolas meet with that dickhe*d?’

Because he was going to be his future brother-in-law, of course.

Not Blitz’s concern. Blitz knew that.

“Just do your job,” Blitz whispered as he climbed the staircase. “Get over it.”

Get over what, exactly? They weren’t anything, Stolas made that perfectly clear with the secret keeping and the distance. Then again, the look on Stolas’ face when he used his name would be awfully hard to fake if it didn’t mean anything, right?

As if he hadn't a goddamn clue.

Stolas was in his study, as he often hid for entire days. He did not look up when Blitz silently entered and remained in his chair, legs crossed and an open tome in his lap. He was dressed in a simple white blouse and tight black pants that Blitz did not ponder longer than a moment.

f*ck, his legs were so long.

“You have a visitor,” Blitz announced.

Stolas lifted his head from the book. “A visitor before dinner?”

Stolas’ birthday dinner was to be held at Andrealphus' palace, one of the primary reasons Stolas had to be fitted with a new garment upon his arrival. The outfit had arrived that morning, and Blitz had to carry the damn heavy thing upstairs. Turns out, it was a fur cape with a fancy waistcoat.

“It is Andrealphus.” Blitz watched Stolas’ expression and did his very best not to smirk when Stolas groaned.

“Very well,” Stolas sighed, setting the tome on the desk. “Let us get this over with.”

“Us?” Blitz asked.

Stolas walked past him. “Are you really going to make me face And-really-puss alone, are you?”

The laugh traveled through history before it escaped Blitz’s lips. Two little boys and a pirate ship. A serious conversation, a last playful moment of childhood.

“Seriously?” Blitz hollered. “You remember that name?”

“Of course I do,” Stolas grinned and bent down slightly with his hand to his mouth as though he was giving Blitz a grand secret. “It's how I refer to him. In my thoughts only, mind you.”

Right there, in the silliness and the grin, the way his airy voice teased, was the Stolas from Blitz’s deepest memories. His Stolas, but he wouldn’t think it. He couldn’t think it.

Blitz followed behind Stolas to the smaller dining area, which had become the room where Stolas was to receive visitors. Stolas probably did not know that yet, but Mr. Butler had made it very clear that Blitz would be well acquainted with the cleaning routine. It was small but with grand windows overlooking the garden, a table for guests, and a few seats around the room. Stolas’ sigil was everywhere.

Andrealphus was there as well, sadly, in all his stupid blue bird bullsh*t.

The peaco*ck did not look much different than he had that horrid night. His clothing was more elaborate, and his posture was more pristine. He wasn’t a young adult anymore but someone with power and authority. Blitz didn’t know what, but he was sure it was boring.

Andrealphus did not rise from his seat and waited until he sipped his tea before greeting Stolas.

“Ah, dear Stolas, how long has it been since we have had time to chat?” Andrealphus motioned to Blitz. “I see you brought him along.”

Stolas took his seat next across from Andrealphus. “Blitz is my valet, of course he shall attend where I go.”

Blitz took his spot behind Stolas, leaving him to look at Andrealphus’ stupid blue face.

“Really, as your future brother-in-law,” Andrealphus glanced at Blitz before returning to Stolas. “I must ask you to avoid future embarrassment. My dear sister already went through so much with your big temper tantrum all those years ago.”

Without hesitation, Stolas spoke. “I am seeing you in a few hours at the grand dinner, which means you are here to talk about matters you do not wish to share in company. I am quite busy, and I ask you to keep this quick. What do you want?”

A few servants arrived before Stolas could speak with a prepared lunch. Since it was only noon, the kitchen staff always made a light meal. Blitz spotted sandwiches, raw vegetables, soft cheese, bread, and soup. Cora, the cook, always had some kind of soup cooking in a big pot on her stove.

Andrealphus tasted the soup and visibly spat the broth into his napkin. “This is unsalted and dull. Really, Stolas, you can’t keep good staff at all.” Andrealphus pointed at Blitz. “Get me the salt, imp.”

“His name is Blitz,” Stolas was quick with his response.

Andrealphus did not readdress him and rolled his eyes. Blitz didn’t want to cause a fight, although it would have been quite a sight to watch the birds take it out on each other, and chose the higher ground by going to the small serving table behind Andrealphus to grab the salt.

“I want to talk about how you shall treat my sister tonight,” Andrealphus said. “Your last encounter with her at the Summer Solstice Ball left her quite distraught. She said you were rude to her and denied her requests for physical affection. That is quite pathetic, considering she is to be the mother of your future children.”

Blitz looked past Andrealphus and his ranting to Stolas. The prince’s eyes were already on him, already annoyed, and well, what was Blitz supposed to do? He picked up the sugar container and made a silly motion of pouring it onto Andrealphus’ head to show Stolas he wasn’t alone in thinking this guy was a total dick. He wanted to make Stolas laugh.

He had not asked Stolas to magically unscrew the salt shaker and twirl the salt particles into the air to pass by little grains of sugar until they had changed spots. Stolas’ expression did not change, but Blitz understood what the owl wanted.

Blitz’s duty was to Stolas, after all.

So he handed the salt shaker to Andrealphus, who did not pause his insistent rant that Stolas had to be more affectionate to his sister. He watched as the bird doused his soup in what he thought was salt.

“I know you have difficulties understanding what you are meant to do in your role, but I hope you see how critical it is you make a bit of an effort,” Andrealphus smirked when he finished his speech, took a spoonful of soup, and grimaced at the shallow. “What in the hell is this!?”

Stolas took a taste of his soup before speaking. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Your stupid imp gave me sugar!” Andrealphus pointed at Blitz. “You absolute-”

Stolas picked up the salt shaker, shook some into his palm, and tasted it. “This seems like salt to me, wouldn’t you agree, Blitz?”

Stolas held out his palm for Blitz to press his finger against to grab a few grains. It was salt, but he already knew that from Stolas’ sleight of hand magic wasn’t entirely up to par with what Fizz could do as a child, but good enough to fool Andrealphus.

“I would agree, Your Highness,” Blitz said.

“Give me that!” Andrealphus snatched the shaker from Stolas’ hands and repeated Stolas’ actions.

Clearly satisfied with what he tasted, he viciously shook the salt shaker into his soup, took another taste, and spit it into the bowl like a child.

“That just made it worse!” Andrealphus snapped his finger at Blitz. “Take this away and grab me a fresh cup of tea.”

Blitz bowed his head, took the soup away, and returned with a cup of tea, the pot of milk, and the sugar bowl. Andrealphus picked up a sugar cube, licked it in a most improper manner, and dropped it into his tea. He stirred the tea while staring at Blitz, and he gagged when he took a sip.

“Salt!” He hissed and stood from his chair. “I’m not sure what little imp magic you are doing, but I shall not be made a fool in my own brother-in-law’s house!”

“Blitz possesses no magic,” Stolas smirked as he took a sip of his own tea. “You must know that; otherwise, you would be able to sense it. Are you unwell? The sugar cubes taste sweet to me?”

Andrealphus swore as he grabbed his coat, something about ‘pathetic children’ and ‘imp f*cker’, and Blitz could have been defensive and caused a stir, but he couldn’t even if he wanted to. Stolas’ smile, light and crooked, as he watched Andrealphus stomp out of the room, took any thoughts of lashing out away. As soon as Andrealphus’s loud voice became too distant to hear, Stolas and Blitz broke out into laughter at the same time.

“Did you see his face!” Blitz was nearly crying. “How the f*ck did you do that?”

Stolas had to take a few breaths to calm himself because he could speak. “Simple transformation magic. I can’t believe Andrealphus didn’t pick up on it.

“Bitch is full of himself,” Blitz snickered. “That was too f*cking good, silly bird.”

When Blitz wiped his eyes from the tears of joy, he found Stolas staring at him anxiously, rubbing his hands. He looked so young and as though he wanted to say something. Confess something, but no confession emerged. Instead, Stolas pointed at the food before him.

“Will you finish lunch with me?” Stolas said. “I do not enjoy eating alone.”

This was not his job, but he sat where Andrealphus had and ate his fill of bread and cheese. They did not talk as they ate, but they didn’t have to. Blitz found silence once again, the same kind that he had to hunt for in the loud bars and the boozy drinks. He hadn’t realized he could find it in the presence of another.

Or maybe he couldn’t. Maybe he could only find it in the presence of Stolas.

***

The silence continued the rest of the afternoon. To Mr. Butler’s dismay, Stolas helped Blitz pick up lunch. Blitz was going to tell Stolas to cut it out, but it was his house, and if he wanted to clean, f*ck it, let him.

“Will you sit in my study with me?” Stolas asked as they walked down the long hall. “I know you spend quite some time on the bench outside the door, and I would feel more at ease if you were closer.” Stolas paused. “That is, if I need something, you understand?”

Sure, Blitz understood that he didn’t understand a single f*cking thing about what was happening. The blessed knife. The secrets flying through the Goetia. Stolas. Not a clue.

Blitz joined Stolas in the study. Stolas read his books, took notes, and did whatever his studies were. Blitz discovered a nice little bench in front of one of the big windows. It could be just going from one bench to another inside the door, but it was good enough for him.

The sun’s bright rays played through the window panes, and Blitz grew sleepy. It might have been all the food he had eaten after Andrealphus had stomped off or the early waking he had the past week, but he began to doze. At first, he caught himself, but he found his body growing fluid, his head leaning on the window, his breath growing deep and heavy.

He didn’t dream. He rarely dreamed, and if he did, he forgot them the next morning. He thought perhaps this was just another thing that King Paimon took from him and didn’t have room to grieve that loss. What did he have to dream about anyway?

When he woke from his nap to Stolas’ face so close to his own, he thought perhaps his dreams were coming back to him. Through his sleep-blurry eyes, he could see those small feathers bunched around his beak, the same ones Blitz would smooth down before leaving a kiss to the corner of Stolas’ eye.

Stolas with his soft, gentle smile. Stolas, with his kisses that could grow sharp but didn’t. Stolas with his hoots and his chirps and his pet names. Love. Darling. Dearest.

“Are you feeling well, Blitz?” Stolas asked.

This wasn’t a dream.

“Yes,” Blitz said, fully aware of how ridiculous this looked. “Sorry, I just let my eyes rest a sec.”

The sun was sinking in the red sky, which meant they ran late.

“f*ck!” Blitz rose from the bench and nearly tripped over his own two feet. “We gotta get you dressed.”

Blitz didn’t even think when he grabbed Stolas’ hand and told him they had to hurry. He didn’t think as Stolas followed behind him down the hall to the bedroom or when he sat Stolas on his writing desk stool. He didn’t think as he placed his fingers against the smooth button of Stolas’ top and pushed it through to the other side.

Blitz only started to think when Stolas placed his palm on top of Blitz’s working hand. Stolas’ palm, soft and tender, was strangely contrasted with the burns along his wrists. Small feathers were already poking through the scars, similar to when Stolas would molt. Funny how Blitz remembered helping Stolas preen his feathers as they had laid in Stolas’ bed.

“You took your gloves off,” Blitz whispered.

Stolas did not look down at his wrists, and Blitz wondered if it was the same way Blitz didn’t look in mirrors. Stolas removed Blitz’s hand and set it down to Blitz’s side.

“I can handle this part,” Stolas said.

“Right,” Blitz confirmed. “Let me just… um… grab your… things.”

Blitz turned to hide his viscous blushing and grabbed the plastic-wrapped outfit. Stolas fussed behind him, and Blitz could hear the ruffling of fabric and the shifting of cloth. The fact that Stolas was getting undressed did not escape him.

“Here,” Blitz held out a ruffled blouse behind him. “This is the shirt that came with it.”

“Oh.” Stolas’ voice was soft in the warm air. “It buttons in the back.”

Blitz closed his eyes to take in the noise for only a moment, and he turned to the prince before him.

“Blitz?” Stolas asked, and it only made it so much better. “Could you… I apologize for asking, but will you…”

Do your job and get over it

Hard to do when Stolas was standing there nearly bare to the world, the only thing separating him from the encompassing air was a pair of black underwear that clung to his hips.

Blitz had held himself together with this sight before when they had been surrounded by fabric bolts and measuring tape. Here, alone together, in a space they had shared before, felt nearly painful.

“Of course,” Blitz said and picked up the blouse. “Could you sit?”

The owl obeyed so beautifully as any prince would to a higher authority. Blitz was not a higher authority. He should warn Stolas against this, lesson twenty-seven, but they weren’t friends. They weren’t lovers, they weren’t beloveds, they weren’t anything. Blitz wasn’t anything.

Yet Stolas was looking at him, his beak slightly open and his chest heaving too fast. A prince shouldn’t be this nervous. Blitz shouldn’t be this nervous.

“Hold out your arms,” Blitz whispered.

Stolas did, and carefully Blitz helped bring the gauze white fabric over him. He walked the shirt forward through Stolas’ outreached arms to allow them to reach the ends, which did not happen until Blitz was chest to chest with Stolas. This could have been an embrace if Blitz tried. The worst part was Stolas’ face, one so filled with dazzlement and fear, probably would have let him.

Blitz took a step back. “Twirl around.”

Stolas nodded, and Blitz would have to figure out later what that feeling in his gut was at the sight of Stolas’ strong back. Stolas had grown so tall, so elegant, but Blitz knew it wouldn’t have mattered if they had stayed similar heights, similar builds, or anything in between. He would feel as then as he did now.

That f*cking feeling that never left.

“I’m going to get your shirt figured out.” Blitz’s fingers were on the buttons before he even spoke. “Just try to hold still because there is a f*ck-”

The small mirror on Stolas’ writing desk, not nearly as large or elaborate as the one in his bathroom, showed everything Blitz could not see. It captured Stolas’ eyes, nervous and searching until they found his Blitz's own reflection. His fingers, sharp nails leaving webbed markings along the wood, gripped tighter at the recognition. Blitz wasn't even touching him, only the smooth buttons and fabric.

Oh, but he wished he could.

“-ton of buttons.”

Stolas nodded at Blitz’s reflection in the mirror, and Blitz got to work. Starting at the top, one, two, three, cascading down Stolas’ spine like a waterfall until it hit his mid back where his vest would need to tie.

“Can you get your pants on while I get your waistcoat ready?” Blitz asked the mirrored reflection.

The shimmering from the sunset made it challenging to see Stolas’ reaction, but he rose from the seat and took the pants from Blitz. The pants were nearly as tight as the ones he wore earlier that day. Blitz watched as they glided up Stolas’ thighs until his vision centered on the black fabric covering the feathers between his hips.

Blitz averted his eyes real quick once he realized how much of a creep he was.

Do your f*cking job.

Instead, he unstrung the cords in the back of the waistcoat and listened to the snapping of buckles and fabric rustling as it was tucked into itself. Only once there was silence could Blitz turn to look upon Stolas again.

The owl looked to be a prize half-dressed and brilliantly blushing.

“Put this on,” Blitz held out the waistcoat.

It was of cream fabric with embroidered flowers dancing along it. The weaving was delicate, and Blitz knew if Stolas spilled wine on it, Blitz would never get it out. Stolas put it on and did the buttons, but the lace back still needed to be tied.

There was no need for instructions. Stolas sat back on the stool, facing away from Blitz, but his gaze went back to the small mirror. The sun sank lower, and the shadows turned into pockets of darkness. Stolas clapped to ignite the candles to illuminate the room.

Blitz ran the cream ribbon through the top loops and, crisscrossing with a pull, began his way down just like his instructors had taught him. This was not a corset and would not change Stolas’ waist, but it was meant to show off what Stolas already had. He kept the pull tight, and when he got to the bottom, he swiftly tied a bow.

It turns out that the stupid school taught him something.

Just like when he was holding Stolas’ hand as they raced to the room to prepare him for this dinner party, Blitz ran his hands down Stolas’ side to smooth away any wrinkles without a thought. It was quick, his hands firm, laying the fabric flat, but the tremor in Stolas’ body was violent enough that Blitz could see the reaction and heard the soft gasp.

Their eyes met in the mirror, and Blitz hadn’t realized how shocked he looked, perhaps more than Stolas.

And perhaps Blitz knew it wouldn’t be a good idea to run his palms against the sides of Stolas’ waist again, pressing down on the fabric to ensure a clean finish. Boldly, more boldly than any the likes of him deserved to be, he moved his hands slowly to carve the curves of Stolas’ body to his memory. Where the waistcoat ended did not stop Blitz’s hands. Still, they journeyed over the valleys of his body until they were settling on Stolas’ hips.

Stolas’ eyes fluttered shut in the mirror, and his mouth opened in a sigh.

Whatever good sense Blitz had in his body, whatever lessons Mr. Butler had taught him, fled at the goddamn gorgeous way Stolas’ back arched into Blitz’s hold.

“Turn around,” Blitz whispered, thankful his voice did not crack with nerves.

Facing him, Stolas was even more lovely than he was in the mirror. Rosy cheeks, large eyes, and his soft, warm breath filled the spacing between them. His legs were closed, and his hands were clasped in his lap. He was a mess. Blitz was a mess. This whole situation was a mess.

“Let me fix your buttons,” Blitz said.

Stolas’ buttons were just fine. Blitz was just pathetic.

Hesitation written on his face, Stolas parted his legs just enough to give Blitz space, and like a fool, Blitz took it. Stepping forward and looking at Stolas this way wasn’t his job. Lightly pressing Stolas’ buttons as an excuse to feel the rise and fall of the breath in his belly was not his job. Running his hands down Stolas’ shoulders to feel the shivers his touch provided was not his job.

Cupping Stolas’ face was not his job.

Letting the soft feathers of his cheeks, stealing away the warmth in his face, taking momentary bliss from Stolas… that was what this was. Blitz didn’t deserve to have Stolas look at him like that. Blitz didn’t deserve Stolas.

But he wanted him. f*ck, it hurt how heavily he wanted him, and by the candlelight flickering in his eyes, Stolas wanted him too.

“Stolas,” Blitz whispered as he leaned in. “You have to know-”

The flinch in Stolas’ body, his eyes squeezed shut, and his eyebrows creased, blew out the burning words in Blitz’s chest.

“Do not take this as rejection,” Stolas whispered, drawing away from Blitz’s hand. “It is the very last thing from it.”

Stolas rose from his stool, stood on unsteady legs, and took the fur-lined cape from the bed. Stolas did not look back at Blitz as he left the room but had the kindness to at least shut the door.

Once again, as he often was, Blitz was alone. He crossed his arms to his chest, closed his eyes, and tried to feel something. Feel what Stolas said wasn’t rejection, feel hurt or anger or sadness. Feel something. He needed to feel something.

When nothing came, he picked up Stolas’ discarded clothing and brought it to the laundry chute. Then, he went to Stolas’ study to clean away ink stains. The tasks, as pointless as they may seem, kept him moving. He wondered if there were no responsibilities or expectations upon him if he would bother moving at all.

But now, this bubbling in his gut, this spark of familiarity that consumed him when he stood by Stolas would drown him if he allowed it. He didn’t want to sink so far that he couldn’t swim back up for air.

As much as he didn’t want to, he had to talk to Stolas.

Blitz went down to the entryway bench, but this time, he knew that Stolas would return for him.

***

Stolas returned home after midnight, when the house was asleep, except for Blitz.

“Blitz!” Stolas said his name in shock. “You did not need to wait for me.”

Blitz jumped off the bench. “Had to make sure you made it back after your wild night out. It’s my job to keep you alive.”

They walked silently up the grand staircase and to Stolas’ palace wing together. Stolas did not share how his night went, and Blitz did not ask. He could not smell alcohol on him, nor did he look like he went dancing or smoking. He looked tired, perhaps worse for wear, and Blitz wanted to tell him to go to bed.

When they got to the door, Stolas turned to him. “You do not need to help me undress if you do not wish to.”

“It’s my job,” Blitz reminded him.

“Yes, but I do not want you to do anything you are uncomfortable doing.” Stolas opened the door.

Blitz followed him into the room, took Stolas' grand cape, hung it in the closet, and returned to where Stolas sat on the stool.

This conversation needed to be had with clothes on.

“If that wasn’t rejection, what the hell was it?” Blitz asked.

The chilled air around them, bellowing in from the open balcony door, did not help his attempts to not shake. Stolas did not try to hide the question's impact on him as he squeezed his eyes shut again.

“Stolas?” Blitz asked.

Stolas looked away into the distance of the open door, passed Blitz, and his bottom lip trembled. Somewhere far away from this room, and god dammit, Blitz was tired of waiting for this conversation to happen.

“I am so sick of secrets,” Blitz confessed. “If we draw a line between us, let's do it now. I don’t have the energy to do otherwise.”

Stolas did not turn to him, did not speak, did not do a goddamn thing. The candles were still unlit, and the moonlight was the only thing capturing the defiance of Stolas to Blitz’s questions.

“I guess that is answer enough.” Blitz nodded and turned to leave while doing his best to remain strong until he at least got out of this f*cking room.

“Wait,” Stolas said softly. “You are right, Blitz. Secrets have never done me any good.”

Stolas rose from the stool, brushed away the creases in his outfit from sitting, and waved his arm to the side of him. In his arm’s wake, the shimmering magic of a portal to the stars opened, and Blitz was reminded of a time long ago.

“You deserve honesty,” Stolas said and held his hand out. “But it is not safe here. Will you come with me to the stars?”

Blitz looked at the gloved hand before him and but his own scared hand until they clasped, and then he was going through the portal. A splash of ice water, a dizzying fall to his knees, and once his stomach settled, he opened his eyes to a place he hadn’t been in years.

It looked the same at first, with the swirling skies and the planets in the distance, but on closer look, he knew it had changed. Littered upon the ground was parchment, except it glowed like stardust.

“Because it is stardust,” he said to himself when his fingers went through the glittering paper like sand.

A few steps away, Stolas stood among the shining papers near a giant rock, his suit covered in their soft glow. He pressed his palms together, and a wave of violet magic erupted when he pushed them away. Blitz covered his head from the brunt of it but found the magic did not harm him. Instead, it flowed around him like a rock in a creek’s path. The magic interlocked itself and formed hundreds of tall bookshelves. Each shelf was packed with glittering books.

Blitz rose to his feet but did not move to meet Stolas. He would not start this conversation. Stolas said he would give him honesty, so he would let Stolas do that. The owl waited for a tick longer before he walked to one of the bookshelves and pulled one of the books.

“When I took my oath,” Stolas began, removing a book from the shelf. “I took on the responsibilities that came with it. I can pull prophecies from the stars. I can ask them all the outcomes. I listen, and I collect them.”

Blitz realized that the bookshelves contained the prophecies. “What do the prophecies have anything to do with anything?”

Stolas looked down at the book in his hands. “My father is a great king. Powerful, but horrible. He does not want to lose what he has gained. No one does.” Stolas leaned against the rock. “I should have told you about what was happening to me. I should have been honest with you, Blitz.”

“You can be honest now,” Blitz told him.

“Yes,” Stolas sighed. “When I was young before I had the great honor of meeting you, I came into my magic. I could do things I knew none of my peers could. I did not tell my father as I thought he would be upset. He brought in Andrealphus to teach me, and I was too young to not see how our fates would intertwine at that time. Regardless, I kept it all secret. I did not want them to know about the darkness in me.”

“The darkness?” Blitz took a few steps closer to Stolas.

Stolas closed his eyes. “My father does not like it when I call it that, but it’s the only way I know how. It's a separate magic, one that is not my own, that has taken up residence in my body. I cannot control it but I do my best to hold it back. You saw it that night.”

The darkness, the monster Blitz thought his boyfriend had become, the monster that caused the air to explode and engulf all around him. The monster that killed his father.

“The thing is… I f*cked up.” Stolas nearly choked on the words. “Do you remember the day I had to show my skills to my father?” Stolas waited for Blitz to nod. “I did it. I showed my father all I could do, and it frightened him, I think. Other Goetia struggled with their magic. They were not coming into it as quickly as I was, and that wasn’t a good thing. He told Andrealphus to ready the car because I needed to go to school. I didn’t want to go.”

Stolas opened his red eyes to Blitz. “I wanted to stay with you, Blitz. So I ran to the stars, where they couldn’t find me, but in my despair, the darkness found an escape. It fled from me, tugging me along with it. It destroyed stars, not created them. It tried to take, and the stars did not want to give.”

Sinking along the rock, Stolas sat among the sea of papers. “After a few days, they found me tired and hungry. Andrealphus took me to my room to pack, and while I could barely move, the darkness was not done. It attacked him, Blitz. I attacked him.” The book fell to Stolas’ lap as he ran his fingers through his feathers. “I almost killed him. If it wasn’t for Mr. Butler, he would be dead.”

A destroyed room covered in stardust and a tired imp telling Blitz that Stolas leaving was for the best. Blitz cringed at the memory.

“King Lucifer discovered the darkness once he received a strongly worded letter from Heaven about hellborn messing with human stars. Demons were not supposed to mess with the creations of angels. They said it was a direct violation of the contract they had signed with him to keep the hellborn, and most important to the king, his daughter, safe during the exterminations. It needed to cease otherwise the contract would be broken. King Lucifer does not trust the Goetia to keep me under check. He doesn't trust me to keep the hellborn safe. I am a danger to all in Hell.”

Feathers that Stolas had tugged out floated down to mix with the stardust “There is blood on my hands already. Blitz, I’ve destroyed your life.”

“Stolas-”

“It’s true!” Stolas cried and rose from the rock to the bookshelves, book still in hand. “Your father is dead because I gave into the darkness. Your mother is dead because I told my father I liked you. We don’t know if your sister and friend are alive because I would not let you go into the fire that night. I am to blame, Blitz. You wear none of it.”

Stolas placed the book back on the shelf and looked up at the stars. “I promised to set you free, and I intend to keep it. These past few years, when I was free to go to the stars, I would pull possibilities. I would search for outcomes. I needed to know what I could do. I regret I could not do it faster, but I could not open the portal when under my father’s magic.”

“Your father’s magic kept you away?” Blitz asked. “Last I checked, you and all the other Goetia f*cked off that night. You left me behind.”

“You thought I left you?” Stolas looked like he was going to be sick. “No, Blitz, I was dragged from the palace in my father’s chains.” Stolas pulled the gloves from his hands and held out his scarred wrists. “Do you think this is from a blessed rope? These are the burns of my father's sigil that he made sure stuck into my skin every day.” Stolas wiped the tears from his eyes. “How horrid you must have thought of me. I am so sorry.”

The stardust paper crunched as Blitz moved to Stolas, but the owl prince shook his head.

“I need you to understand what I have to do,” Stolas told him, tapped once on the bookshelf, and then walked towards Blitz until they were only a step away. “I have pulled every possibility in the stars about how to free you. I have scanned thousands of prophecies, all true only if certain actions occur, and only a handful involving you result in your freedom. There is only one thing that connects them together, and I need to make sure that thing happens.”

Stolas sighed. “As long as my father is alive, he will not free you. You are the only thing he has to control me, and thus, protect Lucifier's deal with Heaven. I cannot protect you while the line of Paimon owns you, for he is the start of it. He threatens you and I will do whatever he wants.”

“Why?” Blitz asked, although he already knew.

Stolas’ hand flexed as though he wanted to do something with it, as though he wanted to reach out with it. Yet, he let his hand stay at his side as he spoke.

“My feelings have not changed. They never will.”

The pane of ice that had surrounded Blitz, the thick sheet of clear pressure, cracked inside of him. The shards hurt as they scraped through every piece of him, and he felt the dizzy pain of a shared truth. He knew it was shared.

Blitz's feelings never truly had changed either.

Stolas continued. “I shall play nice for as long as needed, for I will see my father again in nearly a year at my sham of a marriage. It is there, before I take any vows, I shall kill him. I do not care what happens to me after that, for I will either break the contract or I will not make it out of my father's death alive, and the line of Paimon will end.” Stolas looked to him with a smile. “And you will be free.”

Blitz did not speak at first. The words all made sense, and the intention was clear, but he needed time to think. It was so much to take in, and while he was good on his feet and quick with a response, this was not something he could give his first take on. He wanted to scream at Stolas and tell him he was being an idiot. Stolas’ life was not worth throwing away for Blitz’s freedom. Blitz wasn’t worth it. Blitz wasn’t worth an ounce of the dedication Stolas had given.

“I know it is so much to take in,” Stolas said. “You do not owe me your thoughts. All I ask is for your discretion.”

“I need time to think,” Blitz answered. “I can’t give you my thoughts tonight, but we have to talk about this. No more secrets, Stolas.”

Nodding, Stolas pulled the magic back, and the bookshelves disappeared. Stolas opened the portal, and before Blitz stepped through, he turned back to look out to the imaginary shore.

“Is our pirate ship still here?” He asked.

Stolas answered, his voice hollow and quiet. “The darkness took it.”

Blitz went through the portal first, and Stolas quickly followed. The portal closed behind them, and they stood together in Stolas’ moonlit room. The room was chilled from the night air, noiseless and calm.

Stolas moved to the bed and placed his hand on the mattress. “If you would like to stay, you may. I shall not order it, but I would like to not be alone. Truthfully, I have not slept well in years.”

Tossing the covers to the side, Stolas slipped under the sheets, still dressed in his party attire. He turned from Blitz, and the knowledge that Stolas was sleeping on his side, leaving Blitz’s side wide open, was more than enough for him.

“I haven’t slept well either,” Blitz said, taking off his boots, bowtie, and jacket.

Stolas was awake but said nothing when Blitz joined him under the blanket. They did not touch, and that was fine. Blitz did not say anything either, but surprisingly, fell asleep without a single worry in my mind.

***
Blitz opened his eyes at the crack of dawn.

In his sleep, Blitz’s tail had wrapped itself around Stolas’ wrist, and he found Stolas had scooted a bit closer so their hands were nearly touching.

They had to talk, and he knew they would, but for that moment, he would look at Stolas, his Stolas, and enjoy the long-lost feeling of peace.