Princesa slides back into her chair, laughing softly to herself. “I really don’t know anymore! If I eat too fast, I’m the plump one. If I eat too slow, I’m dragged over a table.” She gloats, raising her hands almost as if in victory. “I swear, theseboyscan’t make up their minds.” She lingers on the wordboyslike a cursed spell, driving it deep into my molten heart.
This was a mistake. Princesa knows my weakness, and like a brutal berserker, she attacks it without mercy—admirable, were I not the target. I’ve underestimated her. These human females appear as soft and pale as snow, but beneath lurks the gaping maw of a mutalisk. A devious disguise—beautiful devourers.
I rise to my feet, ready to leave this shame behind. “Wait, Dracoth,” Sandra pleads, her blue eyes sparkling in the dim firelight. “We just want to enjoy this a bit longer.” She gestures to encompass the food hall. “We were locked in a dark cage for over a week and don’t know what’s coming next... please.”
Her earnest words halt me. I study her face for any sign of deception but see none—only her wide, shimmering eyes andher pink lips slightly parted, seeming open and sincere. Her meek expression evaporates some of my doubt and shame. The thought of leaving now reeks of retreat—like when I fought Krogoth, the arrogant traitor who has also tamed his human female. The thought makes my stomach churn—I will not fail. Cannot fail.
“We drink,” I declare, retaking my seat.
“Class!” Sandra exclaims, and Princesa claps in unison. “Exciting!”
I activate my wrist console, the blue glow bathing our table in its light.
“Do you have something like a Cosmopolitan, Espresso Martini... oh, or Kri Royale?” Princesa blurts out in an excited rush, the names meaning nothing to me. “Wait, you’re paying, right?” she frowns, rubbing her chin before jolting upright again. “Oh, of course, you are. Sandra, what do you want?”
I’ve already selected the drinks, but I let the farce continue, watching with some amusement. “I don’t know,” Sandra ponders, her lips scrunching up thoughtfully. “Something sweet, perhaps?” she adds, glancing up at me.
“Oh!” Princesa exclaims, eyes alight with mischief. “Since there’s two of us and one of you, how about you drink two to our one?” she challenges with a smirk.
I almost laugh. It’s been years since I’ve drunk alcohol. Regardless, they will never match me—no matter the amount.
“Done,” I declare, confirming the order and reclining back in my chair, hands locked behind my head.
“What do you mean, done? What did you get us?” Princesa demands, her brows furrowing like two little golden cyloillars.
“Patience,” I reply, savoring the musty scent of ancient wood and cooked foods. The smell of Clan Draxxus—decadence, but I cannot deny its appeal for my troubled mind.
“Patience!” Princesa mocks, failing to mimic my voice, sounding more like an annoying squeak instead. “Probably got us more of that... What was it? Dark Tar Stout?” She wrinkles her face in disgust before sighing.
“Dark Matter Stout,” I correct.
“Whatever. You knew what I meant, giant bore.” She shakes her head, rolling her eyes, then glances at Sandra.
Her chain beckons to me, dangling near my hand, but I stop myself from punishing her. I will follow the sacred words—let her challenge harden my heart and strengthen my resolve.
The approaching gray-haired Klendathian carrying our drinks draws my attention. I straighten, dividing the drinks, passing the two females their Stardust Sunrises and keeping my Dark Matter Stouts. They both ooh and aah as they study the swirling blue, purple, and green liquid, which emits a subtle, ethereal glow. I watch them sip from the tankards, which appear massive in their petite hands. I gulp greedily from mine, enjoying the pungent, malty taste and the warmth pouring through my veins.
“Delicious!” Sandra exclaims, beaming up at me, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her pleasure is no surprise—the soft and sweet crave sweet things.
“Hmm, it’s… okay.” Princesa wrinkles her nose like she’s mulling over a grand battle strategy. “I mean, I’ve tasted better, to be honest.” Yet she takes another generous swig.
“May you die a glorious death,” I intone, lifting my tankard, draining the last drop.
Princesa starts, “May you die a—wait, hold on, what?” She blinks, looking at me like I’ve grown a second head. “I don’t want to fucking die, Dracoth.”
Sandra laughs. “How about... ‘May we live happy, fun lives’?” She nods with satisfaction before taking another drink.
Princesa snorts. “Much better. I’m in.”
I frown at their naïve optimism. “The meaning is the same, you silly females,” I state, feeling the stouts warmth blazing inside me, filling me with unusual levity.
“Huh?” Princesa’s silver eyes narrow, shooting to mine, her mind unable to grasp such a simple concept. “What’s ‘happy and fun’ got to do with dying?” She scoffs, reaching for another tankard. “But yeah, sure, whatever.”
Ignixis was right—her ignorance could fill every nanometer of space. I take another gulp of Dark Matter Stout, savoring the burn.
“A glorious death is... fun. Dying in battle is happiness. That is a life well lived,” I explain, knowing I’m likely wasting my breath.
Sandra presses her drink against her head, nodding thoughtfully. “Yeah... yeah, that kind of makes sense. But only if you enjoy fighting, though.”
