I have loved so hard

that it broke my heart—

The rose petal is as smooth as he imagined it would be beneath his broad muzzle— and relief nestles amid the warm comfort that floated in his barrel (floating atop the hot anger at hearing her story). He had not been not sure she would allow his touch— so when his lips met her skin it was a surprising balm. But then she is moving her throat away from him, and he understands; for this simple touching and exchange of words is so much more, and so intimate— it is nearly too much for himself to bear, and he has not laid his heart upon her wings (yet). His ears tilt backwards, beginning to inwardly berate himself for pushing his touch (even if intended to comfort) onto her after such a cathartic release of her past. Did she not just say how her sire had raped her? Why would he press her—

But her blushed muzzle presses against his, their warm breaths mingling as clouds around their mouths. Coral eyes stare into his own, warmth leaking out of their pupil-less pits, replacing the desperate fury that had lived there just moments before. His own gaze widened fractionally as he saw the change, his own nostrils flaring to take in the sweet rose’s breath. Gently, he returns her touch, pushing his plush muzzle deeper into her own.

Though her whisper drifts into his ears, her lips moving against his own in their small movements, causing him to draw away slightly. He was still a stallion, and she was still a woman of intoxicating beauty (now even moreso in this untainted, open light). He did not want to tempt the man within him or his demons at their closeness; he could restrain himself beneath her scent and touch; but the tickle of her blushed lips against his own might be his undoing. So he withdrew his breath from hers, ears flicking towards her as her words— her question— sinks in. He blinks once, the only break in their close gaze.

He had littered few ears with parts of his past— but never had he given another the entirety of himself, of his story. At first, it had been because his sights were set on the future; he did not want to bring a past to tarnish or endanger the promises Helovia held. Now, he realized, it was because of the mixture of guilt and anguish that hung so heavily in his mind and soul. They kept a close guard on his story, only in rare moments did their watch slip and allow a morsel of his history to roll off his tongue. But in the face of all she had shared, so simply given without manipulation or duplicity, his lips parted in candor.

“I do not know what news Uumalah received of Dorobo. We, on the Plains, knew of your pleasure houses and market for other luxury in the Oasis. It was whispered about in Makutano, our Great Pillar. Some with disapproval, but mostly with envy— envy that grew greed, and greed that amassed power. But it was corrupt, yet the corruption was hidden beneath the call for the great spirit of Dorobo— a call I answered proudly, without second thought. And my answer— my answer burned my mate and son alive,” his voice grew deeper, “The council could not have their generals distracted by family. They must expand Dorobo. So I buried them…” his eyes are unseeing as his voice trails, silence hovering for timeless moments.

“My life’s purpose was then to make the Debwani— those blamed for such awful acts— pay. But eventually, after spilling more blood than I can ever atone for, it began to become apparent that it was not the Debwani who were moved to greed against the Plains. It was Dorobo. The very nation I threw my soul into had killed them— had murdered my love and son. So I avenged them; I took, I manipulated, I used— I did what needed to be done to make Makutano fall…” a timbre of guilt shakes the depth of his voice as it faded once again.

“I did not know the anger that lived in me— or, perhaps I did, but it was something I had used; an advantage, a weapon. Magic is dead in the Plains, killed by decades of greed and the survival of the fittest— but here— here, in Helovia, magic veins the earth, the soil, the trees— and it found purchase in me. Or, I should say, it found purchase with my demons. After the gods-battles, when I had embraced the anger to fight the battles only to be abandoned by the woman who had kept my demons controlled— but Rexanna left because of my selfish actions…” he pauses, getting lost in the tumultuous flow of emotion that spun his words. He shakes his great skull, muzzle still close enough to brush against Orithia’s velveteen maw, eyes clearing to focus on her face (like a lifeline) before continuing, “She left me and had a child with another man. And myself, the man I had become to destroy and avenge, he resurfaced— but now with power, a power of a Kingship and a power of deadly magic. And he— and I— I used that power against the man who offered me a new beginning. Mauja, my friend…” his savior? “We spoke after, but he asked me to kill him…” this was a guttural whisper, “But I couldn’t, even though he would not die. I could not do that for my friend…”


“And so I am the very man I vowed to destroy: a selfish King with more power than he deserves.” Silence reigns from the desolate King.