Zac found himself being led by Bune back into the winding corridors of the keep. The nightly entertainment seemed to have thoroughly dampened the spirits of the demons. They had all gone broody and quiet, which Zac didn't mind because they all looked incredibly hot when they were broody and quiet, but it did lead to him being unceremoniously hauled out from under the dining table by his ankle just as he was about to reach Marchosias's unsuspecting lap. Bedtime, Bune had declared.
"Just because they sent in LeBron to kick your team's ass doesn't mean the war's lost, right?" Zac asked curiously, trying to keep up with the butler's brisk pace. "That was just a skirmish. Why would they cart some big shot over just to fight the leather doggy daddy?"
"Do not call President Glasya-Labolas that, Avatar," Bune's Left Head corrected gently.
The Right Head still seemed agitated, its voice much faster than usual. "There will be a meeting about this, I am sure! To think they would actually break the rules after all this time! I didn't even know they were metaphysically able to break rules!"
Zac struggled to keep his bearings in the maze-like keep. Every turn looked the same. "I didn't think war had rules," he said. "I mean, humans like to pretend there are rules, but it's more just like, 'Hey, we agree not to ruin huge swaths of land for everyone forever, pinky swear.'"
"Of course there are rules!" Bune's Left Head said, leading Zac up another grand, spiraling staircase. "If there were no rules, then the war would have ended long ago."
His other head nodded. "How else would it be eternal if not for some guidelines? It would be chaos. Unsustainable."
Zac tried to consider this, to wrap his head around the concept of a regulated forever-war. But then Bune's butt was directly at his eye level as they ascended the stairs. The dragon's tail was thick and powerful, yes, but somehow, he still had buns. Defined, muscular buns that strained against the fabric of his trousers with every step. 'Nice,' Zac thought, his philosophical train of thought completely derailing. 'Very nice.'
"…and that's where you will come in," Bune finished, his voice echoing slightly in the stairwell.
Zac snapped back to attention. "I mean, if you insist," he murmured, staring intently at the aforementioned buns. "But if I'm coming in, you're coming in too."
Bune stopped at the top of the stairs and looked back, an odd expression on both of his faces. "You must be tired after such a busy day being hounded by those ruffians. It is making you delirious."
The butler stopped at a random, unmarked door and pushed it open, revealing a small, spartan room. It had a bed and a bureau, just like the one he'd changed in earlier, but Zac was sure this wasn't the same place. The window was on the wrong wall.
Before he could protest, he felt a sudden, hot breath on his neck. Bune had leaned in from behind, and both heads were sniffing him with an unnerving intensity. Zac shuddered, a jolt of something that wasn't fear running down his spine.
"Still pure," the Left Head whispered, the sound a low, possessive rumble.
"Pristine condition," the Right Head agreed, a hint of reverence in its voice.
They both sighed in unison, a twin plume of satisfied smoke, before standing tall again.
"Please enter, Zachary," the Left Head said, his voice once again the formal butler. "Rest well. I will make sure the door is locked."
Zac looked left. He looked right. He looked back at Bune. "Wait, no, that's okay. I was just gonna take a walk around for a bit after I get settled in, you know, stretch my legs."
His mind was racing. He was trying to retrace his steps, trying to form a mental map back to the dining hall, back to where he'd last seen Marchosias. He just knew the wolf demon needed some hot and sloppy consoling after watching his war team get rocked.
He could see it now. Marchosias would be there, frustrated and grouchy, staring at a map. Zac would walk up and rub his back gently, saying something like, 'Don't let it get you down, champ. We'll get 'em next time.' March would look up slowly with those intense, 'I'm so a dom top' eyes and say, 'If they only listened to me, we would have won.' And Zac would coo and say, 'Those losers don't get how big your military brain is and how totally kick-ass at positions and shit you are. If you gave me an order, I'd follow it.'
Then Marchosias would lean in, his voice a low growl. 'Even if I ordered you to fall in love with me?'
Zac would bat his eyes, give a coy laugh, and lean into the wolf's embrace. 'Maybe if you show me how you win your next war-off.'
And Marchosias would get all alpha at the challenge and growl that he will win the war for Zac's heart, and then he would finally, finally kiss him…
Bune coughed, a dry, polite sound that shattered the fantasy. "Avatar? Are you going to go to sleep?"
Zac opened his eyes. He had been hugging himself and swaying gently on the spot. He quickly dropped his arms. "Oh. Right. Uh, but why can't I leave again? What if I have to pee?"
Bune sighed. "If you need to use the facilities, you may ring the bell on the nightstand. I will come to escort you. But otherwise, it is safest for you to be… protected."
The Right Head nodded vigorously. "Like a shark cage! This room has been designed with necromantic wards and temporal locks. It should keep even Andras from entering and… defiling you."
Zac, who had wandered a few steps into the room to confirm that, yes, it was definitely a different room, spun around. "Hey-!"
It was too late.
"Rest well, Avatar," Bune said, his two heads giving a formal, unified bow. The heavy wooden door clicked shut with a sound of absolute finality. A series of heavy thunks followed as multiple bolts, both physical and magical, slid into place.
Zac stared at the door for a second, processing. Then he dashed forward, yanking uselessly on the iron handle. It didn't budge.
"Let me out!" he yelled, rattling the door. "You can't do this to me! I need to see what eagle dick looks like! Halphas said he was into being objectified! That's not against the rules! That's just being a good wingman!"
There was no answer. Only the oppressive, indifferent silence of the keep.
Zac rattled the handle one last time, a desperate, hopeless gesture. He slumped, his forehead resting against the cool, unyielding wood. The reality of his situation, the gilded cage Marchosias had described, was no longer a metaphor. It was a literal, locked room.
He slid down the door until he was sitting on the floor, a prisoner in his own very specific, very frustrating hell.
Zac finally peeled himself off the floor, his grand protest having achieved nothing but sore knuckles. He let out a long, theatrical sigh and took a proper look around his new prison cell.
It was sparse. A heavy wooden bureau stood against one wall, its drawers filled with a few more identical sets of the simple black robes he was wearing. Against the other wall was a narrow bed with grey sheets and a single, surprisingly flat pillow. Zac nodded to himself. 'Basically the same as my old apartment. It's just lacking a few of my… 'creature comforts.' The ones that help a guy relax before bed. Or in the morning. Or after a particularly stressful encounter with the cashier at the gas station down the street who always judged him for buying three drinks and a single, sad hot dog at 2 AM.'
He stretched, his back popping in a dozen satisfying places. His hand brushed against something small and hard in the pocket of his robe.
He pulled it out. The crystal bottle of Celestial Silk - Mane & Tail Rejuvenator glowed with a soft, golden light in the dim room.
An evil, slow-spreading grin stretched across Zac's face.
"Well," he whispered to the empty room, turning the bottle over in his hands. "If I can't get the real thing tonight, that doesn't mean I can't enjoy a bit of… high-end lubricant." He held the bottle up as if toasting the absent lion. "Thanks, Nock. I'm sure you already know I'll make it up to you. Generously."
He unscrewed the ornate cap and poured a small, golden dollop into his palm. It was thick, silky, and smelled divine. He tested the viscosity between his thumb and forefinger. "Hmm," he mused critically. "Better than coconut oil, but not quite as good as the real deal. Let's just hope it doesn't dry out too fast, or Nock might be mad I used the whole bottle."
With a giddy giggle, his previous despair completely forgotten, Zac jumped onto the bed. He was finally, blessedly alone. He was locked in, yes, but that also meant no interruptions. He could finally, properly enjoy thinking about his new roommates. The feel of Skarg's fur. The sound of Andras's voice. The sight of Halphas's forearms. The thought of Marchosias's… everything.
He lay back, the bottle of conditioner clutched in one hand, ready for a long and satisfying meditation session.
His head hit the pillow.
The only thought that entered his mind was: 'Oh… oh… ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh… so comfy.'
The sheer, bone-deep exhaustion of the past twenty-four hours hit him like a physical blow. The adrenaline he didn't know he was running on vanished. The tension, the lust, the existential dread… it all evaporated.
He was asleep in seconds.
The bottle of Nock's prized mane conditioner, forgotten and unused, slipped from his limp fingers and rolled silently onto the floor, its golden contents glinting mockingly in the gloom.