Zac's afternoon lessons with Bune were proving to be an exercise in extreme mental gymnastics. Bune was currently lecturing on the etymology of high-ranking names, specifically focusing on Lucifer.
"You see, Zachary, 'Lucifer' translates to 'Light-bearer' in the ancient celestial tongue," the Left Head explained, tapping a pointer against a dusty scroll. "He was meant to be the dawn-bringer, the most radiant of the host."
Zac, however, had already pivoted. "Light-bear, huh?" he mused, leaning back and letting his leopard-print tail swish thoughtfully against the chair leg. "I mean, it's a bit of a cheeky name, isn't it? Since they hadn't invented the word 'twink' yet, they just called him 'light bear', it's basically 'little bear'."
Bune's Right Head recoiled, looking flustered. "Little... Bear? I assure you, the Morning Star is anything but 'little,' and his follicular density is quite low. He is remarkably smooth."
"Exactly," Zac pointed out. "Twink energy. But it makes me wonder something else… are there any actual bear demons? Like, big, hairy, 'growl-at-you-while-they-pin-you-to-the-forest-floor' types? I feel like there's a gaping void in Hell's monster seduction coverage."
Bune adjusted his silver-rimmed glasses. "Well, President Purson and King Balam are known to keep pet bears. Massive, armored beasts that can crush a man's skull with a single swipe of a paw."
Zac sighed, a long, rattling sound of disappointment. "No, Bune. Not real bears. That's not hot. That's just… oddly Canadian. I'm talking about the vibe. The aesthetic." He adjusted the fleece of his onesie, feeling the soft fabric bunch up. For a moment, he imagined himself as a lonely archivist who spent his days in this dusty library, only to steal away into the dark corners of the keep at night to be 'visited' by a secret bear-demon lover.
'Maybe one of the lieutenants has bear-man helpers,' he thought wistfully. 'Like Timon and Pumbaa, but... fluffier. If I could just get defiled by a lesser demon, then March wouldn't have to worry about the others, right? It would be like a loophole. "Sorry Captain, the intern did it."'
But the real thing that kept his footie-pajama-covered leg bouncing in excitement, was the Conditional Dream Rotation. Fat chance that he paid even the slightest bit of attention after that bomb had dropped after lunch.
Marchosias had finally agreed to it. After the chaotic brawl in the dining hall, the Captain had realized that if he didn't give his lieutenants some kind of outlet for their collective obsession with the Virgin Avatar, the castle would be rubble by Tuesday. The rules were strict: one lieutenant a night, no actual psychic damage, and absolutely no carry-over into the waking world.
Zac was still a little salty about Skarg being an asshole… the wendigo really could have mentioned that the "dream-feeling" wouldn't stick around after waking. It was the ultimate blue-balls, ruined orgasm, unexpected pleasure-denial when he had woken up… But… as Zac looked at the ink-stained parchment on his desk, his anger softened into a weird, perverted appreciation.
'I'm basically a protagonist in a 4K, ultra-high-def, first-person VR porn,' he realized. 'Sure, I don't get to keep the physical sensations, but the spectacle? The avant-garde performance art of it all? As a connoisseur of the finest smut, I have to respect the craft.'
He looked down at his latest drawing. He had abandoned the wolf-dog and moved on to Nock. The lion man was depicted standing heroically, holding a sword high with a triumphant, toothy grin on his muzzle. Because of the quill's tendency to blot, it looked less like a noble knight and more like a lion that had been caught in an explosion at a soot factory, but Zac was proud of it nonetheless.
"Is that... a bush?" Bune's Left Head had asked.
Dinner had gone just as quickly as the afternoon lessons, a blur of high-fructose syrup and sexual tension. Zac barely remembered eating his waffles because he'd spent the entire meal staring at Marchosias with the intensity of a dehydrated man eyeing a gatorade. March had what Zac craved… and it wasn't electrolytes.
The Captain, for his part, was vibrating with awkwardness. He was trying desperately to act like everything was normal, but Zac knew the truth now. The wolf wasn't just a stoic commander; he was a vincel… voluntarily celibate. Zac had never encountered a specimen in the wild before, and he absolutely refused to believe Marchosias was telling the truth about wanting it that way. No, the wolf was clearly just scared. Scared of the passion, scared of the intensity... scared of fucking.
Zac had spent most of the meal disassociating, vividly imagining a scene where he and Marchosias were sitting on the edge of a bed, blushing furiously, asking each other "Is this okay?" and "Are you nervous?" ten times before finally, cutely sharing a soft, whiskery kiss.
"You've been chewing that same piece of waffle for nearly fifteen minutes," Bune's Left Head interrupted, shattering the daydream.
Zac blinked, realizing the dining hall had emptied out, leaving only him and the dragon butler. He swallowed the now-pulpy mass of blueberry dough. "I was just... savoring the mouthfeel,"
"I'm sure," Bune sighed, gently steering Zac toward the exit by his shoulder. "Once the last of your lessons are finished, you will be able to go to bed. I imagine you are quite excited for that."
Excited didn't even cover it. Zac's mind was racing. The debate over who got to invade his dreams and "psychically torture" him had been the highlight of the afternoon. Even though Zac had generously offered an "anything goes, free-for-all, first-week-trial-period" orgy, March had insisted on a structured schedule.
One demon per night. A calendar of curated nightmares. To the demons, it was a tactical rotation; to Zac, every day on that calendar felt like his birthday, and he was dying to see who had won the rights to his subconscious for the night.
As they walked, the stone walls of the keep seemed to ripple and stretch. They passed a doorway that Zac was fairly sure had been the library an hour ago, but now it looked like a broom closet for oversized scythes. The castle's non-static floor plan was a nightmare for navigation yet Bune was walking with purpose.
"No more story time?" Zac asked with a wide, jaw-cracking yawn, his hood's fleece ears flopping forward. "I had a great idea for a drawing of Halphas. I wanted to capture the lighting while he's... cocking his gun." Zac's eyes glazed over for a moment. "Mmmm. High caliber."
"No," Bune responded, stopping in front of a pair of massive, reinforced wooden doors that smelled of musk and old hay. "The Captain has decided that your theoretical education is not sufficient on its own. Practical skills are now required."
Bune shoved the doors open.
"Tonight," the butler announced as the sound of stomping hooves and angry shrieks filled the air, "you will have your first riding lesson."