Mayvalt was angry. Bezel didn't need to know the scratch of it to sense it in the air. Anyone could--from the moment she stepped out of his car and slammed the passenger door. She brushed past the Faun waiting at the curb, storming into Eden without so much as a second glance. 

The valet was trembling. They followed Mayvalt's retreat with concern-filled brown eyes, twisting in place until it became undeniable she wouldn't be coming back. "P-P-Phrionnsa!" 

"I do not think she will be coming back." Bezel repeated, soothing the obvious with his dull tone. The Faun flinched. Their eyes fell to their perfectly polished shoes, and they did not move. As if Bezel were a curious piranha and he could be shooed away with a little inaction. "You're waiting for the keys, right?" 

The Faun swallowed, nodding their head so quickly birch-white hair tumbled into their cow-wide eyes. Bezel cocked his head, it wasn't his best work. He could have narrowed his eyebrows, or clicked his tongue--but he thought that larger gestures might convey his false emotions more clearly to the frightened creature. "What's your name?" 

Why had he asked? He didn't particularly care. If he did, he might have spoken to this Faun years ago--but he never had. He'd never even had reason to. Mayvalt had always sorted the matter of the valet, well, the matter of everything and anything involving the Faun, and it was only in the failure of her duty that Bezel's tongue had been forced at all. 

He had never even glanced in the direction of this Faun since the day they sealed their deal. They'd joined his servitude, and had disappeared. Just as their demonic horns had beneath Bezel's blessing. He collected in his mind the memories of their markings, he withered a teaspoon more of his ocean of power, and then he forgot--because it took care to recall, and he had none.  

The Faun registered it as a shock. The muscles in their jaw twitched, and they spoke as if they'd rather try their hand at chewing glass. "Anvelt, m-my Prince." 

"Your Prince," Bezel repeated dryly, "that's not a common sentiment these days, Anvelt." 

Anvelt's cheeks turned paper pale. They arched their neck, training unblinking eyes on the cement sidewalk. They looked with so much commitment, Bezel thought they might actually be seeing Avernus between the cracks in the pavement. "N-no, it's not." 

"I appreciate your honesty, Anvelt." Bezel remarked. He leaned on the roof of his car, placing his chin on the tops of his folded arms. "Then, will you humor me a little further? Why?" 

"Why, my Prince?" Anvelt asked. 

"Yes! Exactly!" Bezel exclaimed, "Why am I your Prince?" 

Anvelt wrapped their arms around their chest to stiffen their shaking. "The Third Prince opened the Trammel for us. He will hide our gifts, and offer us servitude in Heimr so that we can-"

"No! No!" Bezel sighed, "you were doing so well, Anvelt. Do you think I wouldn't recognize that sour propaganda? Anvelt, I made it! Now, tell me something real. I promise I won't be upset." He forced a laugh over his dry tongue, to enunciate his joke. Anvelt flinched. 

"You won't be upset." Anvelt murmured to themself. Their shivering subsided, and a calm as tentative as the eye of a storm settled over them. "Then, the Prince is only my Prince because. . . the Phrionnsa asked it of me." 

Maybe it should have stung. Maybe he should have been upset. Maybe he should have sat back, and wondered at what point his kingdom had begun to crumble. Instead, he laughed. "Well, it makes sense. The Princess couldn't be a princess if the Prince was not a prince." He nodded, tapping his fingers in a melody over the metal shell of his flashy vehicle. "How loyal do you remain to your Phrionnsa?" 

"I would die before I betray the Phrionnsa!" Anvelt snapped, puffing up their chest in mock bravery. Or, perhaps it was real to them. It was no little thing to give your soul to a cause. Unlike the true-immortals, when an Avernian died--it died. Ceased. Never to exist again. 

Bezel forced wind through the cage of his teeth, distorting a chuckle from his blank expression. "Oh, brothers. Are you sweet on her?" Anvelt turned cherry blossom pink, and Bezel shook his head. "Well, you're wise to keep that to yourself. She is quite tough, and she's unfortunately quite wrapped up in something else at the moment." 

"I-I'm not! The Phrionnsa saved my life, when I was little more than a fawn. She's the only family that I have!" Anvelt turned snow white and balked. "Ah, apologies, my Prince. I didn't mean to insert myself into the bloodline of the Prince." 

Bezel shrugged. "You're merely inserting yourself into the line of another Faun. Harms me none." 

Anvelt nodded stiffly. 

Bezel sighed. "The parking garage, Anvelt. Please." He held out his keys, and Anvelt accepted them with trembling fingers. It would have been kinder for Bezel to release the shaking rabbit from the trap, but he couldn't help it if his thoughts had been arranged in an order devoid of compassion or reason. "Oh, one more thing!" 

Anvelt whimpered, lowering their eyes. Their heart pitter-pattered sadly behind their ribs. 

"I'll be expecting a guest. Maybe now, maybe next month. Who can say--but when they arrive, bring them to my office. Your Phrionnsa will be very happy." He said.

Anvelt looked at Bezel for the first time--and immediately lowered their eyes again. "For the Phrionnsa? Of course, my Prince." They nodded and slipped into the driver's side seat, in the space Bezel had just vacated. 

With one problem solved, Bezel turned his attentions to following Mayvalt on her whirlwind path into Eden. He tried not to run after her--he didn't want to be seen chasing her as if they'd had a bitter argument. He didn't want to be seen at all. The opinion of the Faun shouldn't have mattered--and perhaps they wouldn't have, if she did not hold them all in the palm of her hand. 

Bezel ran his fingers through his oil-dark hair and huffed, feeling it as air gliding over his skin as he disappeared behind a wall of sweet nothing. Maybe it would just be best to eliminate her. He'd saved her on a whim, centuries ago, and she'd been slowly accruing his power since. What was the point of being a Prince of the Faun, if they had a princess instead. 

Bezel sunk beneath the flashing lights, the roaring music, and he found her in an instant. Her antlers hung above the crowd, catching on the pink neon spotlights so that they glowed. The crowd moved around her, schools of herring desperate to escape the barracuda entering the reef. She did not usually have that effect, it was clear in the confused whispering that followed.

"The Phrionnsa. . ." 

"What's wrong with the Phrionnsa?" 

"Perhaps he did something. . . " 

"He must have. . ." 

"Hasn't he done enough harm. . ." 

Of course it was his fault, it always was. She startled each Faun she blew past, so that it became incredibly obvious who in the club was lower demon and who was Heimrian. Bezel might have used this opportunity to familiarize himself with the latter half of his patrons--but there wasn't exactly anything inherently criminal about being Heimrian.

Her anger turned the air around her to rot. It billowed off her in rolling, swirling, tornadoes of steam. It was almost as impressive as Ze'ev fetor. She slipped behind the bar, frosting over each drink she passed.  

"Mayvalt," a Faun with bright yellow hair balked, "you're startling the guests." 

"Mind your own, Fenvolt, or bring me up a drink." Mayvalt hissed. She gripped the stairwell railing beneath her palms and began climbing, heading directly for Bezel's perch. So, that he had no choice but to follow her. Bezel dipped and twisted to fit behind the bar without announcing his presence to the Faun working there. 

He climbed his stairs, reaching the top where Mayvalt had left the door propped open. He stepped beyond, into the dark of his room, and shut the door with a bang. She spun on her heels, crossing her arms over her chest. 

"Show yourself." She snapped. 

Bezel shook free from his disguise, he leaned back against his shut door, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that diffused disinterest into the space between them. It was different from her own stance, boxy and shut off with sharply angled arms over a wildly beating heart. 

"H-how could you?" Mayvalt whimpered. Her stiff arms broke formation over her torso. She pressed her face into the palms of her hands. Her shoulders were shaking, as if she was freezing beneath her black leather jacket. "You almost killed him--Wenroth!"

Bezel blinked his glistening yellow eyes, drinking in her complaint. He rolled it over in his hollow skull. He didn't know what to say.

"You asked for my help." He said, finally. "You wanted me to go into the apartment, did you not?" 

"I-I thought Wenroth was going to harm Luvelt." Mayvalt admitted. 

"Then, he's a bad person." Bezel nodded, "He should be put in his place." 

Mayvalt kicked her boot against the floorboards and dug her fingers into her soft pink curls. "Sap, Ba'al." She whispered. "I. . . I think that you're one, too. And I know it's my fault that you're. . .like that. So, how could I blame you? It's just. . .it's just not okay, sometimes. You can't do whatever you want." 

"I'm not a person, Mayvalt." He shrugged. She shuddered, making soft whimpering noises into the safety of her leather sleeves where they rested over her face. And Bezel let her. He was. . . he didn't. . . he was nothing. 

There was a bubble in the center of his chest. He knew if he could just get it to crack, the words to soothe this all away would flood to the surface--but the glass shell would splinter and slice his heart into pieces. And he would die. And he'd stay dead. So, it was better to choke in hollow gasps around the intrusion, never knowing what was contained inside. 

"And Luvelt? Are they a bad person, too?" Mayvalt choked. "You broke up their home, and we don't even have anything to show for it." 

Bezel tilted his head. He'd hurt Luvelt? When? He'd been careful, he thought. Bezel looked at her, trembling the same way she had on the day they'd met. When she'd been chased by monsters. Except, now, there was only one monster left. It stared at her with hollow cat-like eyes. "I don't know what you want me to say. I push too hard, I let go too easy. Would it have made it better if I had gotten some answers? I did what I had to do to help you." 

"Sap, boss, stop blaming me!" Mayvalt snapped. "I never asked you to terrorize them!" 

"I was just trying to help." Bezel repeated. He pushed off from the wall. With a few lazy strides, he crossed his office to park himself at his desk. He placed his elbows on the paper strewn surface and leaned his chin into the palm of his hands. 

She sighed, dropping her arms to her sides. "You can't do things like that, boss. Promise me?" She said, wiping at the tears that trembled in the lines of her eyelids without falling. 

"Okay," he agreed, "I won't." 

He didn't exactly know what he was agreeing to. He decided not to mention his chat with Anvelt. It might have fallen outside the boundaries of their new agreement. She nodded and came towards the desk, pulling up a seat and collapsing into it in a huff. "Good." She said. "I'm glad." 

For not the first time, Bezel thought that Faun's were much too sensitive. He was glad to not have any nerves left, so they couldn't be grated away. Maybe, then, it really was for the best to keep Mayvalt around. Using her as a protective layering, buffering him from their whimpers. She'd been doing pretty well with at least that much.  

She wiped at her nose with the heel of her palm and sucked in a deep breath. "Okay," she murmured to herself. She tilted her head, so the fuzzy tips of her antlers crossed dangerously close to Bezel's airspace. She closed her eyes, and prayed. 

She did that sometimes, when Bezel had done something particularly tactless. He would never feel remorse, he'd never feel regret or shame, and so all she could do was wait for the moment to pass. And it would, until the next time it came about. 

"Okay," she murmured, shaking herself loose from her prayers. When she lifted her chin again, a thick and iron-hot resolve had settled over her shoulders. As if nothing had happened at all. Mayvalt dug into her pocket. "I took these from Savalt's apartment." 

It wasn't the only thing she'd taken. Bezel could smell the blood from Savalt's broken horn in the breast of her jacket, but she didn't mention it, so neither did he. Mayvalt leaned over the desk, placing a few folded up papers on top of Bezel's assorted tax forms. Bezel picked one off the top and flattened it.

"What is a mouse?" He read. He sighed, blinking his lazy yellow eyes. "This again?"

"It's the last few pages of Savalt's writings. . . when she was unwell." Mayvalt stroked the wrinkles from the paper, as if soothing a crying child.

"Mayvalt, it means nothing." Bezel shrugged. He spread the papers across the desk, looking at the randomly scribbled letters with more than slight disinterest.

"You can't say that! Not for sure!" Mayvalt snapped. "A mouse. It's, um," she glanced up at Bezel, into his glistening yellow eyes. "Prey! To a cat, it's prey. So, maybe she meant pray? We have to pray? Or she wanted to pray? Or maybe she felt like prey. Maybe-"

"Okay, that's really great stuff." Bezel interrupted. "I'm just going to go get us a couple of drinks."

"Boss!" Mayvalt snapped.

He stood from his desk, waving his hands dismissively. "Right, right. I'm focusing, really. I just think you might focus better with a little distraction." Bezel couldn't get drunk. The same way he couldn't satisfy his hunger, or fall asleep at night. He was an absence of all things--but he'd hardly be the first businessman in New York to sip at some expensive scotch to fit into a crowd.

"Sap, boss! Listen to me!" Mayvalt slammed her hands down into the desk, causing a bang that nearly covered up the sound of nervous knocking on the office door. Bezel paused, tipping his head in mock interest. Mayvalt froze, turning into ice and then stone. "Did someone really just knock on your door?" She ran her palm over her face and laughed into the tense silence to follow.

"Huh, interesting. I didn't think they'd come so fast." Bezel noted. His tone was dripping with static, betraying just how intriguing he really found it to be. 

"Oh, you're expecting company?" Mayvalt puffed, as if she was telling some kind of joke. She stood from her chair, turning to face the door with creased eyebrows. "It's probably just Fenvolt with the drink I asked for. You don't have any friends, boss. If you did, I'd still be the only one dumb enough to stick around you." 

He shrugged, glancing over his shoulder at her as he crossed his office. "Color me insulted. No, really, go ahead and imagine that I'm torn up inside. Let that satisfy your growing dissatisfaction with me, and call it a day. All these bitters words would suit someone else better." 

"Someone like you?" Mayvalt filled. "No, boss. Petty isn't your style, either." 

"I will take that as a compliment and assume you're no longer upset with me." He sighed, letting his breath hover in the air as delicately as a fluttering monarch. Or, it might have also dripped with enough sarcasm to sting stronger than the needle-end of a wasp. Those little distinctions sometimes got away from him. 

Mayvalt sputtered, gasping for air as dramatically as a stranded goldfish. "That's just not how it works! I am mad! Furious! You can't fix this so easily, boss! I swear--I'll-"  

He seized the doorknob and yanked the old-fashioned seal open quick enough to startle Mayvalt into silence. And, if she had been correct in her assumption, it certainly would have been enough to send Fenvolt tumbling back down the stairs with her cocktail--but on some very rare occasions Bezel turned out to know what he was talking about.

"Anvelt," Bezel greeted warmly. "You have news so soon?" 

 "My Prince," Anvelt stooped, bowing in a way that had Mayvalt gawking with wide brown cow eyes. She turned them on the outline of Bezel's shoulders, burrowing into his italian suit with her questions. "They were asking about you on the floor, I thought they might be your guest."

"Thank you, Anvelt." Bezel nodded. The Faun lifted their chin, making a show of lingering on the platform before Bezel's perch, looking sheepishly proud to be standing in a place reserved for their precious Phrionnsa. 

Bezel turned his shimmering yellow eyes to the hooded figure lingering in the doorway. They trembled beneath their cloak, tugging on the edges to further pull the fabric over their face. Wisps of curled green hair peaked from the edges, over their ghost white face. "I wasn't sure if coming was the right thing to do." 

Bezel nodded, inhaling the words of this near perfect stranger. "Why did you?" 

"I have my reasons," they said steadily, "but to be honest, none of them were worth the risk. So, I thought I'd just stay sitting where you left me--but I remembered something else you said. Sometimes the hardest thing to do is the right thing to do." The Faun murmured from beneath their frayed brown fabric. They sucked in a rasping breath, pausing as if waiting for the scent of the wind to tell them if this was a mistake. 

Bezel extended his hand, bridging the thousand mile gap inside the edge of the doorframe. "Would you like to come in, Luvelt?" 

• • •

Mayvalt fluttered over Luvelt, frowning and fussing with as much dedication as a nurse maid. "He didn't do anything to you, did he?" For a moment, Bezel thought she was talking about him. 

"No, no," Luvelt shook their head. They'd removed the hood of the cloak soon after Bezel had shut the door, and now seemed to be regretting that course of action. They blushed and shyed beneath Mayvalt's concern flecked eyes, fingers pulling on the fabric where it bunched around their slender shoulders. "He didn't even speak to me. I think the Prince scared the bleat out of him." Luvelt said. 

Mayvalt narrowed her eyes, glaring at Bezel with equally fierce dedication. "Yes, I apologize for all that." 

Bezel had taken great care to study the actions of others, so much so that he thought himself nearly impervious to surprises--until he suddenly wasn't. He had no explanation for what happened in that moment, but suddenly Luvelt laughed--and neither Mayvalt nor Bezel knew what to do. 

They doubled over, vanishing beneath the body of their cloak. Luvelt tried to stifle their laughter, and only ended up giggling into a thin shield of fingers pressed against their lips. "Please, don't be sorry. I've never seen him scared. Maybe it makes me awful, but seeing him like that--sap, I felt like I could finally breathe. I don't know. I've never felt anything like that, it was like someone woke me up from some horrible nightmare and I realized that monster watching me sleep had just been the chair in the corner."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand." Mayvalt said with a frown.

Luvelt smiled, "All I mean is. . . thank you." 

"T-thank you?" Mayvalt sputtered. "We broke down your door! We terrorized you in your home!" 

"There was terror in that place far before the Prince." Luvelt said bitterly. 

Mayvalt nodded. She sighed, her brown eyes darted to Bezel--seeking something. Whatever it was, she didn't find it. She turned her gaze back on Luvelt and smiled softly. "Then, I understand." 

Bezel had perched himself on the edge of his desk. He let his eyes dance back and forth between the two Fauns, but he didn't speak. It didn't feel necessary--no, it felt detrimental. He very much knew he lacked the words. He had a tongue as sharp as glass and as kind as famine. Or, that was what Mayvalt said. 

"There has been. . . fear for us all." Luvelt said. They glanced at Bezel. He could hear the spike of their heart, racing behind the shell of their ribs. "I meant what I said, sir. I am loyal to the Faun, and therefor I can not be loyal to you, or the Phrionnsa." 

"Luvelt-" 

"-but I want to do what I think is right." Luvelt finished. "What happened to Savalt was. . . unnatural. Twisted. If it could happen again. . . I'd rather see it stopped." 

Mayvalt's heart thumped, as graceful as basketballs tumbling down a flight of stairs. "What?" She choked. The color began to drain from her oak sheen cheeks. Mayvalt was crumbling as quickly as century old infistructon against a typhoon. It was as clear to see, as the mistake in Luvelt's words had been to hear. Savalt was a crack in her armor, and Luvelt had jammed the blade in-between the slit, hitting just right. She'd sink, if he didn't patch the tear in her hull. If only it was that easy. 

She'd land on her feet, she always did. So, he moved on, before the focus could be pulled away. 

"If it could happen again? Well, that's rather odd. I thought it had been happening. We've lost quite a few Faun already, haven't we, Mayvalt?" Luvelt bristled, and Bezel knew he was right. It was times such as these that he wished he could still feel the thrill of the hunt. Mayvalt blinked, working with great effort to pull her mind from the fog it'd fallen into. 

"Yes, boss." She murmured. "That's correct."  

"I know it serves me none to lie. So, I won't. I will say that I never have--but I'm only here to offer insight on the matter of Savalt. If you seek something else, I'll take my leave." Luvelt tilted their chin. The little Faun squared their shoulders and stared unabashedly at Bezel. They might have looked brave, if not for the racing of their young heart just beneath the surface of their skin.

"If you know that I can hear your lies in your pulse, then do you think I can not hear your fear?" Bezel asked. 

Luvelt did not wilt, as Bezel had expected them to do. It had only been hours ago that they had trembled before him. Or, had they? Even then, the Faun had engaged him in questions and refusal. They'd followed him, into the heart of his domain, and did not bend. "I am afraid. As you said, it is my nature, but I am not afraid of you, sir." 

Bezel cocked his head and stared with unblinking yellow eyes. "Well, why not?" 

Luvelt laughed, shaking their head with a sigh. "They say you can't feel--but you act in such curious ways." 

"A five-legged dog is curious." Bezel muttered. "I am the Third Prince of Hell." 

"Yes, sir. So, I thought about it--and I just couldn't make any sense of it. I thought, why would the Prince remember Wenroth's horns? Why had he remembered mine? Why had he called me by the name I'd chosen for myself--why did he offer me a place to go?" Luvelt shook their head. "They didn't seem like actions of a Prince. They seemed like actions of a ruler--and I thought it might all drive me insane until my head popped off, because how could that ruler betray us?" 

He might have scoffed. All this fuss, over such useless fanfare? He glowered at Mayvalt so that she knew she was in trouble for spreading the idea that his curse could be pulled back as easily as an old shag rug. He didn't know why they all wanted to see the floor so badly. It was nothing but scratched hardwood. 

Bezel could remember a great many things, that had never made them matter to him. He could remember the first time he'd stepped on a pebble--and how badly it'd hurt. It took effort to hold disdain, disinterest, dislike. So, he didn't. He did nothing--and somehow that'd become even more meddlesome. 

"I could answer much better if you gave me a hint." Bezel said. "What'd I do now?" 

"Ba'al," Mayvalt warned. "We should only ask about Savalt." 

"Brother," Bezel cursed. "So, now the other Faun don't matter? It's hard for me to follow along, Mayvalt." 

"Of course they matter, boss!" Mayvalt hissed. "I'm just trying not to ruin our only lead." 

"We have the papers." He said. 

"You said they were meaningless!" She snapped.

"Well, I still think that." He agreed. 

"You have papers?" Luvelt interrupted. "From Savalt?" 

Mayvalt's venom died on her tongue. She stuck it out at Bezel to soften the taste of it before turning back to Luvelt. "Yes. She was doing some research projects. It was all normal until the last one. The last few pages are, well, they're nonsense." 

Luvelt nodded, slowly. "May I look at them?" 

"Of course-" 

"Not." Bezel finished. 

"What?" Mayvalt sputtered. "Ba'al, Luvelt wants to help." 

"I've yet to see that." Bezel shrugged. "We can't hand over everything we have, not until you give us something in return. Sounds fair, doesn't it?" 

"Boss." Mayvalt growled. "We aren't playing good cop bad cop right now. This is serious. Savalt is in real danger. She needs us. We can't sit around doing make-believe detective. There are no plea deals." 

"There will always be a new deal. Life is just one long game of trying to get the better half." Bezel corrected. Mayvalt might have blown a fuse, if not for Luvelt speaking up suddenly. 

"He's right." They nodded. "I've come here and expressed my distrusted of the Prince, and of you. It's only fair that I work to earn yours in return." 

Mayvalt crossed her arms over her chest, tipping her head in exasperation. "Fine. Go on then. Tell us what happened to Savalt." Her voice had turned sharp, burning the air with frost. Bezel turned his ears away from the rapid thudding of her scared heart. 

"I will," Luvelt promised, "but first, we should sit."