Just the two of Us



       The morning haze over Pride Ring was mercifully quiet for once. No bickering nobles, no flaming mail deliveries from Lust Ring or Stella taking advantage of either her daughter or the hound –just the slow hum of distant traffic and the soft trill of infernal songbirds. Fenir stretched, tail flicking lazily as she waited at the manor gate with a guitar case slung over one shoulder and a small picnic basket dangling from her paw.
       When Octavia finally emerged, bundled in her favourite oversized hoodie and striped tights, she looked almost human in her awkwardness.
       —Sorry… —She muttered, brushing a stray feather from her white face—. Dad wouldn’t stop reminding me to be careful.
       Fenir smirked.
       —You say that like I don’t bite back.
       —So you can start another headline?
       —Goetia Princess Mauled by Hellhound Girlfriend? —Fenir made air-quotes—. I’d frame that newspaper.
       Octavia rolled her eyes but smiled –a real one, faint and honest. Hearing Fenir call her girlfriend sent a quiet rush of warmth through her chest, a word that she didn’t know she needed to hear. Where are we going, anyway?
       —You’ll see.
       
       ***
       
        The lounge wasn’t grand or noble; it was tucked behind an old record store in Imp City’s quieter quarter. Warm amber light spilled from lamps shaped like crescent moons, and the faint strum of a harp hummed through enchanted speakers. The smell of burnt cinnamon and melted wax filled the air. A few patrons lounged on velvet couches, murmuring over coffee that steamed in shades of teal.
       Octavia froze at the threshold.
       —This place feels… alive.
       —That’s the charm. —Fenir nodded to a corner stage where a trio of imps played slow jazz—.
       They took a booth near the wall, half-hidden by heavy curtains. The quiet between them was comfortable –the kind that said more than words could. Octavia traced her claw along the table’s grain.
       —I used to drag you to places like this when we were kids.
       —Yeah. —Fenir said softly—. Then again, I was dragged anywhere you went anyway. Still my job, remember?
       That earned her a sideways glance –half amusement, half sadness.
       —It doesn’t have to be.
       —As long as you’re a Goetia, it’ll always be. —Fenir said, grinning a little—. But that doesn’t mean I’m not happy doing it.
       The music shifted: soft electric chords, the sort that vibrated in your ribs. Fenir stood, opened her case, and pulled out a battered six-string. The wood was scuffed, the fretboard worn smooth from years of playing. She tuned it by ear –quick, confident motions– and looked to Octavia.
       —I bet you didn’t know you can play stuff here.
       Octavia’s feathers fluffed.
       —And you’re actually going to?
       —Relax. It’s not my first rodeo.
       When she began to play, the lounge quieted. Fenir’s claws brushed the strings with surprising gentleness. The melody was simple –half lullaby, half blues, tinged with the raw edge of someone who never learned properly but played because they needed to. Notes lingered like smoke.
       Octavia’s eyes glistened. The crowd faded; it was only the two of them, suspended in dim light and quiet understanding. When the last chord trembled into silence, she clapped softly.
       —That was… beautiful. —She whispered—.
       Fenir shrugged, embarrassed.
       —You should do it more often. —Octavia added—. You’re good at it.
       —Careful. —Fenir teased—. Say things like that, and I’ll start charging for private concerts.
       Later, they slipped out through the back alley into the crimson evening. Fenir carried the picnic basket; Octavia held her telescope like fragile treasure. They walked through winding streets until the city noise thinned, climbing a quiet hill that overlooked the glowing expanse of Hell.
       The hill was mostly barren stone and patches of violet grass. A single dead tree jutted from the top; its branches hung with faintly luminous fruit. Fenir spread a thick blanket beneath it, setting down the basket.
       —Ta-da. Stargazing, Goetia-style.
       —You remembered. —Octavia’s eyes softened—.
       Fenir grinned.
       —You talk about the stars like they’re friends. Hard to forget.
       —They sort of are. —Octavia unfolded her telescope and aimed it toward the hazy scarlet sky—.
       Fenir lay back beside her, paws behind her head, watching the faint pinpricks of light through the smog.
       —You think any of them look back?
       —Maybe. —Octavia said, smiling faintly—. I can just ruin the moment and explain what they are, too. If you prefer.
       —Nah, I want them to be jealous. —Fenir replied—.
       Octavia snorted.
       —Of what?
       —Of me. I get to sit next to you.
       The line hung between them, bold but gentle. Octavia turned to look at her, and for a moment the sky didn’t matter. The glow of Hell’s city lights framed her feathers in a faint halo. Fenir’s grin softened, tail flicking idly.
       —You always know what to say. —Octavia murmured—.
       —Not always. Just when it counts.
       They ate in easy silence: small sandwiches, fruit glazed with sugar, thermos coffee still hot from the manor’s kitchen. The air hummed with cicada-like echoes of faraway traffic. Fenir plucked at her guitar again, softer this time, a lazy melody that melted into the night.
       Octavia leaned closer, resting her shoulder against Fenir’s arm.
       —You’re warm.
       —You’re freezing. —Fenir countered—. Hell’s supposed to be hot, remember?
       —I’m just… me.
       Fenir chuckled and shifted the blanket to wrap them both.
       —Then I guess I’ll just have to keep you from turning into an ice sculpture.
       Octavia laughed quietly, the sound soft and unguarded.
       —You make it sound like a full-time job.
       —It kind of is. —Fenir looked down at her, grin turning playful—. Good thing I’m overqualified.
       Their eyes met –silver and amber catching the flicker of distant lightning far across the ring. The tension between them was warm, comfortable, earned. Fenir leaned closer, brushing her nose against the edge of Octavia’s feathers.
       —See? No headlines yet.
       —Not yet. —Octavia said, voice barely above a whisper—. But if you keep that up…
       Fenir chuckled, low and teasing.
       —Guess I’ll risk it.
       The kiss was slow, familiar –no fireworks, just quiet certainty. The kind of kiss that said I know you, that carried laughter and shared history and a promise of more tomorrows. When they finally broke apart, Octavia looked up at her with half-lidded eyes.
       —You’re impossible.
       —Mm-hmm. —Fenir smirked—. That’s why you like me.
       They stayed that way for a while, tangled in the blanket, guitar resting beside them. The stars of Hell flickered faintly overhead –dim, distant, but still there.
       Octavia traced one with a claw and whispered.
       —That one’s called the Sinner’s Crown. They say it shines brightest when someone defies fate.
       Fenir tilted her head toward it.
       —Then it’s definitely ours.
       Octavia laughed again, quiet and genuine.
       —You’re ridiculous.
       —And you love it.
       —…Maybe.
       Fenir grinned and rested her head against Octavia’s shoulder, the rhythm of her tail matching the faint beat of Octavia’s heart.
       The night deepened, the glow from the city dimming behind the horizon. Octavia exhaled slowly, letting her worries fade with the fading noise. For once, there was no court, no duty, no shadow of her father’s expectations or her mother’s violent abuse –just the hum of distant stars and the warmth of someone who saw her as more than a name.
       Fenir brushed her claws across the strings one last time, a final note rising into the dark like a promise.
       —Next time… —She murmured—. …you’re the one playing something.
       —Ha. —Octavia said—. You’ll regret that.
       —Not a chance.
       They both laughed, quiet and content, as the stars above Hell watched in silence.
       
       ***
       
       Octavia blinked sleepily at the horizon, the faint shimmer of the morning wards stretching across Pride’s skyline. Hell never really slept, but right now, it almost looked like it wanted to. The smog glowed faint orange, and the whisper of wind through the dead branches sounded almost like the sea.
       Fenir shifted beside her, tail twitching lazily under the blanket.
       —You’re thinking too loud.
       Octavia huffed.
       —I don’t think that’s possible.
       —With you, it is. —Fenir turned her head, one ear flicking—. What’s on your mind, star girl?
       Octavia hesitated, then looked back through her telescope –the lens catching a distorted reflection of the two of them.
       —Do you ever wonder if… maybe we weren’t supposed to find peace here?
       —Here, as in Hell? Or here, as in this hill with the world’s worst picnic basket?
       Octavia smiled faintly.
       —Both, I guess.
       Fenir sat up, pulling her knees close. Her silhouette cut against the city’s glow –dark fur catching the red halo from below.
       —I used to think that, yeah. That maybe peace was a heaven thing. You know, with clouds, paradise, warm beds that don’t smell like sulphur mixed with something. —She glanced down at her claws—. But then again, if it wasn’t for this place I would’ve never met you.
       Octavia looked over.
       —I guess it was destiny for dad to adopt you.
       —Maybe it was.
       The words hung between them. Fenir wasn’t usually serious; sarcasm was her armour, snark her sword. But now her voice was bare –stripped of everything but truth.
       After what they went through ever since they started their relationship, both felt the need to be more emotional to each other.
       As a way to counterbalance the sexual ordeals the kept going through, most likely.
       —You remember when you were little, and you used to sneak out of your room to watch meteor showers?
       Octavia nodded.
       —You’d get caught every single time. —Fenir grinned—. I thought you were just curious. But then you’d look at me, all quiet and stubborn.
       Octavia’s throat tightened.
       —I did that?
       —Yeah. Then I would have to stay awake to keep you from trying it again.
       She laughed softly, then reached out, brushing a stray feather from Octavia’s cheek.
       Octavia leaned into her touch. The wind shifted, carrying the faint sound of distant sirens and some imp shouting about lost credits. It was almost romantic, in a chaotic sort of way.
       They sat in silence, the world slowly tilting toward dawn.
       After a while, Octavia packed up her telescope, her movements gentle, almost reluctant.
       —Dad’s going to panic if I’m not back before sunrise.
       —Stolas panic? Nah. But he most definitely will call me non-stop until you’re home.
       Octavia groaned.
       —Isn’t that what panic means?
       —That’s just your dad.
       Octavia snorted, a genuine laugh bubbling out.
       —You’re incorrigible.
       —And proud of it.
       They gathered the blanket and empty cups, walking down the hill hand in hand. The path back to the city glowed faintly with wardlight, flickering like candlefire. As they reached the halfway point, Octavia stopped and turned, giving the stars one last look.
       They started walking again shortly after, their shadows stretching long and strange against the crimson light.
       When they reached the edge of Imp City, Fenir slowed. The hum of traffic grew louder –neon signs flickering to life for the night crowd.
       —Guess this is the part where I pretend to be your bodyguard again. —She sighed—. Back to the royal routine.
       Octavia looked at her, eyes soft but steady.
       —You’re more than that. You know that, right?
       Fenir blinked.
       —I do. But if your mother and aunt were able to tell… What says Stolas isn’t aware too?
       Octavia took her paw —not shyly, not impulsively, but with quiet purpose— and pressed it over her own heart.
       —If he does know.. I am sure he understands.
       For once, Fenir didn’t know what to say. The teasing quip never came. She just smiled –a small, sincere thing– and squeezed back.
       —I don’t want to run my chances.
       Octavia rolled her eyes.
       —As you wish.
       They reached the manor gates just as the first faint rays of false dawn touched the towers. The wards shimmered, recognizing Octavia’s aura, and the gates groaned open with a whisper of old magic.
       Fenir lingered outside.
       —So… same time next week?
       —Same hill, same blanket. —Octavia smiled—. But next time, I bring the music.
       Fenir grinned, fangs glinting.
       —Looking forward to it, princess.
       Octavia turned to leave but paused halfway up the steps.
       —Fenir?
       —Yeah?
       —Thank you. For today. For… all of it.
       Fenir’s voice softened.
       —Anytime.
       As the gates closed behind them, Fenir stood there a moment longer, tail swaying in the chill air. The faint echo of her own song still lingered in her ears, blending with the distant hum of the city.
       She looked up at the fading stars –at the one Octavia had named the Sinner’s Crown– and smirked.
       —Guess we’ll see how bright you can really get.
       Then she turned, slung her guitar over her shoulder, and walked back to her room at the side wing.
       The morning broke over Pride Ring in fractured gold and red. Somewhere behind the manor’s high walls, a Goetia princess hummed a tune she didn’t know she’d memorized –and close to her room, at a safe distance, a hellhound was already writing the next verse.
2


