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Bolting upright, I ignore the feminine protests. Like the undead, adamant on reaping my soul, clawing hands trying to drag me back down into the mattress but I refuse to lie there any longer with my thoughts. Tonight was meant to be…I’m not even sure. An orchestrated plot for me to forget myself in the company of tits and pussies. But I can’t forget the horrors I’ve seen, the man I’ve been forced to become.
The snap of a beak catches my wrist, the curl of a fox tail trying to lock around my ankle. Pushing myself upright, my nose wrinkles at the scent of sweat amongst the cesspit. I don’t know if one of these females has sardine in her bloodline or if she just hasn’t washed recently but I’m surprised I was able to withstand it this long. Striding from the honeymoon suite, I throw the door wide and come nose to snout with PB, my so-called servant. Shoving him out of my fucking face, I barge past despite his insistent oinking.
“S-sir,” he calls, chasing me on swift trotters. “C-come back. The Queen requires you t-t-to complete the exercise.” Stopping in my tracks, PB slams into my naked back. The brass buttons of his suit jacket scrape against my skin, the tag in his floppy ear knocking into the back of my head. He’s rather tall for an upright piglet, despite being twenty-one this year. To be honest, when I pulled him from a rabbit hole in the woods, I didn’t expect him to grow at all. But then the Queen punished my temporary lack in restraint by designating him to being my servant.
“I don’t see the point of these exercises,” I spin, fisting his red jacket in my hands. White hearts line the lapels and cuffs, in contrast to the white shirt with red hearts tucked underneath. The complete set with matching trousers had to be tailored specially for his lumpy figure.
Not receiving an answer beyond the twitchy grunts of his snout, I shove PB away and head for somewhere I can actually burn off some of the frustration riding me. I know what today is, and only the distraction of blood on my knuckles will suffice. Following the black and white checkered hallway, I leave the east wing of deluxe suites and take a winding staircase all the way down to the ground level. There’s a distinct lack of chandeliers and velvet wallpaper present in the areas her majesty won’t visit, giving me a reprieve of décor I much prefer. Cold stone, uneven crevices and the lack of fakery like an icy, fresh breath hitting my chest hard.
I enter through the back of the changing room adjoining the gym to the indoor pool, heading for the locker labelled with a ‘T.’ Digging out a pair of lightweight red shorts, shin guards and hand wraps, I begrudgingly slam the door closed. As much as I prefer skin to bone contact, the Queen would have my head if I presented myself covered in bruises today. Unlike most servants who have to remain out of view in the kitchens or slave quarters on the far side of the castle, PB stays with me every step of the way. Grabbing a rolled towel between his hoofed hands, he moves to open the door with his backside, squishing his curly tail against the glass.
“Well, look who decided to emerge from his honeymoon,” Gryphon chortles, quickly followed by the involuntary "Hjckrrh!" he constantly makes. I don’t know if the mismatch of his animal characteristics meant there was a misplaced wire in his head, or if he just has torrettes, but I’ve learnt to tune it out. Years locked in a cell will do that to a person.
“I wasn’t on a fucking honeymoon and you know it,” I growl, throwing a dumbbell at his head. A single beat of his powerful wings tosses him out of the target line, landing him close enough for me to see the humor in his piercing blue eyes. He can’t smile around the curved brown beak stretching from his face but I’ve come to understand when he’s joking through the painfully accurate lectures he delivers.
Appearing mostly man, his entire body is bound in a thick coat of beige fur that towers over my six feet. White feathers with brown tips protrude from his temples, matching the span of his huge wings and the colored tuft of fur at the end of his swaying lion’s tail.
“Denying the inevitable is a foolish errand to distress yourself.” Instead of answering Gryphon, I do what I came here for. Throwing my shoulder into his gut with a powerful surge of my legs, I send us both flying into the closest wall.
“S-Sir! Your h-h-hand wraps!” PB frets as I jump back up to my feet in a battle stance.
“Speak again and I’ll be making h-h-ham wraps out of you,” I shout back and hear the distinctive squeal of PB diving beneath the weight bench. The metal bar rattles with his quaking, distracting me long enough for the Gryphon’s tail to lock around my knee. As he flies himself upright, I’m hoisted upside down and left swinging sporadically and cursing colorfully.
“You should be nice to him,” Gryphon jerks his beak towards PB. “You know he’s suffered as much as you and I. Hjckrrh!” Dropping me onto my face with his twitchy outburst, I scowl into PB’s brown eyes from across the floor.
Grabbing for a hefty chain by the mirrored side of the gym, I use a burst of speed to whip the metal around Gryphon’s wings and pull tight. He jerks before I’ve made it off his back, creating a hybrid rodeo for me to cling onto.
Bucking around the gym, equipment is sent flying into the walls, smashing the mirrors around PB’s shuddering body. A few must slice his skin because the scent of bacon drifts through a bout of uncontrollable sneezing. Gryphon spans his wings out, shooting us upright for my back to slam into the ceiling. I rip out a handful of feathers at his temple, drawing a hiccupped roar from his beak.
We were sort-of friends for one brief moment in time, as well as cellmates. Somewhere between Gryphon losing his high-valued morals and me transforming into the monster I am today, but then the changes became too substantial and we went back to merely tolerating one another. Snaking his tail up my shorts, Gryphon takes it to the next level when he catches my balls in a vice-like grip and tugs, tears instantly bursting to life in my eyes.
“Tweed,” a bark as sharp as a laser cuts through the air. Our movements halt to gaze upon the Queen’s dog in the doorway. The moustache over his nose resembles a broom which twitches in the direction of PB’s trembling backside sticking out from the weight bench. “You’ve been summoned, and you know better than to keep her waiting,” Broomdog barks harshly again and back tracks from the room, sweeping the floor with his face as he goes. The Queen isn’t happy - story of my damn life.
Releasing Gryphon’s chain at the same time he retracts his tail, I side down from his back and drop onto my bare feet. Cupping my crotch, I struggle to walk and decide straight after the Queen is done also busting my balls - a cold bath is in order. Sensing the fight has officially finished, PB crawls out to pop up by my side, offering me the towel clutched between his hooves. A furry hand wraps around my bicep as I move to leave and I snarl right in Gryphon’s beak.
“There’s freedom to be found in captivity, if you’d only look.”
“I don’t have time for your riddles,” I snap, wrenching my arm from his grip. His blue eyes sadden and a grief-stricken frown tugs at the sides of his large beak. I know that look. I’ve seen it a thousand times displayed on everyone I know who’s foolishly mourning the loss of who I used to be. The soft-hearted, whimsical boy that was oblivious to how close to home the betrayal of backstabbers really was. Thank hearts that weakling has gone.
“Let’s go PB, I need to change,” I grumble, heading back to the locker room. A playing card is waiting there for me, a hanger hooked around his chubby wrist. I groan at the sight of it - a purple striped vest with matching braces attached to electric blue jeans. “Get fucked and get me something real to wear,” I demand of the Two of Hearts, snarling at him to fetch my tweed jacket this instant.
“Queen’s orders,” he relays, a hint of fear in his black eyes. “You know what will happen if you don’t.” The adam’s apple hidden within his red collar bobs and I shrug.
“Yeah, ‘corse I do. Heads will roll, but it won’t be mine. I’m too valuable to her.” Striding from the locker room, I pass through the main lobby, out the rear doors and enter into the royal gardens. As always, the sun is shining over the luxurious castle, while rain pours and thunder rumbles beyond the ten-foot hedges that border the Queen’s land. While the rest of Wonderlust goes to shit, we sit here awaiting the day we can fulfil the prophecy, and our wait is almost at an end.
Scanning the gardens, I see no trace of the Queen on her usual croquet pitch, but her pet Kitty is hanging around instead. Her actual name is Kitty, and she’s a chinchilla Persian with black hair that malts fucking everywhere. As a kitten, I imagine the yellow eyes with black slits and smushed nose like she’s been hit with a frying pan were considered cute, but since she’s grown into a fully grown woman with a bushy tail, she just looks demented. And ugly as sin if you don’t happen to have a furry fetish.
“Where is she?” I ask sharply on approach, not wanting this conversation to last. PB runs up behind me, the offensive outfit clutched between his hooves and sweat dripping from his brow. Kitty twists her face towards me, brushing her cheek against her shoulder.
“Who?” she plays dumb. Her huge eyes drag along the length of my body, taking particular interest in my abs and the V dipping into my shorts. Growling, I whip the purple striped vest from PB and drag it on, against all better judgement.
“Don’t fuck with me. Where is the Queen?” Kitty licks the back of her hairy hand, lining up her bone mallet with the tiny mouse curled up on the grass. The mallet was a dodo at one point. Now it’s just a skeleton frozen with a silent scream escaping its boney beak. Preparing to whack the mouse as far as possible, only to chase it afterwards, I bend and scoop up the rodent in one swift move.
“Bit late to start playing hero, Tweed,” Kitty drawls lazily. “Give me back my lunch.”
“I’m no fucking hero, and this here is my lunch.” I shove the squeaking head of fur into my mouth and crunch down hard to put the pathetic thing out of its misery. Withdrawing my teeth, I suck the tiny body free of blood before tossing the leftover corpse to PB. His jaws snap loudly, a solid gulp finishing any protests Kitty could give. Chucking the bone mallet aside, she hisses in my face and I do it right back, baring my pointed incisors.
“You,” she starts, stabbing a clawed finger into my chest just above the vest’s neckline. “You always have to shit on everyone else’s parade because you’re not man enough to admit the only reason you won’t accept a wife is because you want to fuck the queen!”
