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"Princess," I said, swallowing my irritation.

Princess Clara curtseyed. "Your highness," she said. She looked around. "Are we able to... speak privately?"

I nodded. I glanced to my ever-present knight and tossed my head toward the entrance to the garden.

My knight flinched. "Your Highness—"

"The grounds are well-patrolled, are they not, Sir Chesterton?" I snipped. "And the garden has but one entrance."

Sir Chesterton sighed and nodded. "My apologies, Your Highness," he said as he walked away.

As he moved away and left Clara and I in the garden, I sighed.

"Your father's concern seems to be growing," she said, taking a seat next to me.

I gave her a wry smile in return. "When one is twice 'kidnapped' by creatures beyond the pale, a parent would be concerned. When it happens thrice?" I shrugged. "They all mean well. How do you fair?"

Clara opened her mouth, but hesitated. "If I may be honest, not well," she said, quietly.

My irritation died. I turned in my seat to look at her more clearly. "We are alone, speak," I said.

She shifted, nervous. "I..." She swallowed. "I find myself wishing we were back in the cave."

I felt my heart race. I swallowed my reaction and steeled my face. "Why would you want that?"

Clara shook her head. "I know I should not," she said. "Yet, I crave..."

"The freedom?" I finished, hoping this was what the advisors in my father's court had said was my problem.

She tilted her head to the side slightly. "Perhaps," she said.

Not that, then.

"Though I do admit it was refreshing," she continued. "There is a certain... honesty in that life, catching and gathering one's own food."

"For both of us," I added before I could stop myself.

She smiled. "Indeed." She looked me in the eye. "I imagine you were quite thankful I was able provide the fire as well."

"Quite," I said with a smile.

Clara turned pensive again. "Yes," she said. "I do miss the honesty of our time there, of our companionship."

"And there is no shame in that," I said. "We found much there to love, despite our... circumstances. And I would hope that our friendship endures, even now."

She nodded, but I could see her hesitate. She looked away, towards the ground, a hand favoring the hem of her dress.

Curse the crown, but I had to know. "Yet there is more, is there not?"

She looked up at me with a hint of desperation. "I miss my tail," she whispered.

I fought with everything I had to keep my breathing steady and my face neutral.

I must have been successful—or she was that desperate—since she continued. "I miss the extra vision it afforded. I miss how it could curl around something and I would know it was safe."

My hand unconsciously went to my chest, my mind remembering the scales and the constricting feeling as she stood between me and whatever danger was outside. My heart leapt at the knowledge that the idea she did so out of care was not false hope.

She pushed forward. "I miss the fire; I miss the strength, but who would not want to hold their life in their own hands rather than staying paranoid of every being that approaches."

I nodded at that; a safe desire.

"But I cannot deny the feelings of my claws gripping the ground," she whispered. "Of tracking a buck and feeling its flesh give way." One hand gripped the other as she spoke. "I miss the fur, I miss the feelings, I miss..."

She looked away, taking a moment to steady her breathing. I did the same, feeling and knowing that I was in the presence of the same predator I encountered all those years ago.

"I miss the freedom, yes," she spat. "The freedom from the court, the freedom from weakness, the freedom from being simply a woman..."

She looked back at me, tears mixed with the desperation. "Gabriel," she said.

My given name. No titles. No family. Just as it was then. I nodded.

"You..." She took a shaky breath. "You once saw beauty in that... creature. I know our love did not blossom as we expected, but I feel our friendship has been true. So tell me truthfully... am I mad? Am I mad to desire that I had remained... monstrous?"

Her plea broke my heart, and I could not hold back the sob. I took her hands and looked her in the eyes. The eyes that remained a golden brown despite being a different shape from the three pairs I remembered.

"Clara," I said, "I cannot say whether you are mad, for I must confess, I..."

My eternal shame, that I had confessed to no one in my father's court, to no laborer on the grounds, to no soul, animal or mankind.

But I know they began to suspect. I had felt subtly drawn to the other two princesses I had "rescued," and yet both failed to materialize into a romance worthy of a betrothal. I could at least thank my parents for that, though I know they had to suspect by now. The pattern had emerged of the young royal finding princesses in "monsters," though none quite as monstrous as the first.

"I desired you then," I whispered. "With the torso of a goat-man atop the chest of a lion before the hindquarters of a wolf and the tail of a snake. With the faces of all four." My mouth was dry. "I was praised for seeing beyond your... form. Yet in my heart I know, I first saw you because of your form."

It was Clara's turn to sob, and she released several. Yet I had never seen her smile so bright, at least as a woman.

"Perhaps this was the true curse," she said. "Not that my monstrous nature would prevent true love, but that it would let me find it before being taken away."

That turn of phrase sparked a connection in my mind, and a scheme most clever began to emerge.

"Your royal highness, Princess Clara," I said, affecting my voice as though I were in court—though my fierce smile betrayed my true feelings. "I do believe you remain under a curse."

She composed herself and sat straighter. "Truly, Your Highness?"

"Truly," I answered. "And I insist we make haste to the trickster that first afflicted you, that we may restore you to your true form."

---

We entered the shop flanked by two knights from each of our respective kingdoms. I made eye contact with the shopkeeper who was kneeling at a lower bookshelf. He—no, she? Their appearance defied easy classification. Regardless, they stood and quickly made their way behind the shop counter.

"Come on," they said. "I don't like to assume, so let's have out with it."

Clara and I approached the counter together, the knights spreading throughout the shop but staying on the edges.

"You are the trickster that first cursed me," Clara said, her voice firm.

The shopkeeper looked surprised, then accepting. "Really? Guess I can't argue with that."

Clara's eyes narrowed. "I remember you, you did place the curse on me in this very shop."

The shopkeeper chuckled. "Oh, I remember that." They smiled. "But you're the first to actually call me a trickster."

This shopkeeper felt as scatterbrained as the court alchemists. "Your curse remains, regardless," I said, trying to move the conversation.

"It does?" The shopkeeper said. They looked at her, furrowed their brow, then fished a leather bag out from from behind the counter. They reached into it, farther than there was room, and pulled out a small device slightly bigger than their hand. It was whiter than whitewashed stone and smoother than anything I had seen from a blacksmith. The pressed it to their head, and a small piece of green glass covered their eye.

They looked at Clara, then at myself, and frowned. "Odd, nothing on the scouter," they said. They tossed the item back into the bag. "What symptoms of a curse are you seeing?"

"Your curse!" Clara snapped. "That I would be cursed with monstrous form until I find true love!"

The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow. "And you believe that to still be the case?"

Clara shrank back, glancing at the knights in the room. On our side of the counter, I squeezed her hand in support.

The shopkeeper bit their lip and leaned forward. "Your highness...es," they said, their voice low, "are you saying that you have found true love—knowing that love can be familial or friendship, not just romance—and yet your form remains 'monstrous'?"

Clara nodded. "We did not realize this until this past week," I added.

The shopkeeper looked directly at me. "I understand it can take time to accept parts of yourself," they said, their face serious. They turned back to Clara. "And for you, Princess, I do sincerely apologize. My curse was..." They winced. "Poorly worded. I used the curse to reveal your true nature, but I thought it would be limited to your... poor attitude. If I had known you were a..."

"A monster?" Clara said.

The shopkeeper winced. "Said without judgement. You're not the only one to feel this way. And fortunately for you, I also possess means." They reached back into the bag and pulled out a folio with a soft cover that looked like a strange leather sewn with an even stranger cloth and secured opposite its binding with what looked like a series of gears? They quickly undid the clasp and paged through the tome. The pages were filled with shiny discs marked in what was likely the shopkeeper's native script.

"Here we are," they said, pulling out one and holding it before them. The disc was an iridescent material I dared not speculate; we had truly left the means of our own world. "This will give you the ability to change your shape. With practice, you could assume any form you could imagine. Without practice, you should be able to change to a form you have strong memories in."

I felt Clara keep herself from lunching forward to grab the device. "What must I do?" she said.

The shopkeeper placed the disc on the counter. "I can apply it to you, but first..." They turned to me. "The question for you is, are you a furry or just a monsterfucker?"

I blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

They giggled, laughing at some private joke. "You love her in her other form," they explained. "Does it end there, or do you also wish your form was different?"

"I..." I was at a loss for words. I had harbored my secret so tightly, I had never considered whether I would want such a wondrous, powerful, amazing form for myself...

I began to reply that I did, but then I remembered the feeling of safety, of being small next to her strength.

"I don't know," I answered honestly.

The shopkeeper nodded. "If you want," they said. "I can prepare another device for you. Since you wouldn't have the same memories, you would have to take time to learn how you would like to change." They shrugged. "And you may decide not to at all."

"How long would this take to prepare?" Clara said, squeezing my hand.

The shopkeeper looked apologetic. "It'll be about an hour," they said. "I've got to dig through the bag for a CD burner and my blanks, and then it'll take longer to actually burn it, and—"

"But an hour?" Clara interrupted. "That is no time at all." I agreed—this was no delay at all, not when the court magicians took days to procure most potions.

The shopkeeper laughed. "I love it here," they said, their volume back to normal. "Feel free to browse around, you and your knights," they said to the shop. "Everything is priced as marked."

The hour passed quickly, both because of anticipation and in looking at the many curios through the shop. At the appointed time, the shopkeeper called us to the back room.

One of my knights tried to follow, but Sir Chesterton—ever the pragmatist—stopped him. "You have seen this wizardry," he said. "You are more likely to suffer an ill fate than protect our charge."

The back room was surrounded with clutter, though the floor was thankfully bare. "Contained mess," the shopkeeper explained. "It's the best I can do these days. Bag of holding helps."

I shook off the strange language. "How does this work?" I asked.

The shopkeeper faced us and held a disc in each hand. "You've figured out there are other worlds by now, right?" I nodded and saw Clara do the same. "Well, the best way to get tech from a particular world to work is to use power from that world. Hold still."

Before I could ask, the shopkeeper changed. Their clothes fell to the ground as their form shifted to a small pink cat with a tail as long as its body, floating in the air. With a mewling cry, they flew forward and slapped the discs to our foreheads.

I rocked back, but the damage had been done as the discs evaporated in some arcane flame. I blinked, feeling something different about myself, and I knew. I knew not what form or what shape, but I knew how to shape my body to match one.

I looked at Clara, and the fire in her eyes told me she knew as well.

The shopkeeper flew to the ground and shifted back to the the form of a man... mankind. "Success?" We nodded. "Excellent." They turned to Clara. "Give yourself time to change," they said. "It may take a few tries. This is a physical change, so remember the physical feelings."

Clara blushed and nodded.

The shopkeeper grinned. "Yes, those too." They turned to me. "Give yourself more time. The technique I gave you is more difficult when you have been the same shape your whole life."

I nodded. "How much do we need to pay?"

The shopkeeper shook their head. "Nothing for this; I'm righting a wrong. To be in the wrong body is a curse no one should be forced to bear." They smirked. "But if one of my friends is in trouble, I may give you a call."

---

Clara and I corresponded by mail, our letters brimming with innuendo and slanted reference to our plan. Yet she found herself unable to complete the transformation. From what I gathered in her letters, she had formed claws, horns, fur, or scales on separate occasions. The extra limbs and heads, however, eluded her.

We also discussed how we could escape. When resuming our time in the cave was a passing fancy, we didn't consider how we would return. Now that the possibility was real and waiting only for our execution, the details proved to be a trickier devil than we expected.

How could I escape the watchful eye of Sir Chesterton and his command? How could Clara find a reason to be in the wilds? What would keep both of our kingdoms from seeking to "rescue" us?

After a month of this, fortune favored us in the form of Sir Chesterton himself. I was retiring to my quarters for the evening when he followed me in and closed the door behind him, instructing my servants to wait a moment.

I turned to face him. "And what is your petition, Sir Chesterton?" I asked, keeping up my posture.

"No petition, Your Highness," he said, proper as ever. "I merely wished to offer my services."

"In what capacity, Sir?"

He inclined his head. "I understand Your Highness is looking to travel to the wilds. I know of a merchant that supplies a village not far outside of our borders. He often hires trained knights to guard his caravan while making the journey. I and two other knights have tentatively agreed to escort his next shipment." He motioned with a hand. "I have inquired with the King, and he agrees that this could be a valuable learning experience for you, to learn of life on the frontier and some of the less glamorous duties of a knight and commander."

My heart leapt, but I stifled my reaction. "The King... asks me to travel to the wilds? With but three knights?" Already my mind planned angles of attack, ways to desert the group.

"He offers you this choice," Sir Chesterton clarified. "I am happy to turn down the engagement if—"

"No!" I said, far too quickly.

Far, far too quickly, if his smile was anything to judge by. He knew he has me in some kind of trap, that I had admitted to wanting to visit the wilds, and this confirmed some secret suspicion of his. And yet... his smile was not unkind.

"I will remind you, Your Highness," he said, his voice quieter, "that outside of our borders, I and the other knights will not have the same authority we do here. Others may not heed our requests as easily."

"Why..." I swallowed. "Why do you remind me of this?"

His smile grew much gentler. Standing before me was not Sir Chesterton, Knight of the Crown, but merely an older relative or elder.

"Gabriel," he said, "this past month you have been far brighter than I have ever seen you, even after your first 'rescue.'" He sighed. "My duty is always to the Crown, but my charge has always been to your safety and well-being. And there are knights serving the Princess Clara with the same charge."

"You..." I struggled to understand. "You would assist me in..."

"I would merely provide an opportunity," he said. "What you do with it, I cannot control."

I nodded and smiled. "Then I thank you, Sir Chesterton, for your admirable service."

"All for the Crown," he said. He reset his posture and resumed his normal volume. "The caravan departs in a week's time."

---

Sir Chesterton was more brilliant than he let on.

Not only was I fully outfitted with leather armor and a sword, but each of us were to have a small pouch of survival supplies—jerky, flint and steel, the like—at all times. He took time during the two-day trip to point out edible plants, game tracks, and other signs to aid in survival. Looking back, I wonder if he expected me to desert the group that first night.

Hardly. Clara and I had agreed to meet in the town. If we could, we planned to use it as our connection back to civilization.

I was afraid my reaction to seeing her would give our plot away. I needn't have worried. Seeing her across the town square clad in a similar lightweight armor set to mine rather than the formal dresses I was used to brought a genuine cry of surprise to my lips.

"Clara!" I yelled, jumping off the merchant's wagon and dashing across the square.

She turned to me and met me not with a curtsy but with a fierce embrace I did not hesitate to return. I idly noted it took merely two days in the wilds to lose all sense of decorum.

Then again, I was not royalty here. Neither of us were.

"You outshine the sun today, my lady," I whispered in her ear.

"I found my tail last night," she whispered back. She stepped back, and I saw the same fire behind her eyes I had fallen for those years ago.

---

Clara and I toured the town that afternoon and were pleased to see enough amenities for our needs, from a general store for provisions to a postal station for letters and correspondence. Our knight escorts were kind enough to give us room, and I even noticed other fraternization between companies.

"Oh, my Sir Cobbler is quite smitten with your Sir Chesterton," Clara gossiped when I pointed them out.

I looked at them again. "Simple admiration, or..." I raised an eyebrow.

Clara smirked at me. "Well, he would claim it was admiration, but..." Her smile faded slightly. "Would Sir Chesterton be... amenable to more?"

"I do not know his mind," I said, "but I have seen him appreciate others of all types."

We looked back at the pair to see Chesterton pat Cooper on the shoulder... and leave his hand just a little longer than normal.

It was no surprise that our two companies shared dinner at the inn that evening. The ale flowed freely, and the conversation followed. Enough that Clara and I were able to contribute, even. I commented as much during one lull, and Chesterton nodded to me.

"This is the wilds, Gabriel," he said, catching Clara's eyes as well. "The rules and laws of our society are there for a reason. They bring order to many, keep the powerful in check, protect the powerless. And for those of us charged with serving the many..." He shook his head. "It is a noble calling—and an eternal challenge—to wield power in the service of others and not solely for ourselves. But the position... we become figures. We become titles, roles.

"Here," he finished, "we can escape that, for a time."

"We can be who we truly are," Clara said.

"We can," Chesterton said. "But, when others depend on us, we cannot escape forever."

Clara and I met eyes and nodded. As the children of royals, our responsibilities were less essential in the day-to-day. There was still a chance, however, that we would be needed for something. That we would not be able to escape forever.

But maybe we could be truer to ourselves.

Maybe, someday, those true selves could return to our kingdoms.

Dinner wound down, and we each retreated to our rooms. Borders or no, Clara and I were still targets, and therefore still needed some guard.

It was fortunate, then, that the windows to our rooms were large enough to climb out of. And closer to the ground than the twelve feet of rope Sir Chesterton included in our survival kits.

---

I glanced around the alley I had ducked into, finding it empty—

Except Clara had snuck up behind me somehow!

I clapped my hand over my mouth to muffle my shout. "Don't—how?" I sputtered.

She grinned. With one hand she held up her boots, and with the other she pointed at her feet. I looked down to see a pair of wolf paws instead of feet.

"The partial transformation has its uses," she whispered. She held up a hand to stall me and started loosening some of her garments. After a moment, she closed her eyes and steadied her breathing...

And her snake tail grew into view. The head hovered around waist-level for her, the rest of the snake body twisting in mid-air.

And both sets of eyes opened at the same time, a brilliant gold.

Clara held her arms out for balance for a moment before steadying herself. "It's not comfortable," she said, showing me where the tail was pinched against her body by the close-fitting armor. "But it's another set of eyes."

We left the alley and the town shortly after. Her beast-eyes saw much better in the moonlight, and she guided me down game trails and around ancient trees. We finally came to a clearing, a small stream running through one side and a space of soft moss in the shadow of a fallen tree.

"Here," Clara said, her voice rough. Her tail-head was darting back and forth, looking for danger. She turned to look at me, and her eyes had shifted further to the lined eyes of a goat. A plume of smoke came out of her nose as she exhaled.

She started fumbling with her garments. "I can't," she growled, her face at once fierce and pleading. "I've been away too long, I'm coming back, I can't stop it." She tugged on a belt but couldn't coordinate herself long enough to work it. "Help!" she pleaded, two horns beginning to form on her forehead.

I rushed forward and started relieving her of her effects. We couldn't risk her transforming while in this armor. As... wonderful as it would have been to watch her true self destroy the trappings of her kingdom, there was no guarantee that the transformation itself would be that powerful. And even if it was, if we ever needed to return to civilization, we would need to be clothed.

In my many studies, I had read many an account (most fictional, all embellished) of couples sensually removing each others' clothing as a precursor to becoming intimate. Care was taken with each piece, and special attention was given to each body part as it was exposed. This was not that. This was hurried, desperate; born more of a practical need than a desire to indulge.

Her trousers were the simplest to remove, despite her wolf-feet. Her leather tunic was more difficult simply because it was crossed with several belts and bindings for securing her light weapons and survival gear. The fur began to creep up her legs, and her hips began to shift. We mutually struggled with one fastening for what felt like hours before the apparatus finally loosened enough for her to shimmy out of it, leaving her in just her smock. She stepped back from me and into the moonlight as she hurriedly removed the shift and discarded it with her armor.

She locked eyes with me, bare, the fur now rapidly spreading up her legs, the bones shifting and her stance moving into more of a crouch. Her hair fell out and was replaced by a white pelt of fur that travelled down her chest. Her body swelled with strength, rivaling Sir Chesterton himself. A pair of golden-furred limbs began to grow from her hips…

Along with two other lumps just above her hips that began to split.

You must understand, dear reader, the reason we called her form “monstrous." We had legends of centaurs, satyrs, mermaids, all manner of half-creatures strange but elegant. The beast Clara was not elegant. Not like them.

She dropped to the ground to support her forming legs. Her second torso grew between her lion-like forelegs and her wolf-like hind legs. I heard the bones crack as her back extended and stretched while new growth bulged between her wolf-legs. Her fur faded from cool grey to warm gold where her lion paws finished stretching into place, the claws springing into place as she kneaded the ground.

I had missed the transformation of her upper half. I focused in time to see her horns finish forming. She pressed down on the ground with her hands, the fierce nails on her hands reminiscent of goat hooves dug into the ground before she lifted her torso up. I could only stare open-mouthed as she stood to her full height: the most powerful of strongmen atop the most intimidating of hunting beasts. The head of a goat, smoke streaming from its nose, rose on a built torso with no trace of femininity. With a roar, it stretched its arms back, pointed its muzzle to the sky, and breathed a sharp pillar of fire into the sky.

At the bottom of the torso, where the lion legs straightened, the other nubs resolved into the heads and necks of a wolf and a lioness. They roared with the goat head (though thankfully free of fire) as their sharp teeth grew into place.

The beast lowered its arms slowly, settling into its true form. It stood there, eyes closed, at peace with itself at last. The snake tail—nearly forgotten by me in all the hubbub—curled around toward its front.

And all four pairs of eyes opened, golden, intelligent, powerful, possessive; and stared straight at me.

I nearly soiled my undergarments, whether from fear or desire I cannot say. My reaction must have been obvious enough, if the smirks on Clara's faces were truthful.

She curled a finger toward herself, beckoning me forward. I found myself stumbling forward automatically, like a puppet with its strings taut... or more aptly, a dog on a leash. I fell to my knees before her, my face on eye level with the jowels of the wolf and lion.

"Good pet," the wolf rumbled in its deep, rich voice, like a man narrating a thunderstorm.

"But you are still covered," the lioness rumbled in its voice, rich, but not as deep, like a woman at an opera taking the place of a bass horn.

Frantically I began tearing at the belts and straps on my uniform, but after several moments of futile yanking and pulling I felt her hand on my head.

"Patience," the goat said, its voice the highest of the three, almost like Clara's previous voice heard through a paper window.

I took a breath, coming back to myself long enough to properly remove my garments. I was hurried, but more methodical; my master would not want more time lost to my exuberance.

With my last garment gone, I kneeled once more, the moss cradling my knees, nestling between my toes. My arms hung at my sides, my eyes to the ground in respect.

Clara stood there, thinking what? I could not know. I was fully deferential, my poise and command as a royal scion left far away, back in some tower guarded by some poor knight. I waited patiently.

"You have done well, my pet," the goat said. "We are together again. What would you ask of me in return? Look upon me, and tell me your desires."

I looked up, first to the wolf. "To—to know you... once more," I breathed, stammering.

I looked to the lioness. "To discover you again," I said, a little stronger.

Finally I looked to the goat. "To return to being yours," whispered, the forbidden desire still afraid to be spoken. I held my arms out, begging. "Please, my master, let me be with you."

The goat smiled. It was not a kind smile; it spoke of control, of fear, of strict obedience. But it was not cruel. "You were always mine, pet. Come," it commanded, "and welcome back your master."

It is said that there are four answers we have to fear. Some fight back, and we hope those become knights. Some run, and there is no shame there. Some stop, unable to move or act, which will protect against some beasts. And some... Some appease. Attempt to curry favor, or present as less of a threat. I realized, in the months and years after I first "rescued" Clara, that I was one of these.

Now, here, with a fearful predator that my heart knew was still Clara, my fear and my desire merged in a potent cocktail, an alchemical reaction destroying everything in its path. The only thing that had saved my sanity when I first encountered the beast was a different fear, the fear of death. I appeased, but kept clear of claws. I deferred, but did not disturb the fangs. But now... now I knew the beast as a close friend, perhaps even a partner now that my cursed desires were fulfilled. I knew my life was in no true danger. I knew the claws and fangs may scratch, but would never harm me. And so, as my mind rushed forward into the madness, there was nothing to hold it back... for in that madness was safety.

And I broke.

I fell forward to one of her forepaws. I ran my hands over the digits, kissed the top of the paw and up the ankle, then knee, then thigh, caressing and stroking the whole way up. When I reached her lower torso, I turned around and began kissing and rubbing my nose along her belly, always careful to keep one part of myself touching her. I made my way down one side, breathing in her scent, letting it flood my broken mind, feeling where the lion fur gave way to the wolf pelt. I reached her hind leg and explored every inch of it—knees, claws, paws...

I came to her rump, where the scales of the snake emerged from the fur. Slowly, carefully, I brought my minstrations down the tail. It curled around me, keeping me close while allowing my exploration to continue. "Sssuch a good pet, my sssweet," it whispered to me, tongue flicking into my ear. I kissed the top of its head, then the underbelly, tasted the scales there, and turned back to the rest of her.

I found her other hind leg, then cut to the middle to fully examine both aspects of her nature. I rose and examined her lower back, picking through the fur, feeling the strength, the power at her command. I came back to the front, to the other forepaw, and stroked and kissed my way carefully down, until finally I was on the ground at her feet again.

I paused for a moment. A small inkling of shame was rising, some piece of abhorrant sanity threatening this sacred space. I had already explored farther, dared more than we ever had in the cave. And yet, a part of me warned against going farther, of giving more of my self.

I rose slightly, arms down, bringing my face to where the two necks emerged from her body. Her scent was strong here, and I breathed it in once again. It found the cracks in my mind and forced them open, chased civilization farther away, and gave strength to the simpering, weak fool I was becoming, that I wanted to be, all in service of—

"My master," I breathed.

The wolf and lioness heads curved inward, holding me in place. I raised my arms to stroke and touch the outer sides of their necks. I turned to the wolf head and breathed and kissed, savoring the feel of its fur against my face. I brought both of my hands to the sides of the wolf's neck and lowered my head underneath. I gently held the jaws, feeling the bones and life, while I smelled and licked and kissed the soft flesh underneath, displaying my submission as I had sometimes seen the hunting dogs do. I kissed behind the jaw.

"Master," I whispered.

The wolf growled in approval. "Pet," it hummed.

I turned around to treat the lioness the same. I heard it purr, a deep rumble that penetrated my core. It was only the lack of a mane that indicated it as a lioness; its strength radiated from it, its scent overwhelming me. I again never put myself above it but tenderly—reverently—groomed and explored and experienced it from below.

"My master," I whispered into its ear, gripping its neck as if I could keep it from leaving.

"My pet," the lioness purred, and I felt a new thrill shoot through me.

The ecstasy threatened to overwhelm me, but I forced myself to wait, to resist. For I had not yet experienced all of my master.

I lifted my hands as I high as I could until they just reached the top of the goat's abdomen. I dug my fingers into the fur and pressed my arms against that torso. I brought one leg up and got a foot beneath me, then slowly stood until I was fully upright, my hands now framing my face as pressed my body against hers.

I felt more than heard the goat bleat as the head came down to rest on top of mine, the goat arms embracing me, pulling me closer. "My pet," it said. "My treasure."

Being called her treasure sent another thrill through me, as if a lightning spark went from her head through mine down through my core. "Yours," I said, daring to use my voice, the desire so strong. "Please, yours."

"Hmmmmm," she said, all three of these heads humming and vibrating. She took one hand away from my back and placed it over one of my hands. Gently, she took that hand and placed it over my other hand.

"Clasp your hands," she whispered from the goat, "and hang on."

I clasped my hands together, and she took my two hands in her one.

"My treasure," she growled, and moved her other hand from my back.

"My master," I whispered breathlessly.

And she pulled my hands straight up. My arms extended and brought me with them. My feet left the ground. My eyes on level with hers, seeing the smoke escaping the sides of her jaws, seeing the power and possessiveness and desire for me in those eyes. Being completely, utterly helpless in her grasp. I felt less like a treasure now, less like a pet even. I was a toy, a dried branch for a careless child to snap, a puppet whose only spark of life came from the tugs of strings by its—

"Master!" I shrieked.

Clara smiled, that same possessive, dominating smile. She pulled me back to her with her other hand against the small of my back. I collided with her as if I had fallen off a table, and she was nearly as hard as the stone floor. She ran her hand down from my back and around my rump and pulled my leg up to rest on the wolf-neck. Instinctively I brought the other leg up to match, and then I was resting on the two necks, my arms still held aloft, my body pressed against her most intimately, exposed, vulnerable.

She leaned her head in close, and I could feel the hot breath against my neck. I tensed, and she chuckled.

"Do I frighten you, pet?" she growled.

"Yes, master," I said, trembling.

"Do you wish I would not?"

"No, master."

She pressed her claws deeper into my back and licked my neck where it met my shoulders. "You are mine to frighten," she said.

I'm not sure if the shivers I felt were the vibrations from her speech or my own desires building. "Yes, master," I said. "I am yours."

"You are," she said. "You are mine to possess."

"Yes," I breathed, panting, "yours."

"You are mine to break," she said, her grip on my hands and back getting tighter.

My head rolled to the side. "I... I break," I stammered. "I am broken."

"Yes," she said. "And when we return?"

Real fear shot down my spine. "No!" I said, daring to raise my voice. "No, never!"

"We will," she said, bolder, authoritatively.

"We will," I agreed, quickly, unable to disagree, safely back under her control. The fear of going back, of losing what we had become, had no purchase against her declaration. She said we will, so we will; my broken will could not argue.

"And when we do," she continued, "you will remain mine."

The thought filled me with joy. I saw us in my mind's eye, holding court, among our citizens, looking as we always were. They lavished us with our due respect and adoration, proclaimed how joyful we were together. We held banquets and balls, commissioned bridges and canals. We rode tall and led our kingdom into the future.

And when the sun went down, we retreated. Through servant's staircases and camouflaged hallways. To the dungeons or into the woods, I did not know. But she turned, and I knew the presence of my master again.

"Yes!" I cried, as tears sprung up, unbidden, unblocked, as I came back to myself, still powerless in her grasp. "My master, my princess," I blubbered, overcome with fear and desire and—and joy! "I am yours!" I spoke into the night. "Yours to break! Yours to have! Yours to own!" I struggled fruitlessly, my body desperate for a way to release the tension.

Her two lower heads rolled inward, supporting my rump and lifting me higher. She leaned away and pulled me away, so we could look each other in the eye. She brought her hand from my back to gently hold my face. She wiped away one tear with her thumb, the rough pad abrasive, the sharp claw one gust of wind from gouging out my eye.

"My pet," she growled.

I awaited her command again, a caged, frightened rodent held by her will.

"Let go."