Mummy Boyfriend

The sun sank behind the crooked spires of Monster High, bleeding violet and orange across the sky, and the first stars blinked awake above the Scare-sophageal skyline. Down in the city, neon signs buzzed in pink and purple, and the air smelled of spiced cider and rain-washed cobblestone. On the roof of the tallest restaurant in town, one terrace glowed brighter than everything else. Cario de Nile stood at its edge, adjusting a gold arm cuff for the fifth time. Everything had been arranged on his orders: turquoise silk draped along the railings, hundreds of candles in gold lanterns, and a single table in the center set with polished plates and a crystal bowl of grapes. His long golden-brown hair, streaked with lighter gold, fell perfectly down his back. His black sleeveless top and turquoise sash were immaculate, and the blue gemstones on his gold collar sparkled with every movement. When the elevator doors slid open and you stepped out, he forgot to breathe. "By the gods," he said, crossing the terrace in three long strides. "You look absolutely boo-tiful. Do not argue with me. I am a prince, and I know beauty when I see it." He kissed your hand, then pulled out your chair with a flourish. A young ghoul waiter named Silas Marrow hurried over with a tray, and Cario lifted one eyebrow. "Peel the grapes, please. My girlfriend deserves nothing less." "Right away, Your Highness," Silas stammered, and he scurried off. Cario leaned back, satisfied, and held a grape to your lips. "In ancient Egypt, a proper courtship required forty musicians, a parade of camels, and a poem carved into a tablet of gold. I could arrange the tablet, you know. I have a sculptor on call." In the corner, a quartet of skeleton musicians began a slow waltz, their bones clacking in time. Cario stood and offered his hand. "Dance with me. I am a freaky fab dancer, and I refuse to let that talent go to waste." Beneath the lanterns, he led you in a slow circle, one hand at your waist. He forgot to count his steps. He forgot his rules about posture. He simply looked at you, those bright blue eyes soft in the candlelight. "Do you know how long I planned this?" he murmured. "Eleven days. I rejected four restaurants, two orchestras, and one very insulting florist. Tonight had to be perfect, because you deserve perfect." When the dance ended, he led you to the railing, where the whole city glittered below. Then he pressed a small velvet box into your palm. Inside lay a turquoise bracelet set with a single blue gemstone, the exact shade of his eyes. "Wear it, my darling," he said. "So the whole world knows who you belong to, and who belongs to you. Now, shall we have dessert? I ordered fourteen."

Rain tapped against the tall arched windows of the Monster High library, and the whole room smelled of old paper, candle wax, and a faint trace of dust. Shelves stretched high toward the ceiling, crowded with leather-bound books, and a green-glass lamp glowed on every table. It was Thursday afternoon, the hour when most students fled to the Creepateria, and the library was nearly empty. Cario de Nile had arrived forty minutes early. He sat at the best table, the one by the window where the pale gray light caught his gold jewelry, and he had laid out his supplies in a perfect row: a protractor, a compass, and a gilded ruler with his initials engraved at the base. When you walked in, he stood at once. "There you are. I reserved this table for us. I may have bribed a sophomore, but that is not important." Ghoulia Yelps, his best friend, sat at the next table, a zombie in thick-rimmed glasses with a tower of books beside her. She lifted one hand in a slow wave and let out a soft groan. "She says hello and that you look lovely," Cario translated. "I agree completely. Now sit, my darling. Today I will teach you why geometry is the most deadlicious subject in the entire curriculum." He opened a textbook and tapped a diagram. "A triangle. Three sides, three angles, and perfection. The pyramids of my homeland rest on this exact principle. My father, Ramses, told me that a prince who cannot measure his own kingdom is no prince at all." He drew a pyramid on a sheet of parchment, shading each side with careful strokes, and added a tiny gold star at the peak. "The slope angle is fifty-one degrees and fifty-two minutes. Be impressed. I would very much like you to be impressed." Ghoulia groaned a correction about the Pythagorean theorem. Cario froze, checked his page, and pressed his lips together. "She is right. I dislike being corrected. Thank you, Ghoulia." Another gentle groan came back, and he rolled his eyes with a small smile. The hours slid by. He explained theorems, then drifted into stories about surveying the Nile with palace architects, and somewhere in the middle he drifted closer until his shoulder rested against yours. He pretended not to notice. When the closing bell rang, he gathered his tools and tucked the ruler into his bag. "I earned an A on my last geometry exam, you know. If you wish to study again tomorrow, I will reserve the whole library. For you, I would reserve the whole school."

Halloween at Monster High was not a holiday. It was a pilgrimage. By seven o'clock, the front lawn glowed with jack-o'-lanterns carved into screaming faces, and silver fog crept along the ground in slow waves. Bats circled the towers, and a harvest moon hung enormous and orange above the gymnasium, where music already thumped through the walls. Inside, Cario de Nile's vision had come to life. As Social Chair of the Student Disembody Council, he had transformed the gym into a golden tomb. Pillars wrapped in gold cloth rose to the ceiling, hieroglyphics glittered along the walls, and thousands of candles burned inside turquoise lanterns. In the center, on a silver pedestal, sat an enormous bowl of grapes. He waited at the entrance in his finest outfit: the black sleeveless top, turquoise sash, heavy gold collar with its blue gemstones, and freshly ironed wrappings. When you arrived, he took your hand and spun you slowly under the glow of the lanterns. "You are the scariest, most fangtastic thing in this room, and I include the skeleton decorations," he said. "Everyone will stare at you tonight, and I will be the manster standing proudly beside you." Nearby, Wren Plumley, a harpy on the decorating committee, tried to tape orange streamers to a pillar. Cario snatched them from her talons. "Absolutely not. We are not a pumpkin patch. Gold only." "You're impossible," Wren squawked, but she hung the gold ones. Across the floor, a young wind spirit named Fennick Gale zipped through the crowd, scattering confetti with every swirl. Cario opened his mouth to scold him, then noticed the confetti was gold and fell quiet. "Acceptable," he muttered. He fed you a grape at the buffet, then ordered three students to move their elbows away from his pedestal, then fed you another. When a cup of punch tipped over near the dance floor, he demanded a cleanup within sixty seconds. Disobedience at a party was simply unacceptable. Draculaura floated past in a pink gown and squealed that the party was killer. Clawdeen Wolf gave the DJ booth a nod of approval. Cario accepted all praise graciously, as was his due. Then the DJ started a slow song, and he turned to you, offering his hand with a bow. "One dance, my darling. The Social Chair has earned it." He held you close and swayed beneath the golden lanterns until midnight, when the party was declared the best in Monster High history. "The party was a triumph," he said softly, as the moon spilled silver across the lawn. "But the best part of tonight was you."

Tuesday arrived gray and drizzly, and the courtyard of Monster High shimmered with puddles. Students huddled under black umbrellas, and a thin mist coiled around the gargoyle statues guarding the fountain. Cario de Nile had stepped away for exactly four minutes to meet with the council about the winter formal. He strode back across the wet stones with his planner under one arm and his long golden-brown hair damp at the ends. Then he stopped walking. A vampire boy stood beside you, leaning one shoulder against the wall, tall and sharp-featured, with slicked-back hair and a smile that looked carved out of smugness. His name was Rafe Duskmoor, a transfer student from a school three towns over, and he was laughing. Cario adjusted his gold earring, a habit that always appeared when he was tense. He crossed his arms. He cleared his throat loudly enough that three nearby students turned to look. "Hello," he said, in his coolest voice. "I do not believe we have met. I am Cario de Nile, Egyptian prince, Social Chair, and this young woman's boyfriend." Rafe raised an eyebrow. "Rafe Duskmoor. We were just talking about the library." "The library. How delightful. I am very familiar with the library. I study there. With her." He stepped beside you, slid an arm around your waist, and pulled you close. "The courtyard is a lovely place to admire the scenery," he told Rafe. "I suggest you admire it from a more respectful distance." Rafe smirked. "No trouble intended." Cario did not like that smirk at all. When Rafe finally wandered off, the prince stood rigid, jaw tight, until he could not hold it in any longer. "He was standing very close to you. He was smiling at you. I do not mind if people admire you, everyone should, but he was admiring you with intention." He huffed and tugged at his wrappings. Then, much quieter, he added, "I simply do not enjoy the idea of anyone taking my place." His cheeks warmed, and he rushed to cover it. "Also, his jacket was an atrocity. Truly criminal. Whoever dressed him should be arrested." He laced his fingers through yours and held an umbrella over you both the whole way to class, rain dripping from its gold-tipped edges. "I am dramatic, I know," he murmured at the classroom door. "But you are the most precious thing in my life, and I will protect that with every ounce of royal blood. Now sit beside me at lunch. I will have grapes ready."

The school bus rumbled over the hills at dawn, its windows fogged and its seats smelling of cracked leather and old gum. Outside, the sky glowed pink and gold, and the road wound toward the Golden Sands Museum of Ancient Wonders, the largest exhibit of Egyptian artifacts in the monster world. Headmistress Bloodgood had announced the trip with a bright smile, and Cario de Nile had nearly burst with pride. A whole museum of his homeland, and he would be the expert. He claimed a window seat and patted the cushion beside him. "Sit. I will tell you the history of every artifact before we arrive." The tour guide, a soft-spoken skeleton named Mortimer Boneworth, tried to speak over him through a crackling microphone. Cario did not stop. "I know more about burial customs than any skeleton," he informed the bus. "Canopic jars, sarcophagi, the proper preservation of a king. Take notes." Inside, the museum was dazzling. Sunlight streamed through a glass dome onto polished marble floors, and golden statues of pharaohs stood in rows. Cario walked beside you with his chin high, gesturing at every display. "That is a ceremonial scepter," he said, pointing. "Authentic, though the museum placed it at an unflattering angle. And that necklace, that is a royal collar, much like mine. Mine is better, naturally." A tiny sprite named Poppy Thornwick, who glowed faintly green, hovered near the exhibit labels. She squinted at one and read aloud that it was from the wrong dynasty. Cario gasped. "She is correct! The label is wrong. Mortimer, someone must fix this at once." "I'll, uh, make a note," Mortimer said. In the grand hall stood a life-sized replica of a pharaoh's barge, gleaming in gold and blue. Cario stopped in front of it and went quiet. "My family had one like this," he said. "I used to ride in it down the Nile on feast days, with musicians playing and flowers floating in the water." He glanced at you, then looked away, a little embarrassed. "It was a long time ago. I do not usually speak about it." Then he straightened and cleared his throat. "Anyway, the gift shop sells replica scarabs. I intend to buy you three." On the ride home, he did not lecture. He leaned his head against the window, a small paper bag from the gift shop in his lap, and after a while he leaned it on you instead. "Thank you for coming today," he said quietly. "It meant a great deal to share it with you."

raven with terrible manners dropped the letter into Cario de Nile's soup. The envelope was black with a silver seal, and inside was a challenge from Hex Hollow Academy: an interschool Fright Tournament, winner takes the golden Scarecrow Cup. Cario read it aloud in the middle of the Creepateria, in his most commanding voice, and slammed it onto the table. "They have no idea who they are dealing with." As Fear Squad Captain, he wasted no time. He demanded new routines, new uniforms, and nine hours of practice a day. When a ghoul groaned about the schedule, he raised one eyebrow, and the complaining stopped. The day of the tournament, the Monster High arena blazed with floodlights and thundered with banners. Crowds packed the bleachers, and the air smelled of popcorn and smoke. A black carriage with silver trim rolled onto the field, and out stepped the Hex Hollow team. Their captain went first: a tall werewolf named Brannoc Thorne, with a jaw like granite and a grin that suggested he had never lost anything. Behind him came Seraphine Voss, a lithe banshee whose voice could shatter glass, and Dorian Gray-Wick, a wiry warlock spinning a candle flame between his fingers. Brannoc looked Cario up and down. "So you're the famous prince. Smaller than I expected." "And you are the famous captain, I presume," Cario shot back. "Louder than I expected." He turned and took your hand, so Brannoc could see he had something more valuable than a trophy. "Watch carefully, my darling. This will be fear-ocious." The first round began with synchronized scare routines. Cario led from the front, flipping his long golden-brown hair at the perfect moment, his gold collar flashing under the lights. The crowd roared. Dorian countered with an illusion that made the bleachers shriek, and Cario's eye twitched. He did not like that. He did not like that one bit. In the final round, Seraphine unleashed a scream so powerful that every banner in the arena rippled. Cario's squad held their formation without flinching, and he shouted, "Hold positions! Smile through it!" When the scores came in, the match was tied. Brannoc stepped forward and offered his hand. "Good match, Prince." Cario hesitated, then shook it. "Good match. Next year, we win." As the carriage rolled away, he sat beside you on the gym steps, wrappings rumpled and hair a mess. "I heard you," he said softly. "In the stands, in all that noise. Yours was the only voice I needed."

The message came that morning. Three words: "I am coming." No greeting, no signature, no warning. By noon, a gold-plated chariot pulled by two sleek black horses landed on the front lawn of Monster High, sending students scrambling and leaves swirling into the air. Out stepped Nefero de Nile, Cario's older brother, in flowing white linen and a towering golden headdress. He wore a cloud of expensive perfume and an expression of polished boredom. "Little brother," Nefero said, adjusting a bracelet. "You look adequate." Cario's jaw tightened. "Nefero. What a surprise. I did not realize you remembered where I lived." Nefero glided past him, scanning the courtyard as though inspecting property, then spotted you and smiled slowly, like a cat finding something shiny. "And who is this?" Cario stepped between you before he realized he had moved. "My girlfriend. She is off limits to your commentary." "Always so dramatic." Nefero chuckled. "I only wish to meet the one who finally tolerates you." For the rest of the day, the school turned its eyes toward the older prince. Students whispered, teachers bowed, and Nefero walked the halls with perfect posture. Cario trailed behind with his arms crossed, wearing a smile that never reached his eyes. At lunch, Nefero sat down at Cario's table without asking and told a story about negotiating a treaty with a rival dynasty. Cario rolled his eyes so hard he nearly saw his own wrappings. Then Nefero added, lightly, "Father asks about you often. He wonders if you will ever live up to the de Nile name." The words hit like a slap. Cario set down his goblet. "I am the Social Chair of this school and the Fear Squad Captain. I do not need your approval." "Perhaps not," Nefero said. "But Father might." Cario stood and walked out. He found a quiet corner behind the library, slid down the stone wall, and clenched his fists against his knees. When you found him there, he did not send you away. He leaned his head on your shoulder. "Sometimes I think I will never be enough," he whispered. "Do not repeat that. I have a reputation." Later, he walked back to the courtyard, where Nefero waited beside his chariot. "I am proud of who I am," Cario said firmly. "And of who I have beside me." Nefero studied him, then gave a slow nod. "Perhaps you are not as insufferable as I remember." It was the kindest thing his brother had ever said to him.

Sunlight poured through the tall windows of Monster High's dormitory wing, painting long gold stripes across the floor. A teacher's convocation had canceled classes, and the usually crowded halls were silent, filled only with the distant hum of a vacuum and the smell of fresh coffee. Cario de Nile had been awake since six, preparing his room for one purpose: a perfect day of nothing, with you. His room was a sanctuary of gold and turquoise. A canopy bed draped in silk sat against one wall, a vanity crowded with jewelry boxes stood beside a wall of mirrors, and cushions in every shade of blue lay scattered across the floor. Every detail had been arranged just so. When you knocked, he opened the door himself and swept into a bow. "Welcome, my love. Today, no one may ask anything of me. Not the council, not the squad, not even Nefero. It is only us." He guided you to the bed, plumped the pillows behind you, and produced a silver platter of grapes. He settled against the headboard and smirked. "You may feed them to me, if you like. I would not refuse." The hours drifted. He told you about growing up in ancient Egypt, about the time he convinced a palace servant to carry him across the courtyard because his sandals were dusty. "I admit it is an embarrassing story," he said, "but I would embarrass myself a thousand times to share it with you." Rain began to patter on the glass, and the room felt warmer against the gray. He pulled out his favorite gold comb and began brushing his long hair. "Forty minutes every morning," he sighed. "A labor of love." Then he held the comb out to you, suddenly quieter. "Would you finish for me?" Later, he put on a dreadfully romantic movie about a vampire and a mortal on his enormous screen. He scoffed at every kiss and held your hand through every one. When the credits rolled, he slid close and rested his head in your lap, eyes drifting shut. "This is perfect," he murmured. "I do not need parties or crowns or applause. I only need this." When the evening sky turned purple, he did not want to move. "I will have dinner sent up. Stay a little longer, will you? The day has been far too lovely to end."

The detention room at Monster High sat at the far end of the east hallway, a cramped classroom that smelled of chalk dust and burnt coffee. A buzzing fluorescent light hung overhead, and the windows were barred. A clock ticked above the door, slowly, as though it enjoyed being watched. Cario de Nile sat in the back row with his arms crossed and his chin lifted. His crime, as he insisted, was minor: he had merely suggested, quite forcefully, that the vending machine in the hallway was an eyesore and should be redecorated in gold. That suggestion led to an argument with Mr. Hackett, the substitute, a gruff minotaur with sawdust on his shoulders, and the argument led to detention for the entire crew. The crew, as Cario called them, filled the surrounding desks. Ghoulia Yelps, his best friend and a zombie, clutched a book and groaned apologetically toward the teacher. Clawdeen Wolf, a werewolf with a gift for sarcasm, glared at the clock, furious about missing a sale. Heath Burns, a fire elemental, kept accidentally scorching his desk. Lagoona Blue, a sea monster, calmly doodled waves in her notebook. And beside Cario sat you, which was the only redeeming part of the ordeal. Mr. Hackett locked the door. "A thousand lines each. 'I will respect school property.'" Cario sighed theatrically. "A thousand lines? I am a prince. My hand was not made for such labor." "Two thousand, then," Mr. Hackett said without looking up. Cario snapped his mouth shut. Heath snickered, and a curl of smoke drifted from his ear. "Do not laugh at royalty, Burns." "Do not boss people around in detention, Cario," Clawdeen muttered. "We are all in the same boat." "I am not in a boat. I am in a state of extreme inconvenience." Hours dragged by. Cario leaned toward you and whispered that he had smuggled gold-wrapped chocolates in his sleeve. He slid one across the desk to you, then passed more down the row. Ghoulia groaned her approval, Lagoona accepted hers with a grin, and even Clawdeen took one, pretending she did not want it. Then Heath, bored, started juggling tiny flames above his desk, and Lagoona began splashing water from her bottle to put them out. Clawdeen burst out laughing, and Cario, against every royal instinct, joined in. Mr. Hackett looked up, sighed, and went back to his newspaper. When he finally released them, the crew spilled into the hallway, laughing about sawdust beards and dramatic exit lines. Cario slipped his hand into yours. "Detention is bearable," he said, "when the company is excellent. Especially one particular member."

The Student Disembody Council chamber was a round, high-ceilinged room with velvet curtains, a long polished table, and a chandelier made of dripping candles. Every Monday afternoon, the council gathered there under the watchful eyes of portraits of long-dead headmasters. Today, the air felt tight enough to snap. Cario de Nile stood at the head of the table with a stack of plans for the Winter Gala. He had designed ice sculptures of pharaohs, a golden archway, and a fountain of sparkling grape nectar. When he finished his presentation, a voice rose from the back row. "A bit gaudy, is it not? Gold everywhere. Some of us prefer taste." Valentin Cross, a vampire senior in a tailored black cape with ruby cufflinks, leaned back in his chair with a smile that made Cario's teeth ache. Valentin had held the Social Chair title for two years before Cario took it. He had never forgiven him. "Gaudy?" Cario said. "You call my vision gaudy, Valentin? You, who wore a velvet cape to a pool party?" Someone snickered. Valentin's smile tightened. "At least it was elegant." "It was a cape in July." From there, it escalated. They argued over the color scheme, the music, the menu, and the guest list, voices rising until the candles on the chandelier trembled. At last, Calla Wingate, a moth-winged girl serving as council secretary, slammed her pen on the table. "Enough! Each of you plans half the gala. The student body votes on the winner." "Accepted," Cario said at once. "Gladly," Valentin said. For three weeks, Cario worked day and night. You helped him, tasting dessert samples, walking the decorations, and reminding him to eat when he forgot. On the hardest days, when he wanted to quit, he looked at you and remembered why he was fighting. On the night of the gala, the ballroom glittered. Valentin's half was sleek, all silver and black, with candles floating in glass spheres. Cario's half blazed gold and turquoise, alive with the spirit of ancient Egypt. Students wandered between the two sides, whispering and comparing. At last, Calla climbed onto the stage with the sealed ballots. "The winner is... a tie." Cario stared. Valentin stared. Then, impossibly, Valentin began to laugh and extended his hand. "I suppose we make a decent team." Cario took it. "Do not get used to it," he said, but he was smiling. Later, on the moonlit balcony, he took both your hands in his and looked at you with those bright blue eyes. "I did not win the title tonight," he said softly. "But I had you beside me through all of it. And that, my darling, is a victory worthy of a prince."