The Fae King's Fated Mate: M/M Gay Paranormal Romance

by J B Black

  Leaping forward, the man grabbed the warlock’s hands holding them in his own as he pressed a kiss to Fannar’s knuckles. “You’re a warlock, aren’t you? Won’t you help me?”

  “I don’t deal with soulmates,” Fannar retorted, tugging his hands free.

  The prince’s shoulders sagged. His bright smile faded to a trembling frown. “Please? My family is cursed. If I do not find my soulmate, I cannot take the throne. I will become a hollow specter, killing and eating souls without end.”

  “Why should I make that my problem?” the black-haired warlock demanded.

  Blue-violet eyes glanced around as if the grove might come up with an answer. If he listened closely and had any talent for druidic arts, maybe he would hear something in the way the wind blew through the trees, but Fannar had trained for such talents, and the trees remained silent. They leaned away. Any moment, the trees would go running. Perhaps the soul-eater could swallow them up too.

  “I’d give anything to find them,” Idris whispered. “I know they have magic...I believe they are a man…”

  “Hints at who they might be doesn’t help to convince me,” Fannar said.

  Swiveling on his heels, he marched back into the woods, sighing when the man’s footsteps signaled he was being followed. If the shimmer about him wasn’t the curse as Idris wanted him to believe, the other could be a fae.

  Dread pooled in Fannar’s stomach. Eventually, someone would be sent to find him if the seer was right and his mate was that powerful. No matter how completely Fannar broke the connection, he couldn’t be sure no one could fix it if given a chance. His curse wouldn’t work on his fated mate. Whoever he was, he would remember everything.

  “Please, I’ve been wandering in search of them for so long,” Idris called, stumbling over roots and almost slamming into branches. If he were a fae, he did a decent job of hiding his innate grace.

  Glancing over his shoulder, Fannar took in the flush of the other’s features. The desperation seemed real enough. “What if your mate doesn’t want you?”

  That had the prince gaping. His eyes widened, and when he took another step, he tripped, falling flat on his face in the wet earth. Whatever Fannar expected, he didn’t think the prince would start to cry. Dirty and childish, Idris sobbed.

  “If he doesn’t want me, I’ll die!”

  If only that were true. “People don’t die if their fated mate rejects them.”

  Idris shook his head, laying his hands over his heart. “I would!

  Trusting him seemed a horrible idea; however, if it happened the other was a fae but wasn’t his fated mate, having a favor owed to him by someone from another realm could prove invaluable.

  “Follow me. We’ll discuss the contract in private,” Fannar offered, turning his back and leaving the prince to make the choice whether or not to follow.

  Not surprisingly, the other’s loud and quick steps soon sounded. “Thank you! Oh, how wonderful! I’m sure that I can find my soulmate with your help!”

  “Hm.”

  “I used to have dreams about my soulmate. Of course, I was only a child, so I can’t be certain they were visions or not, but when this psychic told me that they were a magic user, I knew I was right because I always saw them surrounded by this powerful aura. Like fire but blue!” Idris rambled as he trailed clumsily after Fannar.

  Despite the endless flow from his mouth, the prince had a pleasant voice. Though deep and low, his tone rang full of emotions. Passion colored every phrase no matter how dull the content. If he wanted to fill the silence, Fannar wouldn’t stop him. Ronan did much the same. It was almost pleasant.

  Crossing the stone wall, the warlock watched the prince, but his brows simply rose when the house appeared, so Fannar opened the door. “I’m curious to hear why you didn’t call upon the seers to find your soulmate if it is so vital.”

  “Because I should look for him,” Idris retorted, but when he stepped inside, his jaw dropped. His blue-violet eyes were wide as he gaped at the insides of the cabin. “Is it bigger on the inside?”

  “Magic.”

  Idris grinned. “That’s amazing! I thought it would be dark, but somehow, it’s cozy and stylish. The dark wood and rich furs - oh! There are so many cauldrons!”

  “Some potions react badly to certain materials,” Fannar explained.

  “Incredible!”

  Rolling his eyes, Fannar set his cloak flying. The cloth flew into the closet, hanging itself neatly as the glass bottles of different ingredients levitated from his belt, sorting themselves in his cabinets. Books and maps left out put themselves away. He had no reason to be too loose with the prince. His knowledge was his own.

  “This cabin cannot be found unless you are told where it is. Even having followed me here, I could teleport you right outside, and you wouldn’t be able to perceive it,” Fannar informed the blond.

  Idris ran his fingers through his golden hair. “Amazing. How did you do it?”

  “I have no intention of explaining the spell to you.” Sitting down in the straight back chair closest to the fire, Fannar gestured to the cushioned leather sofa where Ronan or other customers would sit. “If you try to harm me, you will find yourself sent somewhere in the forest with a magical mark which would inspire the forest’s inhabitants to attack you.”

  Grabbing the warlock’s hands once more, Idris looked him dead in the eyes with a serious expression. “I would never hurt you. I swear - I will protect you from any who mean you harm.”

  The warlock shrugged the prince off. “I can protect myself.”

  “Of course - of course.”

  Leaning back in his chair, Fannar crossed his legs, studying the prince. “I will help you on three conditions. One - after our contract is completed, you will grant me freedom to move and conduct business without interference from you, the royal family, or any law enforcement in your realm. Two - I will be granted access to all and any magic materials, books, and artifacts in possession of the royal family at this time and any time in the future,” Fannar counted out on his fingers. Holding up a third finger, he narrowed his eyes. His gaze pierced Idris to the core. “And third - if your soulmate rejects you, you agree to break the connection.”

  “Break the connection! That’s impossible,” Idris exclaimed, leaping to his feet.

  Staring up at him, Fannar sighed. “Those are my conditions. Honestly, the third is to your benefit. By breaking the connection, I could stop the curse - if there is one - from affecting you.”

  “But to break off a connection of true love?” Idris cried. His eyes glistened with unshed tears.

  “No one owes you love. If you’re going to die because of rejection, my solution solves that issue,” Fannar pointed out. When Idris opened his mouth to protest, Fannar cut him off, “All three or no contract.”

  Collapsing back into the seat, Idris pouted. He pursed his lips together, furrowing his brow like a child called back from the brink of a tantrum. “Then what about the first two? You could just take whatever you wanted whenever you wanted and deal with whoever you wanted without letting me know anything?”

  “Yes. That’s the offer.”

  “Awfully one sided.”

  Cocking a brow, Fannar gestured to the door which opened. “There are other warlocks who might be more inclined to help you for less.”

  Idris tugged at his curls. Pulling them straight, he watched them bounce back into loose coils. Everything about him screamed with a childishness which may have been endearing if Fannar could be certain it wasn’t an act. Nobody displayed their emotions so openly before him, and with the difficulties he had identifying the more subtle expressions, Idris’s passion served as a relief more than it overwhelmed him.

  “If I agree to your terms, I want to stay in the cabin with you until you’ve completed your side of the contract,” Idris demanded when he finally met Fannar’s cold gaze.

  Crossing his arms, the warlock scoffed, “Alright, and what exactly are the terms?”

&
nbsp; “When you find my soulmate and present them to me with our bond realized and unbroken, our contract will be complete,” the prince laid out such simple terms, but it was wiser than many.

  If he had said just the first, Fannar would have found the soulmate and never helped Idris meet them. Given a chance to just present the soulmate, Fannar would have offered the individual a chance to break the connection before ever introducing them. For all that the prince seemed to desire to play the fool, he failed to hide the true intelligence simmering below the surface.

  “Keeping you close might be the safest best,” Fannar said with a sigh.

  When the price chuckled, the sound reverberated through Fannar’s body. No one had ever laughed so warmly or openly before him. Not even Ronan. Startled by the way his heart skipped a beat, Fannar failed to dodge the other’s reaching hands, and the prince pulled him into a firm hug. Strong arms wrapped around the warlock’s body. His racing heart zoomed faster.

  “Thank you,” Idris whispered, his hot breath fanned over Fannar’s neck.

  The warlock’s arms rose, and when he caught them in their movement to return the embrace, Fannar scowled and pushed the prince away instead. “Don’t thank me just yet. If they want to reject you, I’ll cut the bond myself.”

  Blue-violet eyes met the dark glower. The warmth in them and fondness terrified the warlock. “I’m not afraid. I love him so much already. Fate isn’t cruel. When we find him, he’ll be overjoyed to be mine.”

  Fannar snorted, but he kept his disagreement otherwise unstated. If Idris had never suffered the unsympathetic turns of destiny, he wouldn’t be much of a threat.

  Chapter Four

  Divination always proved a challenge. If Idris were human - which he could be, the curse would not narrow down the field of possibilities nearly as much as one might think. The introduction of the other princes made it easier to come to a singular conclusion, but Idris only had himself to focus on. Peeling back the way the strings tangled about him would take time, so Fannar focused on easier paths.

  “Don’t most people use a crystal ball?” Idris asked.

  Fannar shushed him. His eyes focused on the way the mirror refracted the light. Glimpses of a palace shimmered in and out of view. Towers of white stone rose. Sanded smooth, they melded one into the other as if they grew from the ground fully formed. Beautiful spirals sparkled. They were brilliant. Bright and wondrous in a land filled with the carefully gilded piece of a post-war world. A stumbling back together which took time - and skill.

  Whether the sight was the future or the past, Fannar couldn’t tell. Edges clawed. Stretched and warped and strange in a light which wasn’t sunlight. Warm but not as bright. Not moonlight. Something else - a glow of another kind. Undoubtedly, the man before him was a fae or some other other dimensional creature. Then again, perhaps it was the prince’s soulmate.

  “Do you see him?” Leaning forward, the prince squinted at the looking glass.

  Setting the mirror aside, Fannar sighed. “Maybe...another way.”

  Bones showed him a struggle between blood relatives. A coup d'etat tore a kingdom apart. Distrust remained. Oaths and unsteady crowns. An unfortunate reign built upon bodies with an uneasy foundation. Holding the mess together, a king held firm control. Powerful. The aura - the magic permeated the land, one with it. Beautiful and terrifying and yet it offered no further insight into his task.

  “You’re awfully quiet,” Idris stated. Pouting, he brought his feet onto the seat, bringing his knees to his chest as he watched carefully. “Have you found anything?”

  Frowning, Fannar rubbed the bridge of his nose. Stone letters found no words. Runes answered yes or no, but the questions confused one to the other, getting less and less sensible as they went. None of them added up to anything. A soulmate shifted on the edge of it. Someone powerful. Magic conflicted with his attempts. Whether it was the supposed soulmate or someone else, a being blocked Fannar’s seeking gaze.

  “Impossible,” the warlock growled.

  He cast dice and found nonsense his only response. Not a single spell wrong in decades, yet here he stood. Absolutely insane. Everything twisted. Up and down mixed as divination only returned riddles which led back to Idris without finding another point to touch. Sense suggested the prince had no soulmate. Fear pointed its finger in a less savory direction.

  Lifting his head to glare at the prince, Fannar blinked at the empty chair before him. “Idris?”

  “Yes?” the prince popped back into the room, carrying a plate of roasted carrots, potatoes, and finely cooked steak. “Sorry! Hope you don’t mind! I used your kitchen. Thought you might be getting a little hungry.” Shoving aside Fannar’s tools, he set the plate down and sat on the edge of the desk. “Cooking is a hobby of mine. Go ahead! Try it!”

  Frowning at the silverware held out to him, the warlock glanced between the meal and the prince. “You aren’t here to make food.”

  “Well...the sun set, and I haven’t seen you eat all day. Not that I have either…” Idris frowned, glancing down at the food. “Your pantry was limited…”

  Fannar shoved the plate toward the prince. “Eat. I don’t need it.”

  “Don’t be silly!” Idris sliced a bite of steak off, revealing the pink of the meat’s interior. “Here!”

  The juicy forkful hung between them. Holding up a hand, Fannar opened his mouth to refuse, but the prince placed the fork into his mouth, setting the meat upon his tongue. Hunger overwhelmed his senses, and closing his lips about the metal, he allowed Idris to withdraw the fork cleanly as the meat remained upon his tongue. Warm and savory, the steak tasted delicious. His rushed meals couldn’t possibly compare to the care the prince had obviously put into the task. Chewing, the warlock refused to meet the other man’s eyes.

  “I had planned to be helpful and do some tidying up, but there really wasn’t much to do. It’s almost like you don’t really live here, you know? No dirty clothes, not even a speck of dust. You’re pretty efficient, aren’t you?” Idris rambled as he cut another slice of the meat for himself.

  At least, he was blessedly silent when chewing. If he had spoken with his mouth full, Fannar wasn’t sure he could have resisted teleporting the man somewhere less than safe. Swallowing his own bit, Fannar prepared to command the prince to keep his hands to himself, but a cut of potato and carrot filled his mouth instead.

  “I did wash the bedding. You don’t have a guest room. A parlour, a library, a bathroom - incredible design on the inlaid tub by the way - , your bedroom, and a room full of artifacts, but no second bedroom. Do you not have guests?” Idris asked, and this time, when Fannar swallowed, the prince didn’t push more food toward him.

  “I can transform the sofa into a bed. Magic,” Fannar reminded the man, and when the fork rose with another bit of steak on its tines, the warlock waved Idris away. “Stop that!”

  “You need to eat!”

  “I need you to get out of my face and let me work,” the black-haired man growled.

  While that tone made other men cower, the prince smiled as if he had seen a puppy. “You have beautiful eyes, Master Warlock.”

  “Master?” Fannar groaned as he realized he had never introduced himself. “My name is Fannar.”

  Those strange blue-violet eyes sparkled. Biting his lip, Idris whispered, “Fannar.”

  “Yes, and stop touching everything.”

  Setting down the fork upon the edge of the plate, Idris smiled softly. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Fannar.”

  “And I’m sure you’ll be even more pleased to meet your soulmate when I find them, so stay out my way!” the warlock commanded, holding up the plate for the prince to take away, but the royal wandered off without the plate, muttering to himself.

  With a sigh, Fannar set it back down. It wouldn’t make any sense to let food go to waste.

  Chapter Five

  “Fannar,” Idris whispered. The name of his fated mate curled about his tongue. “Fannar.”

 
; How long had he dreamed of seeing that beautiful face again? Every night, he laid in his bed envisioning the straight black hair and pale skin. Smooth and clear and shining like moonlight. Eyes such a light hue of blue that not even a winter’s sky could compete. Straight shoulders and a stoic expression. That intense glare - soft plush lips begged to be kissed. Even as a younger fae with only the memory of spying his love from across the festival grounds, Idris took himself in hand, calling out without words to the other half of his fate.

  His feet carried him to the library, and sinking down to lean against one of the tall bookshelves, Idris held back the cry of triumph which he yearned to scream to the sky. Though his uncle had tried to scare his mate away, the man had failed twice over. His coup led to his death, and whatever words he had whispered in the young warlock’s ears would be erased under the truth of Idris’s love.

  He could be patient. His heart belonged to Fannar. No one else would do, and he had saved himself in anticipation even if war and strife in his realm helped to keep him reserved for his lover’s touch only, but even with a sword to his throat and his own fated mate in the executioner’s hands, Idris’s damn uncle Pedr would not say what he did to cause the warlock to flee and create that awful curse, hiding himself from Idris’s sight and reach.

  “He’ll never have you,” Pedr had spat. Blood dripped from his neck.

  Idris sighed, and with a wave of his hand, Pedr’s mate’s neck snapped. Her body fell to the floor, and Pedr screamed. Madness swirled in his eyes. He cut his own head off trying to get to her corpse. Better than he deserved. To give as good as Pedr gave, Idris should have forced the man to live. To live and remember that he would never have his fated mate. But Idris allowed the man to die because he knew he would fix what Pedr had done.

  Pressing his fingers to his lips, Idris murmured, “Fannar.” His heart fluttered. “I love you, Fannar. You’re so beautiful, Fannar. Fannar....marry me?”

  Each phrase curled around him. Decades putting his kingdom back together. Years spent undoing the damage of civil war while being denied the chance to search for his fated mate beyond sending magic user after magic user to try to find a clue. Every single one returned having completely forgotten why they left in the first place. His spellwork grew more and more powerful. No one else could compare to Fannar. Only Idris had magic capable of rivaling the warlock. They would be an unstoppable force once united.