by J B Black
“I have no preference, my boy. Whoever is the most intelligent - the most powerful, that is who I keep at my side,” Ulric informed his son, and when the prince’s lip curled up in a sneer, Myrddin offered a slight bow and smile.
“You honor me, sire.”
Artair scoffed. “My father isn’t one to flatter.”
“His notice is flattery enough,” Myrddin retorted, and though he feared he had gone too far, the king preened at the words.
Something oily entered Ulric’s smile. “You are clever, aren’t you?” Artair fumed, but before either could speak, Ulric continued, “Have one of the servants show you to your quarters and settle in. No magic without my express permission, High Wizard. Do not forget that.”
“As you wish, sire,” Myrddin returned, bowing and leaving the king and prince alone.
Magic wasn’t the only way to kill a man, but before he could carry out treason, he had to learn all he could about the castle and those in league with the vile king. Better still, he had to locate those contracts. If he could save even a handful from their enslavement, he could die at peace.
Chapter Two
Every compliment from the king resulted in a glower from the sour prince. Praise on his cleverness led to elbows in the hall. Whenever the wizard took to the library to research, the prince turned up - obviously suspicious of the new arrival.
“Didn’t they teach you enough at the academy?” Artair demanded, stealing the book from Myrddin’s hands.
Not bothering to fight back, the wizard turned to the next in his pile, making notes as he went. “There is always more to learn.”
“Ahh - can you hear that?” the prince cupped an ear as if listening hard to a far away voice. “That’s the sound of my father fucking his fist as he compliments your tight ass.”
“If all his praise came to that, it would hardly be tight anymore,” Myrddin returned, and the prince flushed.
Bright a cherry, he clenched his hands in fists, but with a shift of his jaw, he took a deep breath, pushing away his fury with practiced ease. Unfortunate - their battles of wits had become almost too predictable. Artair would find Myrddin, insult him and insinuate something perverse about the wizard and his father. While at first, the wizard had protested, he learned quickly the prince found no pleasure if he leaned into the lewdness rather than away. He never stated outright that he had slept with the king, for his contract pressed upon him to not speak lines to the royal family, but he spun half-truths and hypotheticals where he could. Which made his comments all the worse for Artair.
Slamming the book on the table, the blond bared his teeth in a feral grin. “Is that what you like? A half-rotten cock?”
“As I said when we met, I - like all my kind - are at the service of the king. What he requests, I must fulfill,” Myrddin reminded the prince, who seemed to deflate at the mention of the contract. “If your father requested I do my duties naked, I would have no right to refuse.”
Artair snorted, rolling his eyes. “If you walked around naked, nobody would get anything done.”
“You underestimate your servants.”
“You underestimate your allure,” the prince retorted. “All that pale and pretty flesh on display. You came to us all pinked from the sun, but every inch of you is porcelain now, isn’t it?”
“What do you want?” Myrddin pushed, and the prince flopped down into the chair across from the black-haired man with a frown.
His brows furrowed, and beneath the table, the toe of his boot tapped against the wizard’s own. “Nobody else talks to me like you.”
“Everyone else is either afraid of what you could do to them if they displease you or too proper to sink to the level of your usual lack of wit,” Myrddin drawled, picking up the book which the prince had originally taken.
“But not you!”
Myrddin cock a single brow. “I am the High Wizard. Until your father is dead, you mean nothing to me.”
Artair faked a shiver, grinning as he collapsed forward onto the table, disrupting Myrddin’s work. “I’m not in the contracts directly, but my father could transfer you to me at any time. A tertiary clause state -”
“That the contract is transferable,” Myrddin finished for him.
“I could ask him for you. Tell him I wanted to get some experience handling one contract before I took them all on,” Artair told him, and Myrddin couldn’t hold the small laugh which escaped. “What’s so funny?”
Meeting the prince’s curious gaze, the wizard smiled. “You think your father would transfer his most powerful slave to you when he already fears you might overthrow him? Are you daft?”
Immediately, the prince’s face shut down. All emotions vanished. “I would never overthrow my father. I am no traitor.”
“I didn’t say you would,” Myrddin pointed out. “Simply that he fears such.”
“Which he shouldn’t. I have only ever done as my father requested,” the prince insisted.
With a shrug, Myrddin sighed. “You have nothing to prove to me.”
With a snort, the prince shoved back his chair from the table. Standing, he glared down with cold eyes all too similar to his father’s. “No, I don’t.” Myrddin expected those to be his final words, but when he reached the library door, he grumbled, “A weed can prove nothing to the sun.”
No matter how discouraged he sounded, the prince came back just as cocky. When Myrddin planted herbs in what had once been the neglected garden of some warlocks who once worked in the capital, Artair swaggered through without care to what he trampled. If he managed not to harm a single plant, his grace came from his mother.
“I thought only druids, warlocks, and witches gardened,” Artair teased.
He loomed - a shadow blocking out the sun with his arrogant smile. At the sight of him, something in the wizard’s gut rejected the sight of the other man. His body screamed: wrong. Rejected the prince’s very presence.
Glaring up at him, Myrddin sat back on his heels. “Wizards can brew potions.”
“Magic manifests in different ways. Warlocks and witches learn it like a craft; wizards study it like a healer studies medicine. Druids commune with nature - I’ve heard the drivel. You all have it in your blood, and you mix together until the names hardly have any meaning at all,” the prince said, crouching to study the leaves of some mint which Myrddin had no choice but to cut back. “That’s not even bringing different species in on it.”
“By Aelion law, magic users are different species,” Myrddin retorted.
The prince scoffed. “With the academy, Aelion takes all its magic users and forces battle magic into their heads. Doesn’t matter the source. You have to learn enchantments and potions and castings and curses - warlocks taught to fight like wizards. Wizards taught to summon like sorcerers. Sorcerers taught to cast like wizards.”
He wasn’t wrong. Outside of Aelion, Myrddin might have learned in the field and manner which best suited him. Through that, he would have earned his title as a wizard. By all rights, he had more claim to it than most wizards of Aelion. Others could only reference parents they didn’t know for it while Myrddin learned enough of his own style from Tamlin to know what he was at his core.
“And what of the sons of druids who don’t get trained at all? What would you call them?” Myrddin asked, meeting the prince’s eyes.
“Druids are sent to the academy,” the prince said with a half-smirk. “Only a mortal wouldn’t be trained.”
“And the son of a nymph?”
Again, everything shut down. His face became devoid of emotion. “A nymph and what exactly? If a mortal slept with a creature, you’d hardly expected anything better than a monster to result.”
Myrddin sighed, brushing himself off as he stood. He had wondered if the prince was unaware of his mother, but his shutdown suggested he wasn’t. “I’ve met the son of nymph before,” the wizard informed the prince. “He didn’t seem like a monster to me.”
“Then you likely misheard.”
/> “Don’t get me wrong. I’ve rarely met anyone as arrogant or privileged, but a sheltered upbringing hardly makes a monster,” Myrddin concluded.
Artair’s nose wrinkled as his brows furrowed. “Every time...every time…” Shaking his head, he left without completing his thought.
Spending another hour in the garden, the wizard gathered his tools and headed inside. He stayed in the less traveled corridors. After spending the morning at the king’s side, he had no desire to be dragged back into meetings of finance or agriculture. Taxes and grains. Neither items which the wizard had anything to speak on, but Ulric seemed to want his High Wizard at his side at all times. More than once the other advisors commented they saw Myrddin more than they had seen the previous High Sorcerer.
If he could avoid the other inhabitants of the castle, Myrddin would be free to his own devices until after supper. Crossing through what was usually an empty storeroom, Myrddin nearly dropped his supplies at the naked breasts which a young maid quickly moved to cover as she scrambled off her paramor.
“Apologies, High Wizard,” the trembling woman shrieked, pulling her dress back on her body.
Rising up onto his elbows, Artair huffed. “Ignore him, Dahlia. Come back to bed.” Her eyes darted between the two as if unsure who she should give more respect to, and her hesitation left the prince clearly put out. With a huff, he waved his hand. “Leave.”
Adjusting her dress, she fled without another word. From the brief glimpse of her riding the prince, Myrddin couldn’t deny she had seemed thrilled by his attention, but looks could be deceiving. However, he had said his piece on the matter. If the prince wanted to ignore him, he could do nothing about it.
Despite knowing that, he failed to hold his tongue as he crossed the room. “I’ve never had a partner look so pleased to have a chance to flee.”
“Oh, shut up,” Artair growled, sitting up.
“Your father would be put out if you conceive a bastard,” Myrddin informed the prince, wondering if that would keep him from taking advantage of his servants, but the prince laughed, showing off a talisman to prevent conception. Leaning forward, the wizard pretended to study it. “That’s fake.”
Sputtering, Artair stared at the talisman in horror before his eyes dropped to his own cock as if betrayed. His eyes widened, and his terror ruined any chance Myrddin had to hold in his laughter. As soon as the first chuckle escaped, he couldn’t stop himself, and the blond’s shoulders sagged as he glowered.
“That isn’t funny.”
“Keep your hands off your servants. You’re undoubtedly betrothed. Save that royal seed for whatever princess your father plans to bring in as your bride,” Myrddin told him even though he had no way to reinforce his words. Ruffling some of the dust from his curls, the black-haired man sighed. “He’d put her to the gallows if she caught.”
Artair’s head bowed. Turning the talisman over in his hands, he murmured, “I know.”
“Good,” Myrddin said. “Then don’t do it again.”
Making his way to the door, the wizard almost believed the prince would let him leave without stealing the final word, but the blond called out to him, “Do you still think I’m not a monster?”
It was as good as a confirmation that he knew the truth about his mother, and when Myrddin glanced over his shoulder at him, Artair seemed to fold in upon himself. This wasn’t the secure child who pranced into a private meeting to sit upon his father’s lap as the man enslaved a child or the arrogant, flirtatious prince who tried to weasel his way into Myrddin’s pants in an alleyway.
A clear answer either way would prove difficult. “I’ll have a rather ill opinion of you if you continue to bring those whose lives are in your hands to bed.”
Artair bowed his head, but he said nothing in response, so Myrddin continued on his way.
Chapter Three
From the moment Myrddin came to court, Artair couldn’t get comfortable. Everything itched. The sight of the black-haird man left him light-headed, curious and wanting and repulsed in strange turns. A beautiful face had no right being as cold and dismissive of him as Myrddin was. Violet eyes stole his breath away. Purple and brilliant and like none he had ever seen before. All in black, Myrddin had stolen Artair’s breath away in that alley. Appearing out of thin air, the power radiating off him intoxicated the prince. He needed to know this man. Ached to press him against cold stone and steel his pouting lips in a kiss.
Then Myrddin opened his mouth. A man without fear. Every other wizard and magic user cowered before the prince. They bowed before him. His command served as good as his father, but Myrddin dismissed him. No matter how often he flirted, the wizard gave him no quarter. Maids or knights or scholars or magic users - all fell into Artair’s bed with ease.
Training with his knights, the prince growled, knocking Eoin down harder than intended. “Fuck. Sorry,” the prince grumbled, offering his hand.
As Artair pulled the man to his feet, Eoin frowned. “You seem distracted.”
“It’s nothing.”
Wallace laughed, knocking an elbow into Eoin’s side. “He’s mooning over Myrddin.”
“Haven’t taken him to bed yet?” Irving asked, joining the small group gathering. “I wouldn’t mind a turn at that ass. He’s almost too pretty to be a man.”
When the other men grunted their agreement, offering lewd jeers and gestures, jealousy brewed in the prince’s stomach though he had no right. These men served beside him. They were his dearest friends, but the thought of them touching Myrddin created a beast inside him.
“He’s rather too prudish for my tastes,” the blond proclaimed.
Snorting, Wallace ran a hand through his tangled brown hair. “Poor bloke’s a romantic. A cad like you is probably an insult to his gentle heart.”
“Gentle?” Artair forced a laugh. “There’s nothing gentle about that sharp-tongued devil.”
A light pink colored Cailean’s rough features. Red in beard but brown in hair, the man ducked his pale blue eyes. “I wouldn’t mind a bit of a slashing if he kissed those wounds after.”
“You should go after him,” Wallace encouraged.
“No.” Guttural and sudden as if punched out of him, Artair spat the word. All eyes jumped to him, and he huffed, trying to hide his confused shame. “He’s the High Wizard. You wouldn’t have gone after the High Sorcerer, would you?”
Irving wrinkled his nose. “The High Sorcerer was a skeletal old man.”
“Myrddin, however, is a pale, tall succubus dressed in black,” Wallace added with a wink and nudge to Cailean who flushed all the brighter.
They had no right. Not a single one of them. Myrddin served as High Wizard - the most powerful magic user in Aelion, advisor to the king, and the most beautiful man Artair had ever seen. Even if he had a cruel tongue and gave his opinion when it wasn’t welcome, Myrddin deserved the best. He had more battles under his belt than the lot of them combined. While they toyed at being knights, Myrddin spent the last several years on the battlefield, earning his place at the king’s war council.
A hand fell on the prince’s shoulder startling him from his thoughts. “If you want him, we can keep our hands off,” Eoin whispered.
The others nodded. Their easy acquiescence rubbed the blond the wrong way. Myrddin suggested he took advantage. That those beneath his command did as he asked not out of any sort of agreement with his decisions or a wanting of their own but out of fear. None of the men seemed afraid of him. Having fought together, most of them had knocked him down in training. A scar on his left forearm came from Wallace. The first time he broke his nose had been to Irving’s stray below. They trusted his command. Trusted he wouldn't betray them, didn’t they?
Shaking his head, Artair forced a laugh. “You lot and my father - all this praise for that skinny lout, but I can’t see it.”
Wallace clapped him on the back. “No accounting for taste.”
“Then...you won’t mind if I approach him?” Cailean asked softly.
“Of course not.” He would kill him. Cut him down to bits and pieces and leave his head on the ramparts as a warning. Swallowing the vicious, senseless beast which brewed in his chest, Artair sighed. “To be frank, Myrddin caught me with Dahlia the other day. He suggested those I brought into my bed were less than willing.”
“What?” Eoin gasped.
“He’s insane,” Irving told him, bumping their shoulders together.
“Or wants you for himself,” Wallace suggested to which the rest groaned and rolled their eyes. “What? I think they have chemistry.”
Cailean shrugged, sighing. “When I’ve spoken to him...Myrddin seems rather sensitive about consent. Perhaps...perhaps he speaks from experience.”
“True. It isn’t like he has much of a choice in anything,” Wallace agreed, and as the rest of the knights nodded their heads, Artair frowned.
None of the magic users in the kingdom had free will. Not truly. They signed away their lives. By the contract, they and any children they had belonged to the kingdom. Discouraged from reproducing - and having their children taken away when born, the magic users technically had no right to refuse a command from whoever was the one directly in charge of them or the king himself. Artair had never heard of a commanding officer taking advantage of this. However, by law, if a mortal was found to have had sex with a magic user, the mortal’s life was forfeit.
Yet - here he and his knights stood discussing pursuing Myrddin as if the law didn’t apply. The only deaths in this regard Artair ever saw belonged to peasants and merchants and other soldiers. Often, the magic user died in those cases. By the contact, the magic user failed to recognize their fated mates, but once the bond was sealed, they suffered just the same.
“Seventy-four magic users unable to refuse if their commander ordered them to slit their own throats, let alone fuck them,” Artair whispered, and at his words, the knights cringed. “God, how didn’t I think of that?”
“It’s rather vile, isn’t it?” Cailean shuddered, rubbing his hands over his face.
