by J B Black
Their eyes met, but they dropped the subject quickly. Within the walls, there was no telling who was listening. More than once, they had each spoken of their discomfort with the academy and the treatment of magic users; however, there always seemed to be some aspect they failed to consider.
Blanching, Eoin swallowed. “What happens to them when your father dies?”
“The contract breaks,” Artair said.
Cailean blinked and frowned. “That doesn’t seem so horrible.”
“Isn’t there a clause that the magical party dies if the contract breaks?” Eoin whispered.
Laughing, Wallace smacked the other knight on his back. “Aelion’s magic users are a valuable resource. King Ulric obviously would pass on the contracts before he dies.”
Though doubt clouded the prince’s mind, he forced a smile. “Of course. Now, get back to work!”
The air hung heavy over them, and even working himself to exhaustion failed to quiet the unease in Artair’s mind. When Dahlia came to him, murmuring about how they had been interrupted, he heard Myrddin’s words in the back of his head, but she had come to him, hadn’t she? If he imagined violet eyes and dark hair, that remained his secret.
His refusal to continue anything with Dahlia after had nothing to do with Myrddin. He avoided women entirely of his own desire, so when the new stableboy swayed his hips and sucked on a cube of sugar like an absolute whore, he allowed the brat to tug down his trousers and worship his cock.
Ignoring the setting, Artair focused on the messy black hair. He knotted his fingers in it. The dark eyes could roll back and glaze, but his gaze honed in on the way raven locks curled about his fingers as he lazily thrust his cock down the man’s throat again and again. A soft wet heat did him good, and his chest ached even as his hard length throbbed.
“Caleb?” a familiar voice called, and Artair’s balls tightened as he thrust his cock deeper into the man’s throat.
When Myrddin turned the corner, Artair came as violet eyes met his. Mouth dry, the prince held fast to the stableboy, keeping him on his cock for every last drop and then some as those delicious muscles swallowed around him. The wizard didn’t flush. Artair wished he did. Wished to seem him pink and embarrassed, but Myrddin held his eyes with a condescending blankness to his expression.
“Did you need something?” Artair drawled, trying to sound casual.
Tilting his head, the wizard told him, “The stable master.”
“Out in the paddock with that black yearling,” the prince informed the violet-eyed man, and he thought he had managed to keep his calm despite the circumstances when the other nodded and moved to leave.
However, glancing over his shoulder, Myrddin stated, “Do let him go, your majesty. I doubt Caleb wanted his new stableboy to suffocate on your cock on his first day. It’d be rather awkward to explain to his family.”
Without another word - and without giving Artair time to reply, he walked away with his black cloak swirling around him. Blushing in a mix of anger and embarrassment, the prince released the stableboy who fell off his cock gasping for air; however, from the wet stain on the front of his trousers, he wasn’t entirely put out by the experience.
“Will he - will he tell someone?” the stableboy whispered. His eyes sparkled with excitement as if he wanted the threat of danger held above him.
“I doubt the High Wizard Myrddin cares much for mortal pleasures,” Artair grumbled, tucking himself away.
As the prince fixed himself up to be presentable, the younger man shuddered. “That was the High Wizard?” Biting his lip, he stood, heading in the same direction. “I’ve always wanted to get a look at him!”
“Don’t you have work to do?” the prince huffed as he stormed around the man, and when the other turned sultry eyes his way, Artair found them far less enchanting than he had earlier. Before the other could suggest anything more between them, the blond left.
If his path led him to the paddock where Caleb and Myrddin spoke, nobody had to know. Eventually, the stableboy would get his chance to see the High Wizard. Unlike the High Sorcerer, Myrddin seemed eager to go wherever he could in the castle and speak with whomever he wanted. The wizard would undoubtedly live up to his reputation. Too beautiful to be human - recognizable as magic from a distance from the rare color of his eyes to the uncategorizable perfection of his face. When Artair took to his room, he brought himself off in hand, and it wasn’t the memory of the stableboy’s mouth which brought him over the edge.
Chapter Four
All those soldiers dying on the battlefield - but not Artair’s knights. No. His dear friends played, training with weapons and practicing for a warfront they would never see. All were young lords. Each would inherit land holdings, and in some regards, their presence amounted to hostages. Their fathers had to keep sending soldiers if their heirs remained within reach of the throne. Other kingdoms had done similar.
Whenever Myrddin caught sight of the boys playing at war, he nearly bit clean through his tongue to keep his silence. Just like the prince, they flirted their ways into the beds of whoever they could. Likely, they made promises of fidelity which they could never keep. Each one had a betrothed, and if not, they would soon. Like prized beasts, they would be bred to the benefit of their families.
Which made it all the more insulting when they came up to him. Cailean collected herbs with him in his garden, saying nothing at all despite the way he flushed whenever Myrddin thanked him.
Studying the man, the wizard sighed. “Did you garden as a child?”
The knight flushed, ducking his head. “Sendange is known for our flowers.”
“That doesn’t mean you participated in their cultivation,” the wizard retorted, and Cailean blushed all the redder.
“Am I doing something wrong?”
“No.”
The man followed Myrddin’s directions rather well, but he seemed almost all the more put out by the black-haired man’s reply. Nobles exhausted the wizard. Their pride created a ridiculous number of hurdles between a question and a clear answer. However, his reaction gave away the game. Even if they hadn’t, the other knights weren’t nearly as subtle.
“Nothing’s wrong with a couple blokes knocking one out together,” Wallace announced one day, coming up behind Myrddin as he bent over a tome in the main library.
Blinking, Myrddin glared up at the broad-chested man. “By law, Sir Wallace, I am not a man.”
“Law cannot dictate nature,” the other retorted.
“But it can dictate death.”
They seemed to get all the worse after Myrddin caught Artair in the stables with the new stablesboy, Logan. Black of hair and eyes, the young man seemed far less invested than Dahlia had been, so the wizard intended not to step in even if Logan made him uncomfortable. Whenever Myrddin went down to speak with Caleb, Logan came running with bright eyes and swollen lips. He almost always had a sway to his hips and a limp which suggested he had taken someone up his ass, but he threw himself forward at Myrddin each time as if playing a game to see how many high ranking men’s cum he could swallow.
After the encounter, the first time they met properly, Logan flushed, leaning in close. “You can’t be a man! You’re so beautiful!”
“I am not a man,” Myrddin replied. “I am a wizard.”
“But you’ve got a cock, right?” Biting his lips, Logan dipped his dark eyes down as he rocked back and forth.
Pressing his lips together, the wizard resisted the urge to say something rude back to the man. Logan may have had terrible taste in sexual partners, but Myrddin had every intention to be polite.
“Where is Caleb?” Myrddin asked when he failed to find a subtler segue.
Logan smirked, leaning forward to box Myrddin in as he grabbed the horse’s stall. “I normally prefer taking, but you’ve just got a face begging to be pushed down.”
“Yet the question remains, is my asshole to die for?” Myrddin retorted with a small smile and ice in his eyes. Before the
stableboy could respond, he continued, “Because by law, any mortal who sleeps with a magic user will be put to death, and I don’t think you have the money or status to save your neck.”
That seemed enough to get Logan to keep his distance, but the knights had both money and status. From the few warlocks and the one druid who had been temporarily in the capital before reporting to the front, Artair’s knights had more than once taken magic users to bed. With the lack of gossip around the castle, they could also be trusted to be discrete. If they talked to each other, Myrddin hardly cared.
Worse, after years of focusing on a single taste, he found Ulric to be distrustful in the strangest ways. The man relied on him. Listened to his military and advice. Counted on him to guard him at parties and meet with other magic users when they came, but Ulric used his words carefully. He never gave Myrddin an inch, and the wizard’s frustration built up within his system.
And the knights were better than the old men who leered at him from the other side of the war table. Ulric kept him close. Luckily, the king never made a move in that regard, but at times, the wizard wished he would. It would be easier to kill him that way.
As the castle celebrated minor victory, Myrddin kept to the fringes. Mountains of food - roasted venison and boar - fresh fruits and seasoned vegetables, enough food to feed a village for a week. The nobles gorged themselves. Afterward, the servants would have their fill, but the bulk would end up in the bellies of men who had a well padded stomach already.
“I never get used to it,” Eoin murmured, coming to stand beside the wizard. “All this food - everyone celebrating when we gained a few leagues of farmland which the enemy salted and burned on their retreat.”
Myrddin shook his head. “We should be sending food to our new citizens. They had their stores wrecked.”
His laugh came soft and low. As far as Artair’s knights went, he wasn’t so bad. Eoin had a pleasant face. He didn’t flirt as boorishly as Wallace or as shyly as Cailean, but as the knight angled himself closer than was entirely appropriate, he made his intentions clear.
“The king is well-guarded,” the knight murmured. His eyes were soft and warm in the fire’s light. “Would you be adverse to accompanying me to the library? I seem to have forgotten something there.”
Ducking his gaze, Myrddin smiled. “It would be my pleasure.”
Quietly, the pair left their positions, heading from the hall. Their fingers brushed as they headed to the library, and when they entered, Eoin took his hand, spinning the wizard around to press him into the table. Having never kissed another, Myrddin thought it would be harder, but Eoin guided him gently. A hand at his hip and another cradled his face, guiding him to tilt his head as their tongues entwined. Heat built in the wizard’s belly, and after years of ignoring his cock, it stirred in his trousers.
With a soft gasp, he rocked forward. His fingers wrapped around Eoin’s muscular forearms, and when his slowly hardening cock rubbed against the knight’s manhood, he shivered. Sparks lit across his skin. Everything itched. He wanted more. A hand upon his cock or to somehow explode with magic. The two extremes - getting away and pulling Eoin closer - fought inside of him.
“Now that -” the knight whispered, grinding his hips forward, “ - is an enthralling expression.”
Flushed, Myrddin groaned. “Is my face all you find enthralling?”
Eoin chuckled. His hips rocked forward as the hand on Myrddin’s hip slipped back to grope at the round of his ass. “I find all of you enthralling.”
“I hope you don’t use that line on Malvina,” the prince drawled, and Eoin almost lept back from Myrddin as if the wizard had turned into some kind of ravenous beast. “Your betrothed arrived. Apparently, she missed you.”
The knight seemed like he wanted to say something, but he left without saying a word. So much for being a brave man.
Running a hand through his hair, Myrddin sighed. “No one has arrived.”
“And yet, you didn’t say that before Eoin left,” Artair commented, slowly approaching where the wizard stood.
“I recognize a threat when one is spoken.”
The prince made a slight noise of surprise in the back of his throat. “Is it really a threat to you?”
“Are you the sort of man to threaten his friends?” Myrddin retorted.
At this point, his interest waned as Artair stood before him. Those blue eyes traced him from head to toe and back up. “You should keep your hands to yourself.”
“I believe I once told you the same,” Myrddin replied, staring the prince down. “I’ll listen to your advice when you listen to mine.”
A twitch of the other man’s lip caught before it turned into a sneer. Having taken whoever he wanted to bed, Artair had no right to speak. Those he slept with had just as great a chance to be put to death by him as Eoin had if the knight had slept with Myrddin. Whatever he considered saying, he kept to himself, leaving Myrddin in the library.
Chapter Five
Drinking himself into an oblivion failed to wipe the furious desperation and loathing which brewed in Artair’s belly after seeing Myrddin pinned against that damn table.Waking with a headache, the blond faked jovality until he faced Eoin again at the training grounds. Rain earlier in the day made the grass damp. More than once, Cailean fumbled and nearly fell face first into the mud when he lunged too far or threw himself into a parry without the proper balance, but blade to blade with Eoin, Artair saw no friend across from him. A snake in his ear whispered vile things. Hinted at betrayal.
They had discussed the wizard. He had made it clear - or so he thought - that the High Wizard held a position beyond his knights’ touch. His friends ought to have listened, but they kept on flirting. Cailean followed Myrddin like a lost pup. Wallace jeered and flexed like some primping cock strutting about a hen house, and the rest served little better, but Eoin kept a respectable distance. He thought he could trust him. Believed the man would stay away from the wizard. Trusted him to understand.
But understand what? Unable to name the source of his fury beyond Eoin with Myrddin - touching Myrddin - pinning Myrddin - kissing Myrddin. All of it so terribly wrong that each clash of their blades forced the other man to slide back.
“Pull back, Artair,” Irving called.
Wallace laughed. “It’s just a practice bout.”
Tilting his head back, the prince sneered. “Does the heir to Falkirk require me to soften my attacks?”
Eoin gritted his teeth. A war brewed behind his gaze. One raged since he had realized Malvina hadn’t come unexpectedly, yet he had not called Artair on his bluff. Meeting the fire with a flare of his own, the blond dared his compatriot to speak. Let him accuse. Whatever suspicions Eoin had, they undoubtedly paralleled the fear and unchecked rage thrumming in the prince with every pulsating pain in his head.
“Perhaps I’m just not rightly motivated,” Eoin retorted, putting further force to his next blow, and when their blades met, he bared his teeth. “What say a little wager?”
They pushed off each other, skidding in the mud before Artair asked, “What would you have that I’d want?”
“If I win,” Eoin began, and the blond snorted at his friend, who simply repeated, “If I win, you stay out of my way with Myrddin.”
“And when I win?”
Eoin’s chest heaved as he readied his sword. “I’ll stay out of yours.”
“That’s hardly fair,” Cailean cut in, but Artair ignored their friend.
Some part of the prince wished to deny his interest. Myrddin looked right through him. Even without Eoin, his chances were slim. From the first, he made a horrible impression, and he only had half an idea as to why. Myrddin wheedled him at every turn. The beautiful stuck-up bastard served his duties admirably, earning praise again and again from the king. Praise which had once only belonged to Artair. Praise he had ceased caring about until he saw it so willingly given to another, and yet what bothered him more was the little satisfied smile after every compliment as
if his father’s words were all the wizard wanted.
None of the other knights had a chance. With Eoin out, Myrddin would have to seek less handsome grounds if he desired to take pleasure from another. With expansion calling all magic users to the borders, no one safe outside of old vile men and Artair’s knights existed for Myrddin to sate his lust.
“Deal.”
They came at each other like animals. Their blades served as claws, but fists and feet moved just as cunningly. Artair had no intention of playing fair. A blow took out Eoin at the ankle, and when the man fell into the mud, Artair leapt upon him, shoving him down with a blade at his throat. Eoin didn’t give. Punching hard enough to break Artair’s nose, he upended them. The pair tumbled. Fists and feet flew. Around them, their friends screamed. Hands tried to intercede, but neither gave an inch.
Nearly breaking Eoin’s arm, Artair growled, “Yield.”
“Never,” Eoin hissed.
A flailing of limbs, and red clouded the prince’s vision. Was it rage or blood? He couldn’t tell, but the cracking of bones echoed, and even when Eoin fell limp, it took Wallace and Hamish to drag him off. All he wanted was to bury the man. Shove his face into the wet soil until he breathed in dirt and suffocated. Died broken and beaten. Bloody proof he wasn’t good enough for Myrddin. None of these humans were good enough.
In his veins, something he long suppressed itched. Feral and cruel - nymphs loved to the point of obsession. Many men had been cursed by them. Once bound to their mate, tales told of how they died if that mate betrayed them. Artair’s mother died that way. Faded day by day. Beautiful even with her sunken eyes and hollow cheeks. As she grieved her husband’s adultery, the king never visited her. Never attempted to mend what broke between them. Artair had never understood. Why his mother faded - why his father never tried to stop her. It all made no sense.
But in the heat, this bloody viciousness made sense. His body thrummed with it. This is what his mother should have done. Should have hunted down anyone in her way and slaughtered them.
