The Crown Prince's Fated Mate: M/M Gay Paranormal Romance

by J B Black

  “Is there anything else you need, sire?”

  With a soft hum, Ulric tilted his head, leaning back against his throne. In that moment, he almost looked like his son. “My son has never been particularly fond of you. I suspect you turned him down, and his pride shriveled at the insult. I do hope you took care of that.”

  Blinking, Myrddin swallowed. “Your majesty?”

  “It is deplorable that those held to command my magic users so often take their wards to bed. I’ve slaughtered most, but I need experienced soldiers, and it can be to a pair’s mutual relief,” Ulric explained as his eyes pinned the wizard in place. “A land where no man stands above the law is a dream. A fantasy. Impossible and impractical. Men like us, we always stand beyond reproach from the small insects which skuttle about our feet.”

  Myrddin frowned. “I had not realized you considered me a man.”

  “You have a cock, don’t you?” And it was so strangely crude that Myrddin wondered if it were truly the king who sat before him. As if sensing his thoughts, Ulric laughed. “Law may separate magic users and mortals, but if not to breed, it is all the same to me. Fate ties magic users down. Chains them. Enslaves them.”

  No, Myrddin wished to argue. You do.

  But he dared not speak his mind. Whatever flight of fancy loosened the king’s tongue served only to make him more dangerous. “I must admit, the aspect of the contract preventing me from finding or sensing my fated mate held particular appeal.”

  “I imagine it would,” Ulric returned with a smile. “You were one of the children Tamlin stole, weren’t you? What did that soft-brained fae tell you of fated mates?”

  “That we were born bound to them. That no love could match the pull, and one day, we would meet them. He described it like a siren’s song, but no amount of wax could plug your ears. Fate called, and you bent to whoever it placed before you,” Myrddin told him, clearing the figures from the battlefield to avoid the cold blue of the other’s heavy gaze. “He called them soulmates. It sounded like some sort of love spell to me. The more I read about sex magic at the academy, the more it seemed to fit.”

  Giving a curt nod, Ulric said, “If only I had been as wise as you at your age. My parents were fated.”

  Myrddin froze. “Sire?”

  “It goes without saying that none of this will leave this room, and I trust your magic has ensured no one can hear what we’re saying,” Ulric continued, and when the wizard nodded, the king gave a small almost smile. “Good. By your reaction, I can assume you already knew.”

  “The High Sorcerer kept extraordinary notes.”

  Ulric’s jaw shifted. His teeth ground together as he rolled his eyes. “Of course, he did, that old fool. I don’t suppose he mentioned who his mate was?”

  Myrddin shook his head. “No, sire.”

  “The previous High Sorcerer wasn’t bound by the same contract as you. He helped me design the contracts, you see, and after his - what did you say Tamlin called it? Ah, yes - after his soulmate betrayed me, he offered to sign a contract to prove his loyalty,” Ulric informed the wizard. “He was my friend first, and I knew well enough the contract would work, so I agreed on one condition.”

  When Ulric allowed the silence to grow, the black-haired man asked, “And that was?”

  “He could feel the pull for the rest of his days, but if he ever saw his soulmate,” how vile the king made the word sound, rolling it across tongue, “again, the High Sorcerer’s magic would turn against him, killing him painfully and slow enough to ensure his mate knew what had occurred but fast enough he could not be saved.” Another long pause - cold blue eyes watching, seeking some sort of tell, but Myrddin couldn’t fathom what Ulric wanted from him. “Can you guess who his mate was?”

  It didn’t take a genius. “Tamlin.”

  “Yes, yes it was.”

  “Was that how he died, sire?” Myrddin inquired.

  Shaking his head, Ulric laughed. “No. He took a poisoned arrow meant for me. Loyal until the end.”

  Myrddin couldn’t help but wonder if the man regretted it in the end, but the conversation exhausted him. He had no care for what had been. This was another test. Ulric would pull him close and then push him away, seemingly knowing Myrddin yearned to slit the old man’s throat.

  “My parents had a much more loving tale,” Ulric said, returning to his story’s original thread. “With a druid mother, many expected me to have some talent with magic, but I proved as mortal as my father. The only bit of magical inheritance to be found on me came when I stumbled across a beautiful nymph on a hunting trip. Betrothed as I was, no woman had ever tempted me. I intended to wed and live a happy life in an arranged marriage, but fate did not agree. Like a wild beast, I saw nothing but that nymph, and she saw me. I had no choice.”

  Violet met blue. “You must have been disappointed.”

  Standing, the king crossed to the wizard as he spoke, “No, not at first. Eigyr had unparalleled beauty, and her presence calmed me like nothing ever had. Breaking the betrothal smoothly, I found myself content.”

  Barely a foot apart, Ulric held no greater height than Myrddin, but he used every inch he had to tower regardless.

  “And then, sire?” the wizard asked though he already knew the ending.

  Ulric clasped his hands behind his back. “Fate’s spell broke. Tamlin betrayed me. A brother-in-arms stabbed me in the back, trying to destroy everything I created. After the High Sorcerer signed his contract, I called upon a powerful warlock and locked away my fate. Not completely. I had no intention of hurting Eigyr, but I wished to see her clearly without its sway. Do you know what I saw?”

  “No, sire.”

  “I saw an uneducated heathen who had nothing outside of her beauty to give me,” Ulric proclaimed. “Our conversations held no interest to me. She bowed to my command. Submissive and docile as a lamb.”

  Breathing in slowly, Myrddin struggled to keep his features blank. “A less than stimulating partner.”

  “Indeed.”

  “But she gave you a strong son,” the wizard pointed out.

  Ulric bowed his head. “She did.”

  “But only the one.”

  “Fifteen years of marriage, and she produced our son on the eighth. I broke faith on the tenth.” The king’s eyes narrowed. “By the thirteenth, I found mental stimulation elsewhere, and right before our sixteenth anniversary, I could no longer deny my wife held no meaning to me outside of fate. And what is fate? She did not match my mind. She filled no hole inside my soul or heart without that bond tethering us by fate’s whimsical decree. One child in fifteen years. When she threw herself off the high tower, I felt only relief.”

  Myrddin frowned. “Yet you never married again.”

  “I tried. Once.” Ulric sighed. “But my kingdom came before my desires then.”

  “Then?” Fear clenched Myrddin’s heart in its vice-like grip. “And now?”

  Laughing, the king clapped Myrddin on the back. “Don’t look so nervous, Myrddin. I have no intentions on you. Though I admire your intelligence and find you the best of men in my service, I’ve never found another man attractive. I am content to expand my kingdom and marry off my son to someone worthy of him.”

  Resisting the urge to sigh with relief, Myrddin smiled. “He already suspects a political marriage to Princess Isolde.”

  “He does?” Ulric hummed. “Or do you?”

  Myrddin ducked his gaze. “I might have suggested the possibility when we were in the north.”

  “It is one I am considering,” the king agreed. He walked toward the maps still spread across the table. “Before that, I’ve debated calling that warlock back to ensure he isn’t swayed, but it seems he hasn’t inherited my curse.” Silence grew once more, and with a wave of his hand, Ulric dismissed the wizard. “Leave an old man to his musings.”

  Though Myrddin intended to go to his garden, he caught sight of Artair waiting for him there and turned to another direction. Avoiding the prince proved h
arder and harder, but even when they stood in the same councils, Myrddin managed to keep his distance. Ulric seemed set on assisting. That, if nothing else, left him wondering how planned their time had been. Had Ulric given his son a chance to bed the High Wizard where no one else would see the law being broken? It irked him. He wasn’t some prostitute to be thrown around. The pity which he felt for ignoring the prince at first quickly faded.

  This time, Myrddin found himself in the stables with Logan seemingly coming out of nowhere.

  “Myrddin, beautiful as ever,” Logan greeted.

  Maybe he had gone mad. Perhaps it was envy at the stableboy’s freedom. Either way, the wizard found himself asking, “Do you still want to fuck me?”

  Bright eyes widened, darkening as his pupils expanded. Gaze dropping to trail up Myrddin’s body, the other man cocked his hip. “I wouldn’t mind bending you over a hay bale.”

  “Good,” Myrddin said. Grabbing Logan’s shirt, he pulled the man close. “Then fuck me.”

  Strong arms wound about his waist. Logan pulled him close, grinding his already hardening member against Myrddin’s cock. Hands groped his ass, massaging the cheeks as if readying to lift him off his feet, but Logan pressed forward, kissing wet and sloppily. His tongue dove too deep.

  And then an arm wrapped around Myrddin’s waist, pulling him back as a tan hand shoved Logan back. “How dare you touch him,” Artair growled.

  Logan’s eyes widened. “Sire, I - I…”

  “He can hardly order you to be executed when he fucked me first,” the wizard cavalierly announced, shoving the arm off him. “Now, Prince Artair, if you wouldn’t mind -”

  “I would,” Artair interrupted. His hands settled on Myrddin’s hips, pulling him until his back pressed against the prince’ broad chest. “The High Wizard is mine. Any who touch him will be executed.”

  “You have no right,” the wizard hissed though Logan had bowed and quickly retreated already.

  “I have every right.” Spinning the wizard around, he pinned him to the wall. “I love you. I want to marry you.”

  Glaring up at the prince, Myrddin refused to acknowledge how his heart skipped a beat. “And what of your countless other lovers? Or your betrothed?”

  “I have no betrothed.”

  “As of yet.”

  Artair huffed. “I have no intention of marrying anyone but you.”

  “Yet you have not asked what I intend,” Myrddin retorted. “I have no intention of marrying a man who would betray me.”

  Artair gave a curt nod, and disappointment sunk in the wizard’s chest, but the prince merely threw him over his shoulder, carrying him through the castle to the maid Dahlia. He set Myrddin down, wrapping an arm firmly around him.

  “I am in love with this man,” Artair proclaimed.

  Dahlia glanced between the two. “Sire, I don’t...congratulations?”

  “As a result, I have no intention of sleeping with you or anyone else but the High Wizard Myrddin ever again,” the prince announced, and her brows rose.

  “But-but we haven’t slept together in weeks. Even before your mission, sire...I don’t..”

  But while she stammered in confusion, Artair lifted Myrddin and walked out. The wizard hung over his shoulder. Confusion entangled him. Both Dahlia’s words and Artair’s actions left him questioning if he had judged the prince too quickly. The happiness he had felt in the blond’s arms - the freedom the other man gave, which far more than anything he had had since signing the contract - all of it threatened to overwhelm him as person by person, Artair introduced Myrddin to his prior affairs - even ones he had not slept with in years - and announced his intention.

  After the last, Artair joined their hands, less dragging and more walking Myrddin to where the knights trained. “Men!” he called, and they all stopped to face the prince. “I am in love with Myrddin.”

  “You owe me a drink, Hamish. I told you he’d figure it out eventually,” Wallace called back to his fellow knight.

  Cailean sighed, pouting. “Did you at least get together during the mission? I had money on that, but it’s been days.”

  “We did,” Artair confirmed, and Myrddin flushed.

  Eoin frowned, glancing between the two. “And what about you, Myrddin? Do you want to be with him?”

  “Eoin, what are you suggesting?” the prince growled. “I have no intention of forcing Myrddin to be with me. Whether now or after we release him from his contract, Myrddin may refuse me at any time, and I would listen.”

  The knights glanced at one another. An uneasiness settled, and Artair paled. Slowly, he turned. As the prince struggled, seemingly searching on how to confront the issue, Myrddin debated letting him fester in the doubt. Life as the prince’s lover held more disadvantageous to the High Wizard than it might have to anyone else. His contract belonged to the king, and though Ulric seemed to have expected their coupling while on the northern border, a continuation with almost no discretion hardly seemed what the king intended.

  However, the idea of refusing irked Myrddin. Where imaging Artair with others used to only bring thoughts about the prince’s lack of common sense or purposeful ignorance for his own power, it now turned his stomach. As foolish and self-destructive as loving Artair appeared, the wizard feared he loved him regardless. It weighed counter to his intentions. If he loved Artair, did that mean he couldn’t continue to draw close and kill Ulric? Was he wrong for wanting to live? Before, his life held no further purpose, so death to complete the task sounded no alarms, but now - now he wished for a life beyond that. A life with Artair.

  Entwining their fingers, Myrddin shifted to press their foreheads together. “I love you too.”

  “Sweeter words, I’ve never heard,” Artair whispered. The brilliance of his smile warmed Myrddin’s heart.

  Their lips met. The crowing of the knights might have startled him, but with Artair’s arms around him, Myrddin found he didn’t care. Mutual and strange and so very fragile, the joy carried them through the castle and into the prince’s quarters. They hadn’t even locked the door. Artair’s recklessness overwhelmed the wizard, and for once, he was more than pleased to be brought alongside.

  Tumbling into bed, the pair left a trail of clothes across the stone. Their hands explored. Gentle touches grew hotter as they took each other in hand. Air failed to matter. Their tongues entwined, and the ambrosia of each other intoxicated them until fingers spread Myrddin by one then two then three. Desire pounded in the wizard’s chest. Shoving Artair back, he mounted the blond, sinking down upon him as he rode him.

  “I love you,” the prince repeated. A mantra which came in different tones, letting the words and affection rain over Myrddin unlike anything he had ever known. How could three words encompass so much?

  Bouncing on the blond’s cock, he moaned, “Love you too.”

  “Mine?” Blue eyes met violet.

  Smiling, Myrddin arched, grinding as he rubbed over his flat stomach, aching to feel the bulge of Artair from the outside as well though his lean muscles did not allow it. “Yours.”

  “And I am yours,” Artair professed.

  A crackle not unlike the spark before lightning struck and thunder sounded snapped between them. All at once, Myrddin felt a bond settle between them. It ate through pieces of his contract, forcing its way into existence. Fate would not be denied. Red string bound them.

  Tears gathered on Artair’s lower lashes. His skin glowed. Golden and wild, he was a vision. The nymph and druid blood called to the surface, recognizing what the tethering meant as he rose, pulling Myrddin all the closer. Wrapped around him, he rocked them, thrusting shallowly into the wizard as he kissed him once more.

  “You truly are mine,” Myrddin whispered. His hands shook as he traced them over Artair’s face.

  The prince held him tightly. “Thank god - fuck, Myrddin, you’re really mine.”

  Soft and desperate, they made love, and curled around each other, they memorized each other’s features in the afte
rglow.

  “I was so afraid,” Artair admitted, “that one day someone would come for you. That after you were free from your contract, fate would unfold, leading your soulmate to you.”

  Myrddin brushed a lock of golden hair behind the prince’s ear, and as the other man leaned into the touch, his heart ached with fondness. “You would choose me...even without fate.”

  “Don’t sound so surprised. You choose me too,” the prince returned with an almost blinding grin.

  Myrddin smiled. “I love you.”

  “I love you too,” Artair whispered, pulling the wizard into another kiss.

  Chapter Eight

  “This won’t end well,” Myrddin murmured, biting the tip of his thumb as he paced.

  Sorting through his clothes as if what he wore mattered when presenting his fated mate to his father might sway Ulric from slaughtering Myrddin on the spot. By rights, he could command the wizards magic to turn against him. Keeping their relationship a secret until the king died would have been the more intelligent route, but Artair refused.

  “He’ll come around,” the prince assured him.

  Frowning, the wizard shook his head. “I don’t understand why you’re being so optimistic. You know better than anyone how your father feels about magic users.”

  “But we’re fated,” Artair retorted.

  “How does that help?” Myrddin demanded. “If anything, that will make it worse!”

  The blond shook his head. “My father always asked whether I felt a pull. I never did, even after my inheritance became clear, and he always expressed how disappointing that was.”

  “Disappointing because it made it harder to know who to kill,” Myrddin insisted, but the prince seemed so certain that his father would accept them, and the wizard found himself fighting against the contagious optimism. Hope, stupid and frivelouos and dangerous, bloomed in his chest. “What if you’re wrong? He holds my life in his hand.”

  Artair sighed. “You’re too valuable. He has you under his thumb, so he could easily keep you here, which keeps me here, and force the tie between us to be broken. Rumor says there is a powerful warlock capable of doing such, and while it’s rare for us to receive a magical visitor, there are still those who brave coming into Aelion.”