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

by J B Black

  “Because they don’t know!”

  Humming, the prince sat back upon his best. His bare chest - muscular and tan - was a distraction Myrddin could not afford, but when the prince opened his arms, the wizard went regardless. Lips pressed a kiss to his forehead, and blue met violet.

  “I swear to you, nothing will happen to you,” Artair promised, and Myrddin felt like a fool for the relief those hollow words gave him.

  Resting in the prince’s embrace, he summoned his courage. “Wear the blue one. Your father seems to treat you more favorably when you wear that color.”

  “I have the cleverest mate,” Artair crooned as he reached back to grab the shirt. “And the sexiest too. If I hadn’t already marked you well and good, I’d bend you over this bed and leave you dripping.”

  Myrddin rolled his eyes. “That would go over wonderfully. Please, sire, I’m a wonderful addition to the royal family. Please ignore the cum dripping down my thighs.”

  Setting his circlet upon his head, Artair spun. “How do I look?”

  “Very much a prince.”

  “Brilliant.”

  Shaking his head, the wizard smiled, but his expression faded quickly when the door suddenly opened and a handmaid entered. Her blue eyes widened at the sight of the two. At her entrance, Myrddin naturally moved back, and at her eyes darting back and forth, he took another step away from his mate though Artair sent him a confused glance.

  “Apologies, sire! I didn’t know you were still here,” she exclaimed. Though her tone matched her words, her eyes were eerily empty.

  Artair frowned, tilting his head. “I don’t believe we’ve met. What is your name?”

  “Morcant, sire.”

  Horror struck Myrddin. It burrowed into his chest, and as he lunged forward to place himself between the two, Morcant fell to her knees, slamming her hands on the stone floor. Magic rippled. From the soles of his boots and up, the gray of her curse climbed Artair’s body. Nothing the academy ever taught prepared him for the sight. His heart shrieked, and as Morcant leapt to her feet, he charged.

  “Witch,” he bellowed. “She has cursed the prince!”

  The contract which held his magic back loosened. Faced with an attack on the royal line, he found his body coursing with powers he had almost forgotten he possessed. Incantations of fire chased her, and the very stone of the castle bent around Myrddin’s will.

  Others moved about, but Myrddin could not see them. No one existed save himself and Morcant. Many curses broke upon the death of the caster, and all his reading taught him the stone curse should have been no different, so when magical chains bound her, he severed her head from her body, screaming like a banshee as he burned her to cinders.

  Only in the aftermath of his rage did he recognize those around him. Ulric stood with two guards at his sides. Morcant had been heading toward the king’s study, and coming from the other corridor, Wallace stood wide-eyed with a pale Cailean at his side.

  Chest heaving, Myrddin nearly collapsed as the tight confines of the contract snapped back into place. “She - she cursed the prince.”

  Ulric’s features twisted in a frown, and when Myrddin moved to return to Artair’s side, he commanded, “Stay.”

  “Sire, I need to -”

  “Sir Cailean and Sir Wallace, see to my son. High Wizard - come closer,” Ulric ordered. Neither knight had to be told twice. They raced down the halls to ascertain the condition of their friend. “Who was she?”

  Myrddin’s eyes darted to the guards. “Her name was Morcant, sire.”

  The king’s brows rose. “I see.”

  “She used a stone-curse. All current knowledge suggests her death was the quickest way to undo it,” Myrddin informed him, but the king seemed lost in thought.

  Heavy footsteps announced Wallace’s return, and Myrddin’s heart sunk when the knight spoke: “The prince is stone!”

  All eyes turned to Myrddin. “I don’t...I don’t understand.” His mind raced. Caught by the king’s commanded, he couldn’t leave without permission. “Your majesty, please, let me inspect the room and examine the curse. I will do whatever it takes to -”

  Ulric raised a hand, forcing the wizard to fall silent. “Guards - leave us.”

  “Sire, I noticed there was some blood on the floor near the entrance to the prince’s bedroom,” Wallace stated, stepping closer.

  “Blood?” Glancing between Ulric and Wallace, Myrddin wished he could speak more freely. “A blood curse can be undone if you -”

  “Silence,” the king commanded. “Sir Wallace, sent word requesting aid to Warlock Castor.”

  Wallace’s brows furrowed. “Who, sire?”

  “We don’t have a warlock in our ranks by that name,” Myrddin whispered.

  “No - we do not. He is a traveling warlock and a most talented cursebreaker. King Henry once mentioned him. Do what you must to get him the message that we require his aid. At any cost,” Ulric explained, and with a bow, Wallace left the two alone. Pale blue eyes seized upon the wizard. “My son is stone, and my daughter ash. Have you accomplished your original intention?”

  Frowning, the black-haired man whispered, “I can undo a blood curse. With your blood, I can reverse it.”

  “I have no intention of allowing you near my son ever again. You will be reporting to the front lines to the northwest in Caligeri,” Ulric informed him, stepping closer as he folded his hands behind his back. “Every battalion I’ve sent has died there. I suspect you will too.”

  “Sire…”

  “Don’t worry about Artair. By the time he’s out of stone, you’ll be dead, and he’ll be free of that vile thread which binds him to you.” Hope died at those words.

  “Did you know - from the beginning - did you know what we were to each other?” Myrddin could not help but ask.

  Any answer would have been a kinder choice. Ulric simply commanded: “Transport yourself to Caligeri and do not return until the entire continent bows before Aelion.” Myrddin resisted the command, seeking what loopholes he might, but as his feet loosened, Ulric added, “Go immediately.”

  His magic wrapped around him, and from one step to the next, he stumbled into the war camps of Caligeri.

  Chapter Nine

  A forest god. How had they not known? Massacre after massacre, Ulric sent more and more troops, but none had returned, so they had never had the knowledge of what was killing them. Advisors imagined guerilla tactics from the neighboring kingdom. Even Myrddin had imagined a coven of witches, but standing in the midst of a slaughter, Myrddin bowed beneath the sheer might pushing against his shields.

  “Hold the line!” the mortal commander bellowed.

  Witches and warlocks and druids stood side by side. Sweat poured down their faces, but they were fodder. As useful as the king might consider his dwindling magical contracted soldiers, their commanding office cared more for his own mortal troops. The soldiers retreated. Perhaps that sounded too sweet. Mortals ran, screaming. Their weapons fell about their feet as they pissed their pants and fled for the hills. They would die just the same.

  A giant with a stone-face and a sword as tall as himself mowed the shoulders down like a farmer reaping grain. When he reached the shield, the towering warrior stared them down with his stoic face. His eyes burned. Black coals simmered as he glared. Instead of slicing through the shield, he climbed it. Magic crumbled, cracking beneath his feet.

  “I can portal us from here,” Myrddin called to the commander. No response came. Glancing over his shoulder, the wizard blanched. They had been abandoned.

  Riding off ahead of his own men, the commander cared only for his own hide. Ordered to hold the line, none of the magic users could move. They were as good as turned to stone, holding a shattering shield where they would be slaughtered by the vines of the dryads who stretched forth from their trees or the hammers of the satyrs who roared as they fanned out, seeking the end to the shield when they failed to slam their way through it. Centaurs came through, following the wa
rrior up the shield with the forest god’s blessing.

  Never had Myrddin seen anyone like this horrifyingly powerful being. A crown of leaves sat upon the god’s brown curls, and two antlers like a buck’s rose from his head, marking him as male. Despite that, his belly rounded. On either side, young men stood with horns like the god’s, but their faces seemed more akin to the warrior who had found the back edge of the shield and came down upon the mortals retreating. He sliced through them, making sure not a single one escaped. This was a fully realized forest god and his husband - but weren’t the mates of forest gods meant to be their brides? Why did the forest god stand gravid?

  Pouring his magic into the shield, Myrddin tested the boundaries of the contract. He could save them. He had to save them. The warlock to his right cried, fresh from the academy, he trembled beneath the weight of the shield and those attacking. On Myrddin’s left, a young witch bowed her head - ready to die. They were too young. Hold the line - the commander demanded a shield and then told them to hold the line.

  With one hand, Myrddin kept the shield up. With the other, he tried to open a portal, but he couldn’t. Glancing to the nearest corpse, the wizard held tight, launching it through the air away from the field with a shield around it to soften its landing. Though it disappeared out of sight, he felt it land softly.

  “Hold the line,” he murmured beneath his breath.

  Spinning to hold the shield with his back, Myrddin reached along the line, surrounding the magic users in shields. He couldn’t send them away. Their contracts demanded they hold the line, but none of those beside him were strong enough to hold the line once unconscious. He knocked them out in one go, throwing them as far as he could. By the time they woke, their commanding officer would be dead. If there was any grace in the world, the order would die with him.

  Throwing the last, Myrddin wavered as the shield buckled. He could hold it. Unconscious or not, his body would maintain the shield. His stomach rebelled. Whatever illness haunted him in the weeks since he’d been sent to this front, threatened to overwhelm him. Blood. Everywhere there was blood. It saturated the field. The air smelled of iron and burning flesh.

  When the last mortal died, the warrior turned. His muscles rippled as his eyes honed in on the last enemy standing on the field - on Myrddin. Somewhere in the distance, the commander bled, and as his life left him, Myrddin collapsed to his knees. The shield shattered. Golden shards glistening as the wizard tried to call upon his magic to cover himself, but without a commander, his powers were tightly under lock and chain. Limited.

  Vines wrapped around his wrists, pulling him up as the warrior trudged through the viscera. His dark eyes pierced. Lifting his sword, he aligned it with Myrddin’s neck. Back, he pulled it.

  Closing his eyes, Myrddin prayed that Artair would survive. Prayed the prince would not suffer the bindings of nymphs and die alongside his fated mate. Wished he could have told him one last time how he adored him. How he loved him.

  Down came the blade.

  “That’s enough, Wystan,” a voice called, and opening his eyes, Myrddin blinked up at the god who stood at his side. With one hand on his belly, the deity set the other into Myrddin’s dark curls. “His body is not his own.”

  “He attacked you,” the warrior - Wystan murmured.

  The god sighed, studying the wizard. His eyes seemed to reach right into Myrddin’s soul. “You’re marked by a blood contract.”

  “Yes,” Myrddin whispered.

  “Altwidus…”

  The god shook his head. “I’m not letting him die. I can smell it. His mate is part nymph. One of mine.” Both Altwidus and Wystan looked to Myrddin as the god asked, “Who is your mate?

  “Beloved, there is only one part nymph in Aelion,” Wystan informed the god, and Myrddin paled.

  “Wonderful! You’re under a damned contract, and your mate’s the one who’ll inherit it.” The god’s brows furrowed. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

  Wystan shifted, setting down his sword. “Beloved…”

  “Did you agree to the mating?”

  “For him to conceive, it would have had to been mutual. No contract can force that in his kind,” Wystan announced, and Myrddin’s stomach turned.

  “Conceived?” he breathed.

  Brown brows rose as Altwidus gasped. “You didn’t know.”

  “I…” Myrddin set a hand against his stomach where a child grew - their child. Altar’s child. “No.”

  Rubbing his hands over his face, the god roared. His power had the centaurs, satyrs, and dryads retreating, but the two men who were likely his sons drew closer.

  “Dam?” one of the two called.

  The other scratched the bottom of his horns. “Maybe we should take this back to the palace. I can feel our siblings are restless.”

  Wystan shook his head. “A contract does not enter the forest.”

  The hand knotted in Myrddin’s hair tightened. “If you want to keep that child, hold tight to it in your mind.”

  With no other warning, the god dug into Myrddin’s magic. Like white hot iron, Altwidus dug and dug, finding and uprooting the bindings of the contract bit by bit as Myrddin’s body threatened to shut down beneath the attack from the god and from the contract attempting to keep hold. Fire swallowed him. His nerves alit with pain, but he thought only of the child within him - the child made with the man he loved, and falling forward onto all fours when the god released his hold, Myrddin wept.

  “You once dreamed of killing Ulric,” Altwidus drawled, and his words seemed to bounce in color before Myrddin’s eyes as he struggled to remain conscious. “Go and kill him then, wizard. Place that babe in your belly or its father upon the throne and fix this mess.” Grabbing Myrddin’s chin, the god forced their eyes to meet. “Or I will slaughter every mortal in this country and claim it for the forest. Do you understand?”

  Struggling, the wizard hoarsely replied, “Yes.”

  Altwidus shoved him back. “Good. Now, get lost.”

  Chapter Ten

  Being cursed was strange. One moment, Artair had the world in his hands. The love of his life - his mate at his side and hope in his heart that his father would accept them, and the next he stumbles forward in a completely different place as if Myrddin teleported him, but the touch of the other magic felt far colder.

  Rough and tired, the man before him looked every inch a foreign warlock, which connected every dot between the coldness and the thrum of magic upon his tongue. A curse. Everything he wanted in his hands, and that girl had tried to steal it from him.

  “Thank you,” the prince murmured in a low, hoarse voice.

  “You’re welcome. The warlock Castor, at your service,” the warlock said with a small bow.

  Clearing his throat, the prince looked around the room. “Where’s Myrddin? Where’s my mate?”

  “You’re human, Artair!” Ulric spat. “Humans don’t have mates!”

  Eyes narrowing, Castor glanced between the two. “Mate?”

  “My fated mate, Myrddin. Perhaps you know him. He is a wizard.” Any hope of his father blessing their union crumbled at the disgust upon the king’s face. “He was at my side when I was cursed.”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, Artair’s father tilted his head up, glowering down his nose. “Like the rest of the magic users sworn to me, that wretch is on the front line. If there is any grace in the world, he has already di -”

  Before he could complete his scornful sentiment, Artair punched his father in the face, breaking his nose. “Never,” he hissed, looming over the king’s fallen and bleeding form. “Never speak of Myrddin with that spiteful tongue, you arrogant old fool.”

  “You are human! You have no mate!”

  Enough. He would stand for it no more. His father would not come between him and Myrddin. “Your mother was a druid. Her fated mate was your father, and your mate - my mother - was a nymph, but you betrayed her! You knew she would die, but you wanted another child so badly you spread your se
ed, and what did it get you? A dead wife. A curse upon your seed, and a daughter who threatens to tear down your kingdom.”

  “Then you see what a fool I was marrying for love! They call it fate, but it is nothing more than whimsy,” the king bellowed.

  Artair scoffed. “If you truly loved her, you wouldn’t have betrayed her. I will take no other but Myrddin. If I must forsake my throne…” without hesitation, the prince tore the circlet from his head and dropped it at his father’s feet. “Without Myrddin, the world and all the wealth within it - all the life within it has no meaning to me.”

  Once, Artair had believed leaving the throne would be akin to torture. His father - his family, the call of his blood sat with a crown upon its head, but between power and Myrddin, the choice came easily. Ulric would try to stop him, so Myrddin rushed, grabbing his armor and testing the way the red thread in his heart reached out to his mate.

  “Artair!” Wallace cried, racing toward him. “You’re free.”

  Embracing the knight quickly, Artair asked, “Where was Myrddin sent? I have to find him!”

  “I don’t know,” Wallace murmured. “Your father ensured none of us would know.”

  Cailean came to their side, nodding. “We were half-convinced he’d shred Myrddin’s contract after you were cursed.”

  “Then I have no time.” Artair raced forward, but his knights followed.

  “How can we be of assistance?”

  Artair frowned, making his way to the stables. “Solidify our position in the keep. I’ve renounced my claim to the throne, but if I cannot free Myrddin from his contract any other way, I will cut Ulric down and usurp his throne.”

  Cailean’s brows furrowed. “Why not steal the contracts?”

  “I don’t know where he keeps them,” Artair admitted.

  The two knights nodded. “We’ll seek them and make sure the guards and rest are ready to fall in line.”