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

by J B Black

  “Thank you, both of you, for everything.”

  And with that, they parted ways. Rarely had Artair rode from the capital without them at his side, and the last time he had, Myrddin rode beside him. He longed to gaze into his mate’s gorgeous violet eyes and hold him once more.

  Arriving in the stable, he went for his horse only to find the stableboy - Logan - standing with it already prepared, and Logan wasn’t alone. Maethe - a cook and Artair’s former nurse - stood with Dahlia.

  “Thought you might need your horse ready, sire,” Logan said with a cheeky grin.

  “I’m no longer your prince. I’ve given up the right -” Artair informed them, but they waved away his words. Maethe forced food into his satchel as Logan gave him the reins.

  Taking his face in her hands, Maethe said,“I nursed you as a boy, and I watched you become such a wonderful man. You will always be our prince.”

  “Our king,” Dahlia added.

  Swallowing, Artair bowed his head. “I’m unworthy of such affection.”

  Logan smiled up at him brightly. “You’re going to bring Sir Myrddin back, aren’t you? He’ll be so happy to know you’re back!”

  “Your father had to inflict the full power of the oath to get him to leave your side,” Dahlia informed the prince, and horror paled Artair’s face.

  “What does that mean?” the warlock from earlier asked, coming up close to them. “The full power of the oath?”

  “Magic isn’t common within our kingdom,” Artair admitted. “Those born with the gift must sign a pledge to the king...to my father, and it gives him a cruel amount of control to punish and force them to his will.”

  Castor sneered. “I should have killed that bastard.”

  “It would only kill all those within his service,” Artair informed him. “Or I would have separated his head from his neck myself.”

  Running a hand through his pale blond hair, the warlock murmured, “If only you had the contracts. Face to face, I could sever almost any contract if I had the original in hand.”

  Artair shook his head. “I don’t even know where he keeps them.”

  “In his desk,” Dahlia whispered, and all eyes leapt to her. She lifted her apron, revealing a pocket on the underside. “I - I thought Sir Warlock might be able to free my brother.”

  Guilt weighed heavily on Artair. He had known of Dahlia’s half-brother, a young druid contracted to the academy, but faced with Myrddin, he had forgotten about her plights.

  Pulling out a pile of parchments, Dahlia held it out to Castor. Page after page tethered one individual to the blood of the king. Each one represented a child stolen and bound in service. The full shame of Aelion.

  “I can do this,” Castor affirmed. Meeting the young woman’s hopeful gaze and then the prince’s, the warlock reaffirmed, “I can free them.”

  The sound of metal against stone alerted them to the guards before they arrived. Mounting his steed, Artair held out his hand to the warlock. “We have to hurry.”

  Taking Artair’s outstretched hand, the warlock swung onto the back of the horse, holding tight as they sped off, just missing the guards as the servants who came to the prince’s aid scattered.

  “Hold tight, warlock, we have a long ride ahead of us,” Prince Artair warned.

  Magic seemed to wind through Artair. His blood sang - hot and calling to Myrddin. Their love pulsed, alive and breathing as if giving physical form. For the first time, Artair found his magic responding to his desires, strengthening his stead as he had seen Myrddin do before as they raced through the capital.

  Throwing a hand behind them, the warlock threw up a shield. Arrows rained down around them, but the shield held. Faster and faster, they rode. Artair guided the horse to follow the thread between him and his mate, determined to arrive before his father could send word to the commanding officer and have Myrddin killed.

  “Where are we headed?” the warlock asked when the prince found himself caught between two paths.

  “My father constantly sent armies to attack and conquer villages to expand our borders. He could’ve been sent to any of them,” Artair grumbled at the crossroads. “Can’t you use your magic?”

  With a huff, Castor retorted, “If I could track someone at a whim, I would’ve already found my own mate.”

  The prince frowned, but with a glower at both roads, he guided his horse to the left. “I would’ve thought a man such as yourself - free to travel as you like - would have already found your mate.”

  “It isn’t as easy as it sounds.”

  “It’s fate,” Artair replied. “You’re like two sides of a coin.”

  Castor shook his head. “Poetic, but fate doesn’t always give us such clear paths.”

  Chuckling, the prince glanced over his shoulder. “Our meeting wasn’t easy. I never expected Myrddin. When we first met, he insulted me, and we fought. I thought myself the better man for my title and training, but this - this skinny boy with knobby knees and a mess of black hair called a staff into his hands and knocked me on my ass.”

  “And you were instantly smitten?” the warlock queried, but the prince shook his head.

  “I hated him,” Artair confessed. “For a long time, my father favored Myrddin. As the most powerful wizard contracted to his service, Myrddin became a thorn in my side. Wherever my father went, there he was.”

  “So if his competence failed to woo you, how did you realize your destiny?” Castor pushed.

  Artair sighed. “He scolded for me.”

  “That’s...an interesting preference.”

  But the prince shook his head. “No. It isn’t like that. He gave me no quarter. Treated me like a man instead of a crown.”

  “Then the contract?”

  “Constrained him, but he found his ways around it. I recognized my father’s cruelty long ago, but Myrddin forced me to confront the reality. The whole castle found him an enchanting mystery,” Artair explained. “Every knight who I called a friend and was free to pursue a lover chased him at one time or another.”

  “Jealousy?”

  “A bit.” Artair smiled even as he urged the horse just a bit faster, seemingly growing more and more certain of the path they were taking. “I realized I wanted him, and like the spoiled brat he always called me, I chased him, and having him, I realized it was more than a want. I admired him - respected him. It was easy from there to fall in love.”

  “And when did you realize you were fated?”

  It put Artair at ease, making the journey of tracing the cord simply as he spoke of his love. With a laugh, Artair confessed, “I pushed ”

  “Meaning?”

  “I loved him. I don’t give a damn about destiny, and I wanted to be with him, so I confessed and showed him. The bond formed between us once we had both spoken. It was an utter accident,” Artair explained, and his wistfulness seemed infectious. Castor’s heart raced. “We made love...and then I woke ready to tell my father, and it seems I was cursed.”

  “Three months later,” Castor informed him. Three months; Artair’s stomach turned. He’d lost three months. “Oh seven hells, did none of us tell you?”

  Swallowing, the prince paled. “It doesn’t matter. We’re going to spend the rest of our long - long lives happily together.”

  “He could be anywhere. Why don’t we stop? I can do a tracking spell,” Castor suggested, but the prince shook his head.

  “I feel him. Not an ounce of magic in me that I could use, but I can feel him reaching out. I know the way,” Artair announced, and as the horse sped into a run, he fell silent, and with the wind racing around them, he focused only on the road ahead.

  ***

  As a forest rose in the distance, a curl of smoke and the smell of iron drew the warlock back into his body. Lush green surrounded them, and the tops of trees glistened in the distance. Not long ago, it had rained over there. Up the steep side of a hill, they rode, but something was wrong. A sick feeling pooled in his gut. Artair blanched. Death painted hi
s senses. The smell of corpses, burning and those left to rot.

  Cooked meat filled his nose followed by something foul and rotten. Iron and sulphur - the blur fires of brimstone, and over the crest, they came. Only blood and bodies lay before them. From the base of the hill to the forest and even hanging dead from the trees first in line, bodies charred beyond recognition lay.

  “Whoa!” Artair called, pulling on the reins. High on the hill, the pair stared out at the destruction, and stumbling from the saddle first, Artair half ran and half slipped down the slope, but the prince stopped just shy of where blood pooled painting the ground red. “Myrddin!” Again and again, he called his mate. “Myrddin!

  “Fuck!” the warlock screamed, and when Artair looked back, he saw Castor pull burning papers from one of his bags.

  Parchment shot into the sky. Like fireworks, they exploded. Bright flashes of broken spellwork made red by the blood which bound them into being. No rain could put these fires out. Every attempt to summon water and pull them down from the sky failed.

  “No-no-no, I can fix this. I can fix this,” the warlock chanted, but his words failed to reach Artair.

  On his knees, the prince stared out at the field with wide eyes. Tears streamed down his face, and as blood saturated the ground, painting layer after layer burgundy, he wept silently. Covered in ash as the contracts continued to explode - each torn piece bursting anew until black cinders rained down on their heads.

  But in his heart. He felt Myrddin. Somewhere beyond the bloody field, his love remained alive. Rising, he stumbled back to the warlock who yelled into a mirror.

  “I’m in Aelion, and I need Fannar’s help. The king forced blood contracts, and they’re exploding. It is a massacre, but I think -” before he could finish, Artair’s hand covered the mirror. “What are you doing?”

  The prince’s empty eyes met the warlock’s. All his emotions drained and left only cold determination in their wake. “This is Myrddin’s contract.”

  “It-it could be, but the words blurred. Something powerful has whoever -”

  Again, Artair interrupted, “This is Myrddin’s contract. He is alive. I will find him. Your services are no longer required.”

  “Castor?” a voice called from the mirror.

  “Don’t be a fool!” Castor roared. “You have no idea where he is or what has him! I can help!”

  Shaking his head, the prince stepped away, taking the reins of his horse in hand. “Thank you for your assistance, Warlock Castor, but I must find him alone.”

  “Why? Did fate tell you that? I’m a warlock. I can do magic. I’ve traveled this land long before you were born, and you should damn well respect that I would undoubtedly do better against whatever has him that you,” Castor bellowed, waving the sizzling contract in the air between them.

  Without a word, Artair stole the contract from his fingers. He folded it, tucking the parchment - even as it still burned - into the inner pocket of his jacket. With each explosion, a red light crowned him. If the prince survived, he would be all the more fearsome for it. A nod of his head ended their association, and off the man went into the midst of the bloody field. Corpses piled and rotting on either side, but Artair paid them no more heed. None of that mattered. He had to find Myrddin.

  Chapter Eleven

  Stumbling from the battlefield, Myrddin stared out at the darkening horizon. If he returned to the castle, he would be outmanned. Even with all his magic free, exhaustion overwhelmed him, and the parchment of the contract would foretell its breaking. Ulric would be prepared. The god and his husband made it clear that the wizard was not welcome in their forest. His only choice sent him south. He had to cross to one of the druidic safepoints where he had once left messages for Tamlin and others to send them to safety before he became High Wizard.

  With a hand upon his belly, he trudged forth, seeking to skirt the edges of the forest. What little magic remained after draining himself in battle reached inward, searching for the spark of life Altwidus had sensed. Deep inside, growing steadily, he found their son. Small and conceived those three months prior when they recognized their bond, the child thrummed with magic. With a wizard as its dam, there was no chance of the child having only latent magic.

  Though loath to admit it, Myrddin thanked the dead commander for having been as terrified as the rest. The man had dragged his feet, barking about preparations until threats from the king proved as horrifying as whatever unknown lay ahead of them. None had escaped the forest’s wrath. With any luck, the magic users he had thrown would not be compelled by their contracts to return and hold a line which no longer existed.

  Three months - and the wizard had blamed every ounce of grogginess and nausea on his mate’s curse.

  “I’ll keep you safe,” he swore to their unborn son.

  Exhaustion brought him to sleep upon the hard ground without care to cover. His magic held a shield, self-preservation pushing him to the brink. When he woke to the sun’s first rays, he counted his blessing to have made it out alive and brought himself to his feet. Slow and steady, Myrddin intended to make his way to safety, and when he was healed, he would portal back and free his mate.

  Shyly, he reached along the cord of their bond. It thrummed with life. A constant pulse of love and want and panic surged through it, freezing the wizard in his tracks. Artair was free. Someone had broken the curse. His mate lived.

  Tears poured down his face, and all thoughts of going elsewhere vanished. He needed to return to Artair. Myrddin needed to see that his mate was free with his own eyes, but the first step he took toward the capital left him gutted as dizziness brought his hand above where their child grew. He couldn’t go back. Ulric would decapitate him. The man would curse a magic user carrying his grandson.

  Though his heart longed to find his way back into his mate’s arms, he had to consider their child. Artair would understand.When he was healed, he would visit the prince in secret. They would find a solution together. With a heavy heart, Myrddin resumed his prior path. As the sun traced its curve in the heavens, the panic and longing calling to him through the bond increased. Tentatively, he reached back. Reassurance and love. That’s all he could offer.

  The distance between them seemed to be shifting, but the flood of magic from Artair’s end flowed so naturally despite the prince never showing any sign of such magical control. Like a predator, he prowled. Hunting. Growing closer though the strange movements made no sense. Artair wouldn’t abandon his throne. Wouldn’t abandon his people.

  Perhaps he hadn’t been freed. Maybe the strange fluxuations were that warlock Ulric mentioned severing the cord. What if it grew stronger before being cut off completely? Pulse racing, Myrddin stumbled, collapsing to the ground as he held his head in his hands. Fear and anguish overwhelmed their bond. Something had happened. What had happened?

  “I’m sorry, little one. I can’t,” Myrddin whispered as he turned back toward Aelion - back toward Artair.

  His mate suffered, and the cold emptiness of the curse paled in comparison with the sheer terror which tore at their bond. Though aching, the wizard ran, scrounging up the last of his magic to heal himself where he could. Without enough to portal, he needed to ensure he didn’t arrive on the castle’s doorstep only to collapse and give Ulric the opportunity to murder him.

  Chest heaving, Myrddin couldn’t tell if the thundering in his ears were his heart or a horse charging, but passing through the forest, a familiar stead raced toward him with a golden-haired rider upon its back.

  “Artair!” Myrddin cried.

  Blue eyes met violet. Both overflowed with tears, and leaping from his stead, the prince lifted the wizard off the ground, holding him close as he spun.

  “I knew it. I knew you were alive. Thank god, oh god, Myrddin,” Artair wept, setting him on the ground but not letting go as he cradled the black-haired man’s face in his hands. His wet blue eyes traced the wizard’s features. “The contracts - all the contracts burned, and I thought…”

&
nbsp; Myrddin’s brow furrowed. “Contracts?”

  “Dahlia stole them. The warlock - we were going to free you,” Artair kept one arm around Myrddin’s waist as he pulled a tattered and burnt piece of parchment out. It crumbled, almost completely dissolving. “They all burst into flames.”

  Stomach sinking, Myrddin clung to Artair. “He killed them all.”

  Their eyes met, and Artair quickly followed his mate’s thoughts. “How? I had the contracts. I thought -”

  “I sent them to safety,” the wizard whispered. “They were alive. Yesterday, they were alive.”

  Artair pulled his mate to his chest. “Oh god…”

  “He must have wanted to kill me, but the forest god broke the contract before he could,” Myrddin whispered into Artair’s chest.

  “I’ll never be able to repay him for saving you,” the prince murmured into his lover’s dark hair.

  They stood, holding each other tight and feeling the movement of their breaths and the warm beating of their hearts until the wizard rested his forehead against his mate’s shoulder. “Artair…”

  “Yes, my love?”

  “He didn’t just save me.” Pulling back, Myrddin took Artair’s hand and set it over where their child grew. “We’re going to have a son.”

  Crying all the more, Artair grinned brightly. “A child?” He swept his mate into a soft kiss. “Myrddin, you truly are wondrous.” Gentle joy filled Artair’s eyes, but a shadow hung over them both. Resting his forehead against Myrddin’s, the blond voiced his fears, “I’ve forsaken the throne, but our child will never be safe as long as my father is in power.”

  “There’s something I haven’t told you…” Myrddin struggled to find the words. “I’ve been helping magic users avoid capture.”

  Artair’s brows furrowed. “But the contract?”

  “Before I became High Wizard, my commander wasn’t as careful. Whenever I could manipulate his wording, I did,” the wizard confessed.

  With a small laugh, Artair smiled. “My knights and I coordinate with rebel groups with Aelion. I told Wallace and Cailean to prepare for a coup. Killing my father and his close advisors would make the cleanest cut. Are you strong enough to open a portal into the capital?”