by J B Black
Timothy nodded, adjusting his robes — though his attentions seemed less to right them then to cover the way his body responded with interest to the warlock’s display of power. Given a chance, odds were the brown-haired wizard would’ve happily slept his way to the top or even just spread his legs for favors in the same way the pair had originally accused William, but even the thought left Ælfweard cringing. He had no want to even see Timothy’s attempts at flirting even in his head. The lingering glances were bad enough.
“What were you even doing here with him?” Gilroy demanded, setting his hands upon his hips. “He’s only one point away from taking your top place, Grey, and what happens then?”
“I study and take it back,” Ælfweard wearily retorted.
Rolling his eyes, the copper-haired wizard sat down in the recently vacated seat and leaned against the table. “Or he’ll continue to feast on whatever serves as a brain in that thick skull of yours. He’s a warlock. I don’t care how many siblings you have to carry on the legacy of that family of yours. No wizard wants a warlock in the family. You’ll be the laughing stock of even your hometown.”
Timothy snorted. “As if he isn’t already?”
“Well, there’s no accounting for the way his parents breed like rabbits,” Gilroy chuckled.
“Not everyone can achieve success on their first try,” Timothy stated, pressing his hand to his chest while Gilroy rolled his eyes, less than amused at his henchman’s attempt at self-flattery.
Both, however, did look at him, seeming to expect a retort, but Ælfweard simply stared. He had no shame in the size of his family. His parents loved each other. With so many children, what little money they had barely stretched as far as they needed — let alone as far as they wanted, but his siblings knew love. Each would be kind and generous, and they were worth a thousand Gilroy Radcliffes, so he didn’t feel the need to defend them because their existence wasn’t an insult.
Instead, he stood, pushing in the chair as he collected the plates — lamenting to see how little the warlock had eaten. “You both can take the desk. I’m sure you both want to lose the point gap between your third and fifth and William’s second place score.”
Gasping at the insult, Gilroy glowered as Timothy sputtered. Standing so fast he knocked over the chair, the copper-haired wizard yelled after him, “You’re going to regret this, Grey!”
Whatever he expected when he headed toward the hall, Ælfweard almost dropped the dishes as he turned a corner and saw Nicholas leaning against the wall with William pinned between his arms. His cousin smiled, lips curled into a flirtatious smirk as the older wizard shifted, giving the warlock a way to escape if he wanted, but William remained right there. He smiled back, rocking back and forth.
“I could talk with Workneh. There’s plenty of room in his lab if you want to study there,” Nicholas offered, stepping closer.
William shook his head. “Except I wouldn’t have the books I needed.”
“Third years can check books out. I don’t mind lending you a hand,” Nicholas said, and when in the whole history had a Blythe helped anyone? They never offered anything to people they deemed unworthy, and those worth their time were rich, powerful, and belonged to the English wizarding community. “Might even help you get a leg up on that Grey fellow.”
Grey fellow — as if they weren’t second cousins. As if Nicholas hadn’t walked up to him and tried to give him the advice to stay away from William. Heat brewed in Ælfweard’s stomach. A bitter acrid taste coated his tongue, and his magic crackled around his white-knuckled fists. Loathing — cold and vicious — brewed in the blond’s chest as his cousin swayed closer as if he might just start rutting against the warlock right in the hall outside the library. His blood threatened to boil, demanding he charge over and punch Nicholas in the face before pulling William away and making it, so his cousin could never see the warlock ever again. He had no right. None at all to look at the warlock.
Humming softly, William glanced down with a shrug. “Do I come across as weak to you?”
“What?” Nicholas shook his head. “You radiate magic. Anyone who thinks you’re weak is mad.”
“Then why do you insist on trying to coddle me?” the warlock asked, but his tone remained friendly. Before Nicholas could come up with what would likely be a sauve reply, William shook his head. He laid a hand on the wizard’s chest. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m good. Call me selfish, but I hate having to share credit.” William patted the other’s chest and ducked away, heading toward the hall. “First session starts soon. You know how McCoy is about promptness.”
Nicholas smiled, standing up straight. “If you change your mind…”
William offered a smile over his shoulder, but he said nothing. Not that Nicholas would’ve heard if he had. Even from behind, Ælfweard could tell the other’s eyes fell down to the round pertness of the warlock’s bottom. With a chuckle, the strawberry blond wizard spun on his heels, sauntering toward the library as the first session warning bell chimed. When he shifted the corner, his eyes met Ælfweard’s. Smiling, the older wizard tilted his chin up.
“Eyes on the prize, Ælfweard,” he sang as he walked by.
Aching to pummel the other’s cocky face, the younger wizard clenched his jaw, fighting back the rage inside, but from the spark in Nicholas’s eyes, he saw, and from the laugh, he didn’t care.
***
One point. A single point haunted William. While the rest of their class fell further and further behind — gaining the ire of their professors with each new test, a single point continued to separate the pair. No amount of study helped. Even with his hidden laboratory, he hadn’t managed much more than improving his skills in pyric-pressure transforming the stupid charcoal to diamond.
His score improved, but Ælfweard kept on being one step ahead of him despite the time the wizard wasted on food and sleep and being helpful to almost every single professor. He carried paperwork for them and fetched texts. The cooks adored him, giving him food outside of the usual dining times. Every single time William caught sight of the damn wizard, Ælfweard seemed to be doing everything but studying.
“It’s almost winter holiday,” Gilroy hummed with his crew. “I don’t think I want another semester of this ridiculousness.”
Natasha scoffed. “The first person to get kicked out of the program usually hears soon. There’s three weeks left. One more test.”
“Ugh — two wizards getting kicked out for that,” Timothy huffed though the lowest scoring wizard — Charles Atteberry — had already run off in tears. Odds were he’d end up changing courses before the next test, which left Elizabeth Padmore, in risk of being dropped all the quicker though the class would be eight or less by the end of the academic year.
They could loudly complain about his success all they wanted because it didn’t mean a thing. Ælfweard kept beating him. Kept leaving him one point behind. All the while, the blond wizard never seemed to put an ounce of effort into his work. Even his studying seemed an absolute joke whenever William caught him in the library. Fighting back tears of frustration and exhaustion, the warlock turned his back on the lot of them as he stormed back toward the library. He would do better. He had to do better.
Ælfweard watched the warlock go. His heart ached for the warlock, and his feet moved despite him to follow after the dark-haired magic user until Gilroy caught him about the arm, holding him back.
“How are we supposed to break the damn bastard if you keep going to help him lick his wounds?” Gilroy demanded, and the rest of the class stared at Ælfweard as if preparing to tear him to pieces just the same. “We’ve given you some rope for keeping first place away from that thing, but if you keep chasing after him, my good grace won’t protect you long.”
Natasha rolled her eyes. “I don’t see why we’re giving him any consideration? He’s an Irish wizard. Hardly any better than a warlock.”
Gilroy turned slowly, glaring with a sharpness Ælfweard had not seen on the
man before. “I can make your life an absolute hell with a single mirror call, Natasha. Do you want your mother to keep her position? I thought your father was rather scrambling after he tried to open his own business.”
Parts of her face blanched while others flushed, transforming her into a splotchy mess of fury and fear, but she looked away, crossing her arms in a pout as she cowered before the copper-haired wizard.
Cocking a single brow, Gilroy hissed, “Apologize.”
Her dark eyes lifted, flicking over to Ælfweard before dropping. “I’m sorry I insulted your father. It was uncalled for.”
All eyes shifted. Their attention fell on Ælfweard, leaving him caught in the snare of their gazes. Gilroy lifted a single brow, tilting his head as if to urge Ælfweard to speak — to say something to brush aside the insult and to place himself firmly on their side against William. But his mind just kept turning back to the quiver of the warlock’s lips. Pale as snow, the dark-haired magic user seemed so much thinner now than he had been at the start of the semester. He was slowly self-destructing, and these wizards thrilled in it. They wanted to see him fall apart, refusing to improve themselves and to chase the top spot with the same fever. Mocking him for wanting and struggling to obtain what they believed they should have by right. If William left Aelion, their hungry vicious force would focus on Ælfweard, and the longer he delayed William leaving, the better it would be for him, yet Gilroy lay down the gauntlet. If he stood in their way, they had every intention of striking down. Hit him low and ruthlessly.
If they wanted to come after him, he couldn’t stop them, so Ælfweard had no intent to try. “Don’t force yourself to apologize for something you believe. I won’t apologize for refusing to take part in this absolute juvenile bullying.”
Tugging his arm free, Ælfweard ignored the outrage. The sharp piercing glower of the copper-haired wizard followed him as the blond wizard raced down the hall. His heart raced. Each thud reverberated through his body as he chased after William.
***
Fighting back the tears which threatened to pour down his face, William ducked into an open classroom, crouching down as he furiously wiped away what he couldn’t hold back.
“I can do this,” he hissed to himself, wanting to claw at his skin for what seemed like just another betrayal. “It’s a stupid single point. I can study harder. I can do this.”
But his body ached. His stomach gave up growling weeks ago, but the hunger still gnawed strangely at his insides as his head pounded. No amount of water chased it away, and he couldn’t afford to sleep more. Frankly, with that stupid gap between them still, he’d have to cut down his sleep further. Needed to find a way to minimize and teleport around the castle rather than waste time walking between lessons. Needed to swallow back his emotions — stop letting the wizards get a rise out of him. Every argument cut into his studying time, and he couldn’t afford them. If he wanted to beat Ælfweard, every second mattered.
“Hey,” a soft voice greeted. “Are you okay?”
Freezing, William glanced up like a deer caught in headlights before wiping more vigorously at the tears on his cheeks. “Sorry — I just got something in my eye,” the warlock lied.
Nicholas frowned, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”
“Pretend? What would I pretend?” the warlock grumbled, looking away but at the wizard as he stood.
Arms wrapped around William, tugging him against the wizard’s broad chest. “You don’t have to pretend with me. Those first years are horrible. They’re so jealous.”
Shame curdled in William’s stomach. He handled their bullying well enough. They could be as spiteful as they wanted, and it wouldn’t hurt him — couldn’t hurt him. Nothing like that mattered. Their opinions never mattered, but it underlined how shameful that single point was. Nobody cried over a single point. They sucked it up and got a better score next time. Every failure only served to prove how pathetic he was. A warlock at a school for wizards — second place would never prove anything to people like this. Each time only proved he wasn’t the person he believed himself to be. The unflappable warlock who got through his journeymanship would’ve succeeded, but he didn’t. He floundered. Choked in the bottom of the ninth.
“It’s nothing. This is just — I’m just being stupid,” William huffed, but Nicholas only hugged him tighter.
“Nothing about you is stupid,” Nicholas whispered, pulling back to look the warlock in the eyes. “You are amazing, William, and they’re absolute morons. They think they can chase you off if they’re mean enough, but I won’t let them. You’re too brilliant to let them get the better of you.”
A wave of exhaustion tugged William down, allowing the wizard to guide him close once more and tuck the warlock’s face against his neck. He needed to study, but his eyelids kept drooping. Nicholas’s warmth radiated through him, luring him to fall asleep, but he shouldn’t. He couldn’t.
“I’m fine, “ William insisted. “I just need some sleep.”
Nicholas nodded, and wrapping an arm around William’s waist, he led the younger magic user from the room. “And you can rest in my room. I’ll get you some food from the dining hall. You shouldn’t be alone tonight.”
Flushing, William pulled away. “I said I’m fine. You don’t have to help me.”
“I want to help you,” Nicholas insisted.
“Why?”
Biting his lip, the wizard glanced away. His sharp cheekbones blushed the palest pink, and when their eyes met, Nicholas murmured, “Just let me help you.”
“No,” William retorted, pulling away at the implication. “I barely have enough time to study. I’m not going to start something with someone. Not right now.”
“What? No, William, you don’t need to do anything about it. These feelings are on me. I just want to take care of you,” the wizard swore, and he almost seemed sincere.
Honestly, the thought of being coddled and doted upon seemed rather appealing. To feel the warm of laying beside another person. Even though William intended to keep to himself to avoid distraction — and out of a faith that eventually his fated mate would find him, the warlock didn’t want to deal with the mess of another person’s emotions. When he looked at Nicholas, he admired the other’s handsome features and appreciated the kind gestures, but distrust remained. A strange crawling feeling beneath his skin which suggested lies where Nicholas insisted truths existed. It would be best if they parted. If William returned to his room — spent some time in his laboratory and figured out where he had gone from in his description of blood to stone conversions. Sleep could wait. Coddling could wait. He had to beat Ælfweard first.
“Thanks, but -”
“What are you doing?” Ælfweard demanded, coming up on the two. His bright blue eyes jumped from one to another, and the fury there set William’s already tired nerves on edge.
Nicholas frowned, holding on to William tighter. “None of your business, Grey. Go back to your gang of friends.”
The blond frowned, studying the red in William’s eyes and the exhausted slump of his shoulders. Puffing up his chest, he stared down his cousin. “You need to back off.”
“Oh, buzz off,” Nicholas spat.
“Don’t you have a betrothed?” Ælfweard growled, stepping forward to pull William away, but the warlock dodged his reaching hands, slipping away from both of them.
“Go ahead and measure your dicks on your own time. I’m going back to my room,” William announced, standing tall and glaring down his nose as if he hadn’t just been crying.
He strode away, refusing to look back as his entire body protested the idea of doing anything but sleeping. It wasn’t like either wizard actually cared about him. They only wanted something. Maybe even the same thing Timothy wanted. Their eyes followed him, undressing him as they painted him a whore or a damsel to be saved rather than the master warlock he was. He couldn’t be weak anymore. Refused to let them see him cry ever
again.
It seemed to Ælfweard that he was constantly watching William walk away. His heart ached in his chest, but he tugged his eyes from the other’s back to glare at his cousin. “The Blythe family has a habit of betrothing at birth, so you have one, don’t you?”
Nicholas scoffed. “So what?”
“So you have no intention of anything long-term with William. You’re using him!” Ælfweard said. His fists clenched so tightly at his side he could feel the bite of his nails into his palms.
With a roll of his eyes, Nicholas huffed. “You are just like your mother, Ælfweard. There is fun to be had, and there is duty. Don’t for a second think I’m incapable of doing one because I do the other.” His bright eyes narrowed as those terrible lips curved into a smirk. “Besides, what do you care? Is that sweet warlock your mate? Is the Irish breeding bull in you getting antsy someone else might get a babe in that soft belly before you do?” He crossed the small distance between them in a single step, cupping Ælfweard’s scrotum and holding tight, so the wizard could not pull back. As his cousin stiffened, glaring and sputtering, Nicholas laughed. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’ve got cow eyes, you absolute idiot.”
“Bloody hell, Nicholas, let go,” Ælfweard hissed, clawing at the other’s hand.
Smirking, his cousin tightened his hold, grinning wide when Ælfweard gasped in pain. “If I want to get a bastard on that beautiful boy, you’ll live with it — mate or not.” Releasing his hold, Nicholas stepped back. “Who knows — betrothals can be broken. He’s smart — pretty too. My father understands the worth of magic outside of wizardry. Besides, who else is going to inherit?” His eyes sparkled cruelly. “Maybe I’ll keep him. Knock him up and put a ring on him. You can watch as he waddles around next fall — count the days until he pops in hopes you might get a chance, but you won’t. I’ll just fill him right back up again.”
Ælfweard growled, “You’re sounding more like a breeding stud than me.”
