Chapter Text
„It’s about time.“
The sorcerer smiled down on him, his face nearly hidden beyond his hood - except that malevolent smirk. Angus looked around nervously, trying to discreetly disentangle himself from the trap he’d foolishly walked into. His hammer was out of reach. Zargothrax had no hurry walking towards him, his noble red robe hovering an inch off the ground.
“Congratulations, you have me.“ The brave prince saw no other choice than to face the sorcerer head-on, hopeless as it was. Stuck in a magical trap with no chance of escape, and unable to move due to the very non-magical problem of his cloak getting caught, he could not even defend himself.
But he wouldn’t let that stop him from at least shooting back in words.
The dark sorcerer stopped a single step in front of him and seemed to hesitate. To Angus’ surprise, Zargothrax dropped his hood back, for the first time fully revealing his face to his enemy.
He looked... good. Considering he was a centuries-old sorcerer, no less. A round face without the markers of old age, framed by dark locks. A neatly trimmed beard and black eyes gleaming with wit and a hint of laughter. Well, evil laughter, but laughter nonetheless.
Zargothrax must have read Angus’ face, for he smirked. “Does my appearance surprise you, oh mighty prince?”
He looked too young to be the evil overlord Angus knew him as. With his hood dropped back and his hair on his shoulders in soft curls, he could well be one of the many fellow noblemen Angus had spent his teenage years with.
Not the boring, diplomatic sort either, the ones only interested in doing business and growing their influence. No, he reminded the prince of the young men he’d drank with, played games with until long in the night... and who had joined him in whatever happened when young, curious men got drunk.
The sorcerer seemed to take him in from head to toe, a strange prism of expression flickering over his face in rapid succession. Doubt, anger, scorn, worry...
He took another step forward, now barely inches from his captive.
„You know McFife, we could be more than just enemies.“
Zargothrax tried to sound soft, but instead his voice came out as a menacing whisper.
It sent a shiver down Angus’ spine but he held the burning gaze by sheer force of will.
The dark sorcerer lifted his hand.
Angus was sure the next second he’d be hit by a curse or simply turned to ash, but the sorcerer merely put a finger under Angus‘ chin. His hand was warm and surprisingly gentle as his fingertips followed the line of the prince’s jaw, light as an eagle’s feather, leaving behind a faint tickle.
Angus felt his heart beat in his temples, heat rising in his chest. He clenched his jaw as to not betray his emotions.
„Yes,“ he spat, giving the sorcerer the most intense glare. „Archenemies or even better, Nemesis! You’re into big words, right?“
Zargothrax blinked at him, for the first time ever seeming truly taken aback.
His face twisted into a snarl as he stepped back, energy crackling at his fingertips.
“You damned-“ Lightning thundered down from the sky, illuminating the cloaked form of the sorcerer and the anger in his features, but also... disappointment?
“That is not-“ He rubbed his forehead, turned to leave, then spun again to face the prince. Lightning crackled from his fingertips, his voice trembling with frustration.
„If you’d only use the only two brain cell you have in that big head of yours, Angus! You can’t be THAT dense!”
It was ridiculous. He had the kid in his claws, right there. But now, looking into those lively blue eyes, squinting at him while the gears in his head were clearly spinning as fast as they could - he just couldn’t kill him.
How could he, the great and mighty Zargothrax, have fallen for such a pathetic mortal? He wasn’t sure if he was more angry with himself for letting his feelings take over, or Angus for being so damned cute.
„This isn’t our last meeting, McFife,“ he growled, throwing his hood up as the sound of unicorn hooves approached them at breakneck speed. The dark sorcerer turned and walked away, head held high and yet giving off a sense of defeat.
Maybe if he helped himself to a few drinks he could wait this mess out. Or even better, just drown that part of himself for good.
Angus stared after him, too baffled to answer or even call a witty remark at his back.
„Prince Angus, are you injured?“
Ser Proletius nearly flew off his unicorn before it could come to a halt, rushing to disentangle his ruler from the unfortunate situation. Angus was about to warn him of the dark sorcerer’s spell, but to his surprise, the deceitful trap did not spring. Zargothrax must have dissolved it before he left.
Angus answered the knight’s worried questions, waving off any injuries, but entirely left out the dark sorcerer’s presence. He wasn’t sure why himself.
Returning to the castle, he had to bear a few jokes at his expense, but the topic was quickly laid to rest as the daily routine took over. But no matter how hard he tried, Prince Angus could not focus on business anymore. Hour by hour, he could not help but turn over the meeting in his head, and yet with every repetition he became more confused and none the wiser.
He just couldn’t forget the dark eyes of the sorcerer mustering him, so close to his face, the deep red glow in them, matching the fire in his own soul. What in the world had he meant by “more than just enemies”?
Angus knew it was silly, and foolish. Probably the result of a deceitful spell.
But as he stared into the darkness, the long day ended with an equally long night, he could not help but remember the warm fingers on his skin, and realized he wanted to feel the dark sorcerer’s touch once more.