Archive of Our Own ^beta

He awoke to the sound of horses. Far too many moving together on a country road. One rider would not have stirred him, but there were four, galloping in a hurry through the darkness of midnight.

Mike stood, listening quietly between the sounds of night crickets and screeching owls. He should not investigate. Probably just a messenger delivering an urgent letter. He fetched his belt beside the low-burning campfire, fitting it around his waist with practiced grace. If he wanted to catch up with them, he didn’t have time for his armor.

He should not investigate. He mounted his horse and followed the sound anyway.

Darkness had never left him feeling unsettled the way it did most. He had befriended it long ago, restless under the open sky of diamonds, and had traded his secrets to it in exchange for knowing its own. The sunless black portended evil for most, but for Mike it was simply the veiled space within which people revealed their true selves.

The clatter of metal rang out. He kicked into a gallop, riding across the barren moors, careful to avoid the gnarled towers of rock littered through the landscape. Moonlight poured over the land, lending a hazy glimpse toward what he rode for. 

He saw now. Four figures in a semicircle, backs to him, presumably surrounding their target. He should not intervene. He dismounted, approached them in a crouch slowly, silently. He could make out the sounds of their voices now.

“Give us the crystal now and we may spare your life,” the second man from the left said, his voice dripping in dishonesty. 

Mike could not see their target from where he stood, but he could hear. “There is nothing you can do except kill me,” the voice said, cold and determined. Mike sensed no fear in his voice. He could work with that.

The second man from the left unsheathed his sword from his belt. “Then die,” he said, with simple cruelty. He stepped forward.

Mike slipped a throwing knife from his belt. Aimed. Flicked. 

A second later, the man stumbled forward, a gurgling sound rising from his throat. The other three men turned in a flash and Mike rose, right hand on his sword.

“Who the hell are you?” The man on the left shouted through the moon-lit darkness. The dead man crumpled to the ground.

“An idiot sticking his nose in where it doesn’t belong,” he replied, ready to dash forward in an instant. He saw who they were threatening now: a boy near his age, dressed in tattered yellow robes. 

“Now we’ll kill you too, fool.”

Mike laughed. These men full of bluster were no threat. “Then come and try, asshole.”

The man on his left rushed toward him. He was lightly armored, leather spaulders on his shoulders. He raised his axe, planning to use his momentum to cut down. Mike dodged to the right, then stuck his sword in the man’s back. He groaned and fell to the ground in a heap.

Mike whirled around, anticipating another. He could see the flash of battle adrenaline fueling this man’s rage. Mike let him flail too far forward in his momentum. He ducked and shoved his sword upward. The man choked, all his energy gone in an instant, and dropped to the side. 

The last man approached him with more thought, carefully waiting for Mike to give him an opening. He would do no such thing. “Just run away,” Mike commanded, half-serious. “Your friends are dead. No need to join them in hell today.”

The man snarled. Mike met his slash with his bastard sword, pushing the attacker back. He tried a low blow, aiming his sword to cut Mike’s leg, but Mike spun gracefully and kicked the man in the back of his knees hard. He lost balance and Mike expelled him from this world with merciful efficiency.

The sounds of night returned to quiet, save for Mike’s panting. He said a silent prayer for their souls, then sheathed his sword. The boy he saved had not moved. He seemed almost inhumanly still. 

“Hello?” Mike called out, walking toward the half-lit silhouette. “Are you okay? I mean you no harm.”

As he drew closer, he could see the boy better. He held a dagger in his right hand, still outstretched away from him, locked in frozen defense. Mike could feel his eyes, full of flint, boring into him. “Who are you?” the boy asked, voice unwavering.

“My name’s Mike. I was camped up-a-ways,” he started, gesturing over his shoulder. “I heard that horde of riders and knew something was wrong.”

The boy lowered the dagger, but remained guarded. “You aren’t here to take it, too?”

Mike was confused. “I don’t know what it is. I just followed their sounds.”

A silent pause, save for a crow’s caw. “Thank you for saving me,” the boy said, his voice softer.

Mike stepped forward a little. “I didn’t do much. I’m sure you could have handled them. You are a lord’s son?”

The boy shook his head. “No. I’m…” he hesitated.

“You don’t need to tell me,” Mike began. “I’ll help you no matter who you are.” Mike noticed the dead horse behind the boy. “You’ve lost your mount, I see. Will you ride with me back to my camp?”

The boy took a deep breath, exhaled. “I would not ask more of you.”

“You haven’t asked a thing of me.” He whistled for his horse. “Come, we need to get away from here.” One of the attackers’ horses still lingered around, which told Mike it was calm and reliable. He patted it on the neck, said a few words, and gently guided it over to the boy. “We’ll be commandeering this one for you.”

They mounted up together, Mike in the lead and the boy riding behind. Mike looked behind him. “My camp is not far, back off the main road a little. Stay close to me and shout if you notice trouble.”

The boy nodded. They rode at a trot, back over the flat, rocky moorland. From his body language and clothing Mike had gleaned that this boy had grown up in refinement, but he said he was not a lord’s child. He looked to be about Mike’s age, twenty-two, and had given away that he expected to be attacked. Mike would not overwhelm him tonight, but he needed to know tomorrow morning who this boy he had found truly was.

They dismounted before the near-dead campfire. Mike immediately gathered up new kindling and relit the fire, the orange glow sparking back to life. 

“You need to rest. I only have the one mat, so you take it and I will watch over things,” Mike said. 

The boy looked as if he debated following Mike’s orders, but eventually he laid down on the layer of canvas, setting the dagger next to him. Mike took his place near the fire, his eyes facing the road. He cleaned the blood from his sword and waited for the sun to crest above the horizon.

***

He awoke in a strange place under an open blue sky. His body jerked forward instinctually, taking stock of his surroundings. A boy his age was on bent knee near a campfire. The boy who had rescued him last night. Mike.

His nerves calmed, remembering now what had happened just a few hours prior. A bloody, stupid thing. Will wanted all of this to be over.

“Good morning,” Mike greeted him, smiling. 

“Morning,” Will replied, refusing to label any of this good. He noticed a bucket of water by the fire. He dipped his hands in and ran them over his face.

Mike handed him a metal cup. The smell of fresh coffee filled his senses. “Thank you,” Will said, showing him something resembling a smile.

Will felt Mike’s presence next to him now. Who was this stranger who chased trouble like a madman? Will tried to piece together what he sought to benefit from this, but he could imagine nothing. 

“So, about last night. You remember who I am, right?” Mike asked.

Will nodded. “Mike. My name is Will.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Will,” Mike replied. Will saw nothing but sincerity in his eyes.

Will looked down toward the crackling fire. “Last night, you asked me if I was the son of a lord.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not. My father is Laurence, King of Hawkins. I’m his second son.”

Mike choked on his coffee, coughing. “You’re a prince?”

Will nodded solemnly. It was a role he regarded with little affection. “A second prince,” he corrected, though he suspected the difference meant little to Mike.

“You’re royalty,” Mike said, talking out his slow understanding. A realization seemed to wash over his face. “I’m sorry about the mat, it’s kind of lumpy. You probably have the softest bed ever at home.”

Will couldn’t help but laugh softly. Mike seemed so naive. “It’s quite alright. Thank you for everything you did for me last night.”

“Of course, I couldn’t just leave you to be hurt.” Another flush of realization. “Wait, what am I supposed to call you? M’lord? Your Grace?” 

The shock of panic written across Mike’s face was endearing. “Please just call me Will.” 

Mike nodded. “I guess there’s no one around to execute me for disrespecting a royal, huh?” Mike paused for a moment. “What are you doing out here, if I might ask?”

Will sighed. It was a story far too long to explain again. Parts of it he could not tell to anyone. “Listen, I’m very thankful for what you did last night for me, but I must move on soon. Alone.”

Mike’s eyes widened. “You almost died. There’s no way I’m letting you go alone and unprotected. That would shame me as a paladin.”

Will’s voice grew firmer. “This is not your concern.”

“I heard one of those men mention a crystal. Is that important?”

Will silently cursed the now-dead man for giving that away. If this paladin knew of the crystal, he was already mired in this mess right alongside Will. “I’m protecting the Starcourt Crystal. Are you familiar with it?”

Mike shook his head. His dark brown eyes seemed to contain fathomless depths and a light of recognition that what Will was telling him was important. Will had the sense he was unmistakably trustworthy in a way very few people were.

Will reached into his golden robes, searching for a buttoned pocket inside over the left side of his chest. He held it carefully in his hand, then opened his fingers. A brilliant emerald rested in his palm, glittering green in the morning sunlight, no larger than a walnut. 

“Beautiful,” Mike admired.

“It was stolen from the castle. I found it. I’m bringing it back,” he said, voice cold. The real story lay in the multitudes between those simple actions, but Mike didn’t need to know everything.

“That’s fortunate, then, because I’m also traveling to Hawkins.” His voice became softer, more vulnerable. “Would you travel with me? I suspect we might need to protect each other.”

Will stared at Mike for a moment, considering. If he had to travel with another, Mike was a god-send. He seemed to contain none of that controlling roughness ever-present in other men, but he was also a capable swordsman. He was an attentive listener and treated him with respect but not deference. Perhaps they had met for a reason. “If you would have me, I will ride with you.”

Mike smiled, the corners of his mouth upturned with such natural softness. Will found it slightly adorable. “Good. Finish your coffee. I’ll clean up camp and then we can leave when you’re ready.”

Will nodded. He knew not the soul of this man, but he felt there was a chance to make it back to Hawkins with him by his side. His body and mind already bore such an overwhelming amount of pain from this fool’s errand. He craved an ending more than anything.

***

Mike had never felt much affection for the moorlands. Miles of peat and slate, bright green and dull grey. It was just so flat, so empty, save for the handful of gnarled cairns that rose from the surface like ancient monuments, knowledge of whom they celebrated long lost to history. The silence drove him so half-mad he often sang little songs and ditties he memorized just to keep himself going. His place was in the cities and in the forests and in the mountains, not the moors.

When they left the old campsite that morning, Mike thought he’d be able to fill that silence this time with conversation. He was riding with a prince, after all, and he already kept a mental list of all the questions Mike wanted to ask him about his life. Most of all he wanted to ask why in the world a single crystal was worth almost dying over, why his robes were tattered, and why he averted his eyes any time Mike looked at him.

They had ridden for hours in silence instead, horse hooves hitting dirt and rock, just the two of them side by side in the vast expanse. Mike couldn’t stand it anymore.

He cleared his throat. “So, Will, is this your first time in the moors?”

“Yes,” Will said plainly.

Pause again. Mike knew a thousand things to ask but nothing to say. “Listen,” he started, his head jerking awkwardly, too quick, to look at Will. “I promise I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, okay? You don’t have to tell me anything about yourself. But I’m bored. And unless you want me to start singing, I need to talk about something.”

Will’s wide eyes melted into an amused smile. “I don’t mind if you sing,” he offered.

“Be careful what you wish for,” Mike replied, laughing. “Hey, you can ask me anything about my life. If you want.”

Mike saw the gears turning behind Will’s greenish-brown eyes. They glittered in the afternoon sunlight, the colors swirling as if reflected through water. “Where are you from?” Will finally asked, his words hesitant.

“I’m from a little village not far from Hawkins,” Mike said. “I haven’t been back there since I was seventeen.”

Will nodded. Pause. “Is your family still there?”

“Yeah. At least as far as I know. My father kicked me out when I refused to be the person he wanted me to be.” That wasn’t quite the whole story, but he figured royalty were the last to which it was wise to admit lawbreaking.

“I’m sorry that happened,” Will said, his eyes softly apologetic.

Mike shrugged. “It’s alright. I would have become a pig farmer if I stayed. Which would be my personal hell. I hate pigs and I hate smelling like shit.”

Will laughed. “Are you happier being a paladin?”

“Yes, definitely,” Mike began. “It has bad parts. I don’t like killing. But that’s rare for me. Usually I take protection jobs, guarding carriages or securing banquets. Things like that.”

“And protecting princes,” Will offered with a sly smile. Mike admired the way Will’s smile illuminated his whole face, sunlight pouring forth from him. 

“You’re my first time,” Mike said. His cheeks flushed. “First prince, I mean. That I’ve protected.”

“The honor is mine,” Will responded gracefully. “Do you have the chance to travel a lot?”

“That’s my favorite part. I take jobs all over, so I’m always moving. I’ve made friends everywhere, too.”

Mike noticed a wistful glimmer flash in Will’s eyes. “That sort of freedom sounds really nice.”

“It is,” Mike agreed. He noticed a stream coming into view beyond the stretches of peat and tall grasses to their left. “Let’s ride down there and rest the horses for a while.”

They guided the horses off the road, slowing slightly riding over the soft moss. The stream cut across the landscape like a grey scar, chunks of slate and granite built up on its edges. Mike and Will dismounted from their horses, letting them drink from the shallow, clear water.

Mike took his canteen and Will’s to a spot ahead of the horses, dipping them both into the water one-by-one. He stretched his body after, somewhat awkwardly given the plate armor he wore. Riding made his neck stiff, legs sore, and his ass numb. He wouldn’t trade it for anything.

He turned around. Will stood before him now, his steps so silent Mike had not heard him coming. In each hand was a single yellow flower, stem short, petals open wide like sunbeams. 

“Do you like flowers?” Will asked, with a shy smile.

“I like all pretty things.”

Will held out his left hand. “This is a yellow azalea. I grow them in my garden at home. I had no idea they grew out here.”

Mike felt warmth flood into his chest at the gesture. He took the flower between delicate fingers. “I never would have guessed princes knew about plants.”

“Only me. It’s just a little thank you. For last night.”

Mike smiled stupidly wide, fond of this sweet side of the guarded prince. He carefully stuck the azalea in the space where his gorget and breastplate met, a little left of center. “Thank you, your grace.”

Will rolled his eyes. “I told you not to call me that.”

Laughter bubbled over between them. Perhaps beauty existed in the moorland after all.

***

They reached the tree line an hour before sundown. A forest of hardy blue-green pines and ancient oaks separated the moorland from the mountains. The ride through the mossy lowland had been long, but Will felt little of the boredom of which Mike complained. He was anxious, above all, on edge and ready for harm to come from any direction. 

He trusted Mike, as much as he could trust anyone knowing them for less than a day. He knew Mike wouldn’t hurt him, which was more than he could say for most. He had grown up watching over his shoulder, peeling back words of falsehood to read men’s true meanings, his life in service to the crown but of little value to it. He cultivated his joy in the margins of his suffering.

He loved people who never loved him. That was the fatal flaw within the soul of Will, prince of Hawkins. The burning sting of his scars, hidden carefully under his golden robes, sang the only praise he longed to feel. Finding the Starcourt Crystal had been worth that pain. He could bear it. He could take it.

Mike turned his head, his long shock of loose black curls falling over his shoulder. His hair looked impossibly soft for a traveler who lived on the road. “Hey, Will. We’ll go into the trees a little and find a good spot under some pines to camp. Is that okay for you?”

“Yes,” Will agreed. Mike’s constant need to hear consent, for Will to be a full participant in anything they did, felt so unusual. Royal court was not a place where autonomy and self-determination existed for anyone, even the most privileged. The first few times were strange, but now it felt like security. He was a rare person for whom manipulation was not a language he spoke fluently.

The darkness of the forest closed in around him. A veiled place, much like his mind, a site of the prettiest wildflowers and sweetest songbirds hidden away from the vast sky. A refuge of beauty against the annihilation of openness.

“This is a good spot,” Mike said, about a half mile past the tree line. The great pines loomed above, ancient immovable beings for whom the passing of two men was an unremarkable blip in their seemingly eternal lifespans. They guided the horses off the well-worn dirt trail and onto the bed of stray brown needles. 

After the mounts were hitched, Mike went to work undoing the clasps of his armor. Will imagined all that silver plate was heavy, especially for someone as bone-thin as Mike. He gathered up loose twigs for kindling. A patch of bramble grew between two of the pines, speckled with dark purple fruits. Will carefully plucked the blackberries between the ends of his soft fingertips, gently piling them up in his palm. 

When he returned, Mike had already collected the larger branches for the campfire. He grinned for no discernable reason as soon as Will met his eyes. He noticed that Mike had now pinned the yellow azalea he had given him earlier onto his tunic. Only the remembrance of Mike’s split-faced smile stifled feelings of embarrassed regret.

Will laid the kindling at the base of the campfire bones. Mike struck his flint, carefully growing sparks into small flames. He leaned back and sat in front of the fire, the tangerine glow dancing along his gaunt cheekbones. “Hey, did you find something?”

Will looked down to his hands. “Some blackberries. Do you like them?”

The flames grew bolder in Mike’s eyes. “I love them. Could I have some?”

Will laughed softly. “It would hardly be polite to keep them all for myself.” He leaned over to Mike and carefully placed half in his warm palm. 

“Thanks.” Mike unwrapped a cloth next to him, placing a solid hunk of greyish-white in Will’s hand. “A feast fit for a prince: stale biscuits and berries.”

Mike’s idea of royal life was so idealistic it made Will nauseous. “Definitely not the worst thing to eat. Thank you.”

They ate in relative silence. Flames crackled and the horses snorted. Will’s eyes scanned his surroundings, the bright citrus beams of low hanging sun filtered through the trees. Again he looked at the bow tied to the saddle on Mike’s horse.

Years had passed since his hands held a bow, better suited for soft charcoals and pruning shears. But he was already a killer, and he would likely need to kill again if he was to return the crystal. Mike was capable and reliable, but still just one man. He needed to take control of his own protection, too.

“What’re you thinking about?” Mike asked, startling him out of his thoughts.

Will’s eyes darted to dark brown pools. “Your bow. Do you use it often?”

“Not really. Just for hunting, mostly.”

Will exhaled, gathering courage. “I’d like to borrow it. To help protect us.”

Mike shook his head. “You’re safe with me. You’re a prince and it’s my job to guard you.”

Will closed his eyes, trying to simmer his stubborn anger. He opened them again, firmer intent. “Would you stop with that? Calling me royalty. Treating me like glass. I’m not helpless, Mike. You promised we’d protect each other.”

Mike studied him for a moment, then sighed. “A promise is a promise. Do you know how to use it?”

“Yes. I haven’t in a while, though.”

Mike popped the last of his biscuit into his mouth, brushing the crumbs off his hands. “Come on, then,” he began, hopping onto his feet. “There’s an hour of sunlight left. Let’s practice.”

Will followed, surprised at Mike’s eagerness. Mike fetched the bow and quiver from his horse and led Will to a gnarled, barren tree. “We’ll see how good your aim is,” Mike said, placing the weapon in Will’s hands.

Will slung the quiver over his shoulder. He tried to recall the muscle memory somewhere lodged in the recesses of his mind from those years when his father still believed he could make him a man. 

He nocked an arrow and held the bow string gently, as if made of rose petals. He remembered that much from the royal guard his father had ordered to teach him. His eyes flashed between the tip of the arrow and the dead tree. He exhaled. Brought his arm up. Released.

The arrow landed lamely in the dirt a few feet off from the tree. Will expected Mike to laugh, but he just smiled. “You know the basics. We’ve just a few things to correct.”

Mike drew closer, placing a gentle hand on Will’s shoulder. Will stared at his slender fingers. “Your shoulders are tense. Don’t hold weight in them.”

Will nodded. He nocked an arrow, holding the end between the knuckles of his index and middle fingers. 

Pale fingers covered his golden. Mike left invisible fingerprints over his knuckles. He tried to ignore the calloused warmth of his hands.

“You’re holding the arrow here, but I think this is better,” Mike said, sliding the end down halfway to Will’s fingertips. The soft tone of his voice sounded almost tender this close to Will’s ear.

“Keep your elbow level,” he instructed, guiding Will’s arm a little higher. “Look where you want the arrow to go.”

Will exhaled. Stared at a particular piece of bark. Released his grip. 

The arrow hit the tree with a resounding thud, lodging itself into the wood. 

“Hey! That was beautiful,” Mike celebrated. 

Will was disappointed, despite his fast improvement. “That wasn’t the spot I was aiming for.”

“Try again, then,” Mike said, eagerness flooding his voice. “You know what to do and how to do it. You just need to shake the dust off, yeah?”

Will felt a little more confident. Mike wouldn’t lie to him. He reached back for another arrow, following the same routine as before. This one struck a little lower than the second. 

“Did you learn from an archery teacher?” Mike asked, his hands placed snug on his hips. 

“No,” Will began, diverting little of his focus from the bow. “Not a real one. Just one of the household guard.”

“That didn’t last long?”

“A few months. Enough for basics, I guess.” Will thought about what Mike had shared about his family earlier. “I’m not the sort of person my father wanted me to be.”

“And what kind of person is that?” Mike asked cautiously. Will sensed he didn’t want to overstep.

“A warrior. He’d probably like you, if you were less kind and higher born. A man.”

Mike laughed. “Are you not also a man?”

Will released the last arrow. “His idea of one. Not a boy who paints sunsets and prunes rose bushes.”

A pause while Will gathered up the arrows for another round. “I wouldn’t like your father. Violence isn’t something to honor.”

Will loosed another arrow, his aim gradually improving. “Odd words for a knight, yes?”

Mike looked away for a moment. “Paladins honor oaths they swear. Protecting people who need me is my purpose. If I have to kill to do that, I will. But I don’t enjoy it.”

Will studied Mike’s hardened jaw, his open shoulders. He meant what he said. “You’re too bright-eyed for your own good.”

Mike just shrugged, dropping his hands from his waist. “What else is there?” Will fired the final arrow, piercing quite close to the spot he aimed for. “That’s enough for tonight, I think. Sun’s almost down.”

Will nodded, gathering the arrows and placing them carefully into the quiver. He tried to give them back to Mike, but he shook his head. “Keep it. You’re a good archer,” he said in his soft-tender tone of sincerity.

Will mirrored Mike’s smile in spite of himself. “Thank you for helping me.” He felt regret for his earlier cynicism. “It’s good that you’re kind. I would be dead if you weren’t.”

The ridgeline of Mike’s sharp cheekbones flushed with wine. He broke their eye contact and began walking back to camp, his indigo cape sweeping behind him in a flourish. “You would have been fine. You’re capable.”

Slate-grey light filled the horizon line. Will slept sounder tonight with his dagger and Mike’s bow beside him.

***

The soft filtered light poured through the towering trees, golden beams igniting the green glow of midsummer. The forest flourished with life: the perennial song of mating cardinals, squirrels spiral-climbing the oaks, the occasional stunned deer snapping its body away from them in one fluid rush. Mike loved it here. He breathed in deep the sick-sweet smell of evergreen pollen and damp fern moss, the air filling his lungs with daily renewal.

All the happier was he that a companion joined him this ride through the forest. The usual loneliness that pervaded even his happiest moments was banished by having the prince ride beside him. Will was still guarded, still careful about everything he did and said, but Mike felt significantly closer to him now. Like a few bricks had been chiseled from his walls.

Under that veil of reservation glowed a brilliant mosaic of emotions, near blinding in its beauty but a creation from which Mike feared to look away. When he roused that morning, he found Will practicing with the bow on his own, firing the arrows with deliberate care. Mike watched him wordlessly. He catalogued in his mind the surprised shock written across his face when Will turned to find Mike there, leaning up against a tree, admiring his form. 

His archer’s form, of course. He just needed to make sure Will wasn’t dropping his elbow too low. That’s all.

He etched into his mind the charming song of Will’s spontaneous laughter. He couldn’t help but chase that sweet sound, sparking it with absurd stories of his travels and horrible jokes. He was now a knight who could make princes laugh. He doubted, though, that any other prince could compare to Will.

He studied the way Will’s brows furrowed in frustration, how his ever-gentle hands struggled to untie the knot Mike had fixed around the tree to hold his horse in place. Mike reassured him it was a tough sort of knot and guided his hands to undo it, ghosting over Will’s soft fingers with his own. He memorized the way Will’s body relaxed when he succeeded.

What Will left unsaid Mike learned to read from his expressions. And sometime that day, between crossing shallow rocky streams and admiring patches of wild violets and azure phlox, the pieces of the prince’s world coalesced in his mind to illuminate a new, grander mosaic. He liked Will, prince of Hawkins. Not love at first sight, nor a passing infatuation, but a sincere fascination with the devastatingly unique soul of this boy he saved. 

Will had been right, after all. He was far too starry-eyed for his own good.

He wouldn’t make things uncomfortable. He was just protecting Will until they could make it to Hawkins together, a pact of necessity on the prince’s part. Mike knew that Will had likely been intended for another kingdom’s daughter from the time of his birth. A gentle boy like him would be beloved by any woman wise enough not to mistake kindness for weakness. 

He was just a low-born paladin, homeless and hearthless, with nothing to offer Will except his smile and his old sleeping mat. And he was a man. But he could still protect him from harm, and enjoy his company in the meantime.

By the end of that day, they would be out of the woods and near the base of the mountains. He hoped their luck would continue, the remainder of their journey bloodless and secure. He would do his best for Will no matter what came their way.

***

“And that was when I told him I grieved for his wife, for she had married a truly irredeemably ugly bastard,” Mike shouted with a flourish, ending his story. 

Will laughed from deep within his chest. “All of that over a gambling debt?”

Mike stared at Will, straightfaced. “A bet is a promise. Promise-breakers deserve no pity. His wife certainly did, though.”

Will loved the way Mike told stories of his travels. They blossomed so naturally, like his mind was a library of collected tales he could draw upon when the time called. He had noticed that Mike hesitated before speaking when they first began riding together, but Will had lowered his guard enough that had disappeared almost entirely. Mike was as vast as the space between stars in the dark sky, and he liked gazing upon that openness just as much as he did the fixed jewels of night.

Mike was different. He was a knight graceful in battle but clumsy enough to trip over almost anything in his path. He grinned with as much ease as he brooded, an intensity on both ends Will found unsettling. He was charming but awkward, touching Will’s hands without second thought but pulling away when Will paid him compliment. A poet-warrior of shining silver and tender words. The amalgamation of his contrasts made him so richly fascinating and terrifyingly real.

Will liked his company and liked how at ease he felt with him. A foolish self-disarmament of all his carefully crafted shields. 

They weren’t far from where the forest ended and the mountains began now, if Mike’s calculations could be trusted. Will could see the rocky summits through the gaps between the trees. He knew the path through those was steep and perilous, hence why most traveled to Hawkins from the east despite it being a longer route. They would handle that challenge when they reached it. There was plenty else to worry about in the meantime.

They guided their horses in tandem around an ancient white ash, following the trail as it bent. Will felt an unsettling chill in his hands when they saw an abandoned cart blocking their path a few yards ahead. The trail was a little more open here, sunlight pouring in through the void above. The perfect place for an attack.

“Mike, I…”

Mike turned his head to Will in a flash. “Get down and hide now,” he commanded, immediately dismounting from his own horse.

Will followed him almost immediately, his feet hitting soft grass. He saw a large moss-crusted sandstone boulder a few yards away from the trail, and he made a beeline to crouch down behind it. 

He watched as Mike unsheathed his bastard sword, silver glinting in the bright sunlight. His posture firm, energy coiled tight inside him like a cat stalking prey. Almost at once, men jumped from behind the cart, axes and swords clutched in angry hands. There were seven. Far too many for Mike to handle on his own. 

“What cause do you have to assault a rider?” Mike asked. “I’m afraid I have very little of value to steal.”

One of the attackers grunted. “No one cares about you. We want the prince. Where is he?”

Mike laughed. Will sensed now he was trying to buy time to figure out how to handle this. “Do I look like the type who befriends princes? I’m a knight-errant at best.”

Will considered how he could help Mike. He reached up to his shoulder, but found it empty. In his rush he had left the bow attached to his horse. He scolded himself for the stupid mistake. 

“We’ve tracked you for miles,” another attacker said, stepping forward with axe in hand. “Tell us where he is and you can go.”

“You must have been watching the wrong person,” Mike said. He made a ostentatious flick of his eyes toward the trees to his left. The closest warrior toward him caught his gesture and followed it instinctively, giving Mike an opening to leap forward. 

The indigo color of his cape flashed behind him brilliantly, a scene Will thought reserved for the hagiographic castle tapestries. Metal met soft flesh as Mike drove the sword into the man’s throat, crimson pouring forth like an overboiled pot. Mike growled in rage. “Which fool is next?”

Confident in their greater numbers, the men created a semi-circle around Mike. His body was tense, jittery, ready to shield himself from attack from any direction. One of the attackers lunged forward with a sword, but Mike deflected the jab with his own. The man to his furthest right took advantage of the opening and cut at his thigh, sending the metal plate flying into the grass a few feet away.

Will’s entire body shook with fear, disbelieving that these men had ambushed them so easily. They were far more loyal to their dead master than Will had anticipated. And here he was now, validating his father’s esteem of him as a coward. Mike had dropped into his life like a guardian angel and he would lose him just as swiftly. 

Powerless to stop it. A coward. Rose bushes and bright acrylics. His mother’s soothing voice. His father’s rage. Burning bodies. Screams. Death surrounding him.

He inhaled deep and firm. Whispered words of prayer came from his lips, calling upon forbidden spells from secret gods. Fire was the curse he had been born to wield.

His eyes flashed open when he heard Mike’s desperate cry, blood dripping down his arm. A horrifying rage filled him. Eyes on silver. One last quiet prayer.

A flood of orange-red flame flashed up from the hilt of Mike’s sword to the end, sending a shock wave of heat forward. The attackers were sent flying like leaves in a thunderstorm, some slamming up against the cart, others into the grass.

“What the…” he heard Mike utter, before groaning again from the pain in his arm. 

“Just keep fighting!” Will shouted, voice cracking in desperation. The power within him could sustain these flames for three minutes at most, and he prayed Mike could defeat them in time.

Despite his wide-eyed shock, Mike nodded tersely and faced the men head-on again. Two had been knocked unconscious by the force that slammed them into the cart. Four scrambled to their feet in terror, disbelieving the sight before them. A power they believed had been reserved for the master they sought to avenge alone.

Mike hesitantly stepped forward, the flames engulfing his sword moving with him. The attackers trembled but stood firm. One turned his eyes toward the direction Will’s voice had come from moments before and locked eyes with him. He snarled and turned to charge Will, changing strategy. 

Mike was one step ahead of him. He lunged forward and a flash of heat knocked the man down again, his head slamming against the ground with a devastating crack. He was either unconscious or dead, clearly making no attempt to rise again.

Will saw how the others trembled, terrified of the sharp heat of Mike’s flame-sword. They knew the screams of a man who died drowning in waves of fire. They knew the inhuman horror of being consumed by heat.

They threw down their weapons and ran, darting into the trees with wise desperation. Will had known these men had neither the conviction nor the malevolent stubbornness of their deceased master to stand their ground long.

A moment passed. Mike panted, breathing in and out rapidly. The prayer ended and the flames were extinguished from his sword, restored to unburnt metal.

Will felt painfully lightheaded, but he pushed through to reach Mike. Mike instinctively flinched away from him, his eyes full of fear. “How did you…”

The way Mike looked at him filled him with new shame. He felt tears in the corners of his eyes, but he winced tight to prevent a deluge. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Mike exhaled, then stepped forward. A hand on Will’s shoulder. “Come on, we need to leave here. More might arrive.”

Will nodded. Mike whistled for their horses, who came stumbling forth from the foliage on their left side. Mike cried out in agony when he instinctively reached with his right arm to pull himself onto his horse. 

Will saw just how much blood stained Mike’s hand and his vambraces, dripping from the ends of his fingers like poisoned rain. He immediately tore away a strip from the bottom of his robes. He undid the clasps of Mike’s vambraces, following the memory of watching Mike do it himself before, and tied the golden fabric tight around the gash. 

“Thank you,” Mike said, his words slurred. Will noticed how hazy his eyes looked.

“Let me help you,” Will said. Mike stuck a foot in his stirrup and a left hand on the saddle’s horn. Will pushed with all his strength, hands on Mike’s torso and waist, and Mike swept himself up into the saddle. Will mounted his own horse with greater ease.

They made it out of the woods by sunset.

***

The sharp sting of cleansing coolness shook him out of his stupor. He looked up into greenish-brown softness, swirls of concern and anxiety filling Will’s eyes. He held one of Mike’s leather canteens over his arm, washing away the blood in diluted rivulets that trickled out into the tough grass.

“Hey,” Mike said gently, blinking to focus. He didn’t feel too lightheaded now, mostly tired. He had stayed awake until he dismounted his horse here, but how long ago that was he had no idea.

Will smiled tightly, wordlessly, refocusing his attention on Mike’s arm. Mike immediately ran through every possible thing he could have done to make Will recede into himself again. What happened could have been far worse. He was hurt, but not terribly. They had survived. 

Mike reached out, left hand embracing Will’s forearm. “Hey, are you okay?”

Will met eyes with him for a moment, then back down to the wound. “I’m fine,” he lied. Mike could so easily see through his denials. “Do you have any alcohol?”

Mike thought about asking again, but decided against it. “Yeah. The small canteen.”

Will left him for a moment. Mike breathed in deep. They were camped at the base of the mountains, the sun hanging low behind them. He knew now he couldn’t have been asleep for more than ten minutes. Will had evidently laid him down on his mat and left him to retrieve clean water from the cool mountain stream a few feet away, melted ice running down rock to sustain the forest below. 

Will returned, kneeling with the palm sized canteen in his hand. “This will hurt,” he warned.

Mike smiled. “I think I can handle it.”

Will brought the mouth of the canteen down close to Mike’s skin where the metal had sliced his flesh. He could see now it wasn’t deep, but any wound to the arm meant risk of serious blood loss. Will had done the right thing by tying cloth around it, even if it meant tattering them further. Mike passively wondered if Will’s robes were worth more than his life.

The sharp sting of the alcohol sent the heat of pain through him. He hissed hard, feeling it trickle into his opened skin like purifying fire. 

“I’m sorry,” Will said, voice painfully quiet.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Mike replied. “Thank you for helping me.”

Will remained silent as he systematically wrapped Mike’s arm tightly in white bandage linens from Mike’s pack. Will’s sun-gold hands were so intentional, so painfully gentle that Mike felt utterly undeserving of the intimate attention. None of the chivalry stories he knew ever featured a sweet prince gingerly binding the wounds of a knight-errant.

“You’re good at this,” Mike tried. “Treating wounds can be overwhelming.”

Will smiled a little more genuinely than before. “I learned from an old teacher. I’m better at this than archery.”

“Gentle hands,” Mike returned his smile, meeting his eyes. 

Will’s smile widened, then forcibly retracted again. He tied a piece of twine around the bandages to hold them in place, then stepped away from Mike to wash off his hands in the stream.

When he returned, Will sat across from Mike. Mike studied him as he picked at his fingernails, unable to share attention but still wanting to share space with him. 

“I should have been able to protect you better,” Mike said. Will’s eyes flicked up to his in a flash. “You deserve a more worthy knight.”

Will’s face flashed with confusion and regret. “You saved my life again. A second time. You are more than worthy.”

Mike sighed. “Here we are. Neither of us actually saying anything. Telling each other we’re wrong. Can we just talk?”

Will winced, looking away again in thought. “About what happened?”

“However much you want to tell me.”

Will returned focus. “I haven’t been fully honest with you about who I am. What I am.”

“Clearly not,” Mike said, sounding more indignant than intended.

Will exhaled. “I’m a prince. But I’m also a cleric.”

Mike thought of the hooded monks he’d seen in the eastern cities before, chanting together outside cathedrals. He was an unanointed knight and knew nothing of religion except how it forced men to cloak themselves. “A cleric is a priest?”

“No. This isn’t religious like that, even if the gods are the source.”

“So what you did to my sword was…”

“Magic,” Will said. “Divine magic. Fire is the element I have the potential to control.”

This was a shock to Mike’s system despite so accurately explaining what overtook his weapon in battle. His sword had always been an extension of himself, but this time it felt like a pure force of nature. The power had terrified him. Had Will misread that?

“When I flinched away before…”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t. When I flinched away before I was afraid of the force that overtook me. The way the power felt like lightning. I could never fear you.”

The side of Will’s mouth tensed. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”

“I know what I felt. It’s probably even more unnerving to directly control it. I understand why you didn’t tell me.”

“Only you know, now. You and a dead man.”

Mike raised an eyebrow. “Your family doesn’t?”

Will shook his head forcefully. “No. Never. I told you I am determined never to be a weapon for my father to control.” He looked down to the space between them. “I never wanted it to be fire. I thought it might be something else. Something that grew and didn’t just destroy.”

Mike considered. “Campfires will be easier to build now,” he tried, grinning.

Will rolled his eyes. “I’m serious, Mike. This is a curse for what I am.”

Mike considered the implications of his vague words for a moment, but decided not to press. “Without your abilities we both would have died earlier. My lifespan is something your fire has grown now, the first of many. You aren’t cursed, Will.” He thought of himself for a moment. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Mike thought the salmon color of evening sunset was even more beautiful when reflected in Will’s eyes. A thousand new lines of poetry would blossom in his notebook pages from this moment.

Will sighed. “All I can say is what I am. A prince and a cleric.”

Mike smiled widely now. “And I’m a self-anointed paladin. What a team we make.”

Will laughed, the warm sound filling Mike with hope. “I’m glad it was you.”

“Me too, Will,” Mike said, his chest aflame. “Me too.”

***

He always felt it in his fingers first. The melodic tremble of rage shaking his body, energy dissipating like earthquake aftershocks. This was the source of his power. The shard of darkness in his heart.

“You are what I said you were!” the priest shrieked, hair flapping wildly in the warm air.

Will desperately tried to stabilize himself. He thought of his paintings, the way he could capture rolling clouds on a summer day with abstract beauty. His roses, pink and yellow, gentle flowers with thorns for protection. His mother’s soft voice, telling him she loves him. None of it was right.

His final image. The memory of the first execution his father had forced him to attend. The way the executioner’s greatsword plunged into the condemned man’s neck, his head flying from his body with grotesque ease. The blood the same as that which stained his father’s hands. Death surrounding him.

He would not be a killer. He breathed in deep and the flames ceased.

“What are you doing?” the priest cried, grabbing Will by the arms. “You were on the cusp of unlocking your greatness!”

The scene swirled away from the castle chambers. The priest was before him again, except this time the space was darker, filled with cold humid air. The old chapel in the countryside. 

“What were you doing? The crystal needs to remain in place,” Will cried.

The priest held it before him like the ripest apple. “The dissolution of this kingdom will mean the gods are in control again. Can’t you see that, Your Grace? You were born to purify your father’s ill deeds from this world.”

Will winced hard, trying to hold in his rage. “My father is a horrible man, but his life is not mine to take. I do not want his blood on my hands, nor do I want his power.”

Two men grabbed Will hard, wrapping strong hands around his upper arms. He writhed against the pressure to no avail. “You will, whether you wish or not. You would be nothing without your ability. Your secrets made public would destroy you. In the safety of power, however, no one could ever touch you.”

Will instantly recoiled at the way the cleric used his brokenness against him. He thought he had been careful, never revealing his feelings despite how it tortured him inside. The gods were cruel to invent curses, but truly evil to burden him with two.

He felt the heat rise from within his chest. This man, smiling wickedly at him. This high priest, who promised him self-discipline and gave him suffering. This coward, who coveted power so much he would make Will slaughter his own family for it. He would not.

He spoke silent words of prayer in his mind. Rivulets of flame passed through his bloodstream and fizzled painlessly through his skin. 

A blast. Shrieks of fright erupting from the men who held him, dropping him like a sack of potatoes as they watched their arms burn. The inhuman horror of their screams as they were engulfed in flame, falling to their knees, desperate to extinguish their agony. Will knew he would never scrape the smell of their burning flesh from his mind.

The priest looked at him with wide-eyed awe. The sight sickened Will.

Will lifted his arm toward the priest. A fireball erupted from his fingertips. Almost instantly the priest flew back, slamming hard into the stone wall of the ancient chapel in a scarlet lump. The emerald scattered across the slate floor to his left.

Will held his own head tight in his hands, his eyes winced hard shut, trying to center himself. Desperate to block out the sound of the priest’s screams, powerless to escape them. He hardly noticed the other men breaking down the door to his right, or the way they cried out for their dying master.

They charged toward him, the only logical escape blocked. He felt as a crow must: light as air, a harbinger of death. He swept down to clutch the crystal in his hand and jumped through the last illogical exit left. 

Shards of colored glass filtered moonlight around him as he fell. He remembered how it felt to fall even that short distance, nothing like the freedom poets wrote of. He plunged toward the ground and was powerless to watch the black void consume him whole.

His body flinched forward, trying to hold onto any possible leverage he could find. A warmth filled his hand and held tight around his shoulders. The gods ending his misery at last.

“Will! Will, you’re okay,” a familiar voice shouted. It shook him out of his embrace of nothingness. “You’re safe.”

Will moaned, his body tight with pain, surrounded by death. The priest’s men, the priest, the executed man. Their blood on his hands.

“It’s Mike, okay? I’m here with you.” Will’s head snapped up instantly to meet concerned brown eyes, constellations of freckles that glowed so delicately in the moonlight. His long black hair fell over his shoulder in a braid.

“Mike?” Will asked, half-recognizing his current reality. He searched for context. A low-burning campfire. Tough grass. The open night sky above. A boy holding him in his arms. Mike.

His chest heaved, trying to find enough air to fill his insatiable lungs. He felt like he was drowning. The warmth left his hand and pressed hard on his chest, as if holding his lungs back from exploding within him. “Don’t talk,” Mike said, holding him. “Just breathe. You were screaming and I…I don’t know what’s happening, but you’re safe with me.”

Will focused on his breathing, stabilizing it. He was camped on the road to Hawkins with Mike. He was neither in the castle nor the old chapel. The only flame was the low-burning campfire a few feet away. His body relaxed into Mike’s arms, one of the paladin’s hands on his chest and the other slowly stroking where his shoulder sloped into his arm.

You were screaming. A wash of regret poured over him. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry,” Will repeated between breaths. 

“You’ve nothing to apologize for,” Mike said, in that soft-tender voice he reserved for comfort. “I have nightmares too.”

“Not like this. Not this,” Will said, thinking again of how real it all had felt. It was real in his past, but dredged back up to force him to relive again.

“Sometimes,” Mike said, voice quiet and honest. Suffering spoken of in whispers. 

Here he was, useless, letting himself in too close to a far too perfect paladin who was far too good at gentleness. He could do nothing but accept the care Mike poured into him. “I’m sorry,” he said again, softer.

Mike shushed him. “I’ve got you. You aren’t alone.”

For the first time in his life, Will believed it.

***

The mountain pass was steeper and more treacherous than he anticipated. The horses were skittish through the early ascent, calming only when Mike fed them sugar cubes from his emergency pack. The morning fog was thick and cutting through it on the rough trail was a challenge even for an experienced rider.

The trail twisted around the mountains rather than through them. If word from other riders could be trusted, this was the shortest path to Hawkins from the forest. They gradually rose in elevation faster than they realized, looking down over the ledge to see a grey void that swirled with heavy mist. Shortest, but certainly not easiest.

Eventually they came to where the trail narrowed too much and they were forced to dismount, walking their horses behind them slowly and carefully. Will had come to the same conclusion Mike did without a word. 

It had been like that since sunrise. Mike fell asleep with Will still in his arms, one wrapped around his shoulders and another around his chest, but when he awoke Will had already left. He was crouched down by the fire, bow and quiver slung over his shoulder. He offered him coffee with a tight smile but said nothing else. Mike hadn’t meant to make the prince feel so uncomfortable. Perhaps he was too affectionate, too caring, but how could he leave Will to suffer in his mind? 

He had episodes like that, too. Losing people he loved again. Cries of death inflicted by his sword. He knew not what Will dreamt of but he knew the breathless pain of those nightmares all too well. 

Sunlight breaking through the heavy air felt refreshing on his face. “Finally some of this fog may lift,” Mike called over his shoulder.

“We can hope,” was all Will replied.

Mike guided his horse with his left hand. He was fearful of tearing open the still-stinging gash on his right forearm. He had been lucky Will was so skilled with cleaning and dressing wounds, especially with the amount of blood he could have lost. His joints ached, but he was alive.

The silence led Mike’s mind out of the present. In a few days, gods willing, they would be in Hawkins. When he first found Will, he assumed he’d ride with him back to the castle, say goodbye, and move on. But now things were different. Will was his companion, his co-protector, his friend. But did the prince see him the same way?

Mike knew he could not. He was just a low-born paladin who Will needed for now but would leave when the journey was over. That’s all this could be. Whatever they had was a momentary blip in their lifespans, a memory to retell one day around a fire. A dream Mike would wake from, forced back into his lonesome reality.

“I’m sorry for last night,” the prince said, voice shaking Mike out of his suffocating thoughts.

“Not the apologies again,” Mike said, testier than intended.

“Are we okay?” Will asked, concerned. “I don’t want there to be anger between us.”

Mike was fully confused. “Anger?” he asked, over his shoulder. “Why in the world would I be angry with you?” Will was silent, so Mike continued. “I thought you needed some space.”

“I did,” Will said, his words rushed. “This morning. But what you did for me last night was…”

“Too much.”

Will sighed. “Stop assuming what I’m thinking. It was the kindest thing anyone has done for me. And I wanted to say thank you.”

Mike’s chest flushed with new warmth. How softly eager his words of gratitude were. Perhaps he had misread Will’s behavior. “No one should have to suffer alone.”

Another pause. “You deserve to know this. The Starcourt Crystal is one of the foundations for harmony in this continent,” Will began. “Other kingdoms have their own sacred gems, too. It’s a piece in the network of magic that grew out of the Fifty Year War to prevent more bloodshed.”

Mike listened as he carefully guided his horse over a loose patch of rock on the edge of the path, loose stone falling into the abyss below. “It was stolen?”

“The high priest took it. My mentor. He…he promised to teach me self-control, but did the opposite. He wanted to use me to overthrow my father.”

Mike assumed Will’s nightmares were episodes reliving the horror this cruel man inflicted on him. How alone he must have felt in his pain. “But you took it back?”

“It had to be me. I was the only one who knew where he would go.” Mike sensed Will hesitate. “I don’t want to talk about what happened. But these men who are chasing us were his guard. Loyal just to him. They probably think they can use me and the crystal to still carry out his plan.”

By the past tenses Mike gathered that the priest was dead. “We’re not going to let that happen. I won’t let it. I’m here beside you no matter what, until the end.”

Mike couldn’t see Will behind him, but he could hear his quiet echo. “Until the end.”

***

Night fell on one of the longest days of Will’s life. Mike told him the mountain pass was the shortest route to Hawkins, but no one warned just how slow it would be. He chose to count his blessings, though. The mountain vistas were stunning, snow-capped summits high in the bright blue sky melting into greyish shale and limestone. His horse was calm, handling the perilous route with confidence. And he was with Mike, who endlessly amused him with his awful singing and larger-than-life stories. 

It was almost enough to make him forget why he was here in the first place.

They made camp on a wide ridge where the incline pass leveled to become the decline down the other side of the mountain. He watched the sunset for a bit across the grey-blue horizon, casting a tangerine glow down through the miles of snow and rock. The air felt lighter here, like there was nothing containing it, nothing containing him. The world he knew far below him, and he could float higher and farther, away from every care, tethered only by his paladin. He would leave it all behind if he could bring Mike with him. 

He shouldn’t indulge in daydreams. He knew better than that.

They ate beside the fire Mike built, the same as every meal. Dried turkey and a pile of bilberries Will had collected from bushes along on the mountain road. He knew his first hot meal would feel baptismal. 

Darkness filled the space of orange and blue. They laid out together side-by-side, Will on the mat and Mike on the ground. He had insisted on multiple occasions that they should trade turns on the mat, but Mike refused each time. Will thought he worried far too much about his comfort than necessary.

The brilliant pinpoints of light sparkled across the dark sky. Will laid in awe, his chest rising and falling in sync with Mike’s, admiring how vast and unfiltered night could be up here. 

“How much everyone would change if they could see this,” Mike said, softly.

“Makes me feel tiny,” Will said. “Always has.”

“It’s so different here, though. Nothing blocking the light. Like there’s hope that somewhere we can see anything for what it really is.”

Perhaps Mike understood his daydreams, the urge to fly away into the contextless void. To be seen would be annihilation, the fulfillment of each curse he carried, but it would also be liberation if filtered through the right eyes.

“No wonder you’re a poet,” Will said, smirking. “Always a line at the ready.”

“Shut up,” Mike joked. “You’re such a mood killer sometimes.”

They laid in silence again for a moment, comfortable just sharing space. Will felt like he balanced on the edge of a knife, feet gripping the blade as lightly as possible, wavering between destruction and freedom. If Mike’s eyes were the right ones.

“Hey,” Mike said, whispering. He had propped his head up on his hand, turning his body toward Will.

Will turned toward him, mimicking his position. Mike’s braid was draped over his shoulder, eyes glowing grey-brown in the pale moonlight. He looked so painfully at ease as he studied Will’s face carefully. “Hello.”

“I was thinking. Everything is so silent. There’s nothing here but you and me. Would you want to tell each other secrets?” Mike asked, his mouth turned up in a hopeful half-smile.

“Maybe. What kind of secrets?”

“Any kind you want.”

He felt light as air here. Maybe this was right. “You go first.”

“Hmm,” Mike paused. “I spent three months on a pirate ship once.”

“Pirates?” Will asked, shocked. “What were you doing with them?”

Mike shrugged. “Gambling. Drinking. Much more boring than most stories. I was trying to track down a bounty who was said to have been hiding among them. Worst idea I’ve ever had,” he said, laughing. 

Will smiled. “I’m glad you didn’t make a habit of it.” He decided to rip the bandages right off. “I don’t want to be a prince anymore.”

Mike laughed. “Be serious.”

“I am,” Will insisted. “All of it. My father, the violence, how false everyone is. I just want something different from life.”

Mike was silent for a moment. “A lot of people would kill for the things you must own.”

“They can have them. You know by now that’s not me.”

“You’re deserve better,” Mike said. “I hope you make it out of there.”

Will longed for Mike’s words to be true, but he knew it was far easier said than done. “Your turn.”

He watched as the gears turned behind Mike’s eyes, as if he debated something in his mind. He studied the constellations of freckles that littered his cheeks, as beautiful as the jewels above. “Do you want to know why I left home?”

“Sure.”

Mike sighed. “My father was a drunk. Useless. Stumbled around herding sheep and trying not to trample his potato patches. My mother spent all her time trying to pick up the pieces of his failures. So I was hardly ever home, usually spending time with my friends or helping with odd jobs around the town.”

Will was reminded of his own father’s emotional absence from his life. “That must have been hard.”

“It wasn’t awful. But when I was seventeen, my father finally decided to grow a backbone. There was a boy visiting his grandmother in the village, just a year older than me. Brightest blond hair and green eyes you’ve ever seen. He asked me for directions and we stayed friends that summer.” Will saw Mike swallow hard, looking away for a moment before right back into Will’s eyes. “We kissed in the forest once. Away from where we thought eyes could see us.”

Will needed a minute to truly understand what Mike was telling him. Mike, the brave paladin, kissed a boy in the forest once. A boy. Kissed. Will thought his heart might burst.

Mike had evidently read Will’s reaction as something different. “I know it was wrong.”

“No,” Will said, hurriedly. “I’m sorry.”

“I guess we were seen, in the end. When I went home, my father had thrown my belongings into a pile of sheep shit. Said he wouldn’t claim someone like me as his son. My mother never even said a word. I stole one of his horses that night and left forever.”

Will felt like he had stepped out of his body. Never in his life did he think he would meet another like him, but even less so that it would be the knight who saved him. This wasn’t about him, though. “I’m sorry that happened to you,” Will said softly. 

Mike exhaled. “It’s in the past,” he said, forcing a smile. “It’s not really a secret, either. I just wanted you to know, I guess.”

“Mike…” he started, blood draining to his legs. 

“Yeah?”

His heart fluttered in his chest. “I understand what you’re feeling.”

Mike shook his head. “You don’t have to try, I wasn’t begging for sympathy. I just wanted to tell you.”

“No,” Will said forcefully. He closed his eyes for a moment. He wasn’t ready. “I just mean...I know what it feels like to be different. It’s really scary sometimes.”

The right corner of Mike’s mouth tensed. “Yeah,” he said, breathless. “Thanks, by the way. For not being weird about it.”

Will’s eyes widened. “Why would I be?”

“Most people are. It’s not you, I just worry too much.”

Will smiled. “You don’t have to with me.”

Mike grinned, relieved. “Your turn.”

Will’s eyes searched the greyish-black horizon for a moment. He wished he was ready to say the words that echoed Mike’s, but he wasn’t. “You’re my first real friend.”

Mike raised an eyebrow, moonlight twinkling in his eyes. “There’s no way. You’re so…”

“So?”

Mike blinked rapidly, trying to find the right words. “Caring. Perceptive. You listen to everything I say. And I say a lot. You must have friends.”

Will swallowed hard. “Life at court isn’t like anywhere else. Either you play your role or you’re alone. And I chose not to be what others wanted a long time ago. My mother and brother care for me, but they have their own lives. And I’m worth less than shit to my father.”

Mike smiled softly and placed his hand on Will’s shoulder. Will felt himself melt into the firm, comforting touch. “I’m honored to be your first friend, then. And I like you very much exactly how you are.”

Will smiled back, eyes glistening. “Why are you like this?”

Mike laughed. “Like what?”

“So effortlessly kind. You always know the right thing to say.”

Mike shook his head. “I promise you that I don’t. You’re just different. You think you’re cursed, but I think you deserve freedom. And you could have it, if you chose to.”

Will studied his hopeful face, the way his eagerness felt for the first time not like naivete but confidence. “Maybe. I don’t know. I have to bring the crystal back.”

Mike laid back down beside him, admiring the diamond sky again. Will sat up, holding his knees with his arms. He had only known loneliness before, a void not even his mother and brother’s love could fill. Hope was a fire that burned when he held it. But, somehow, he had met someone who forged his fire into clarifying light.

“Thank you. For trusting me,” Will said, looking down toward him.

Mike smiled, eyes soft with tiredness. “We’re in this together. All the way.”

***

The descent journey was far faster and less dangerous than their ascent. The path remained too narrow to ride, but Mike was confident that they could make it out of the mountain pass by noon.

What he worried far more about, however, was an attack in the lowland. There were ten miles of road left from where the mountains ended to the outskirts of Hawkins, and another five at least to reach Hawkins Castle. They would almost certainly be assaulted before they could make it far. He needed to be ready.

That was part of the reason why he decided to tell Will about himself last night. He knew the unpredictability of violence, how life was such a fragile thing, and he wanted someone to know that part of him in case the worst happened. Specifically someone who had grown important to him.

He would keep Will safe, no matter what.

“Look, Mike,” Will said from in front of him. “You can see the city walls from here.”

Mike squinted, holding up his right hand to block out the bright sun. Will had cleaned and wrapped his wound in new bandages. Thankfully infection had not set in. If the worst he walked away with was a scar, he counted himself lucky. 

“Yeah, you can,” he said, making out the grey in the distance. “Looks like a mirage.”

“We’ll be back soon, then.”

Mike knew Will was worried about returning the crystal safely, but selfishly he worried about what would happen after. How their goodbyes would go. Never seeing his companion again. He felt so nervous inside over dying and living and what Will meant to him. 

“Soon,” was all he could muster in response. 

He had been uncharacteristically quiet today, a fact he knew Will must have noticed by now. Will was perceptive enough to know the risks. Mike had learned the hard way, saying too many things he would always regret, that when his mind was overloaded it was better to stay quiet.

An hour later, they finished their decline, stepping into lush green grass. They let their horses drink from a cool stream that curved near the road. Mike watched the ridgeline behind them and the plains ahead of them for any warning signs, but nothing troubling appeared. 

They rode on. The countryside near Hawkins was blanketed with farms, the rolling hills dotted with grazing cattle and hoards of bleating sheep. It reminded him of his family home, the little shack he and his mother, father, and sister shared. The only two left there now were his parents, his father probably passed out bottle in hand, his mother trying to keep things together. Growing closer to Will reminded him of how much he missed his sister. The last he knew she lived in Lenora, across the sea. He’s go see her again, he decided, when this journey was done.

In the quiet of the early afternoon he heard a low rumble. It sounded enveloping, like it came from ahead and behind them. The sound of horses.

“Will,” he said, voice low and serious. “Riders from the north and south.”

Will looked over at him, concerned. “You’re sure?”

Mike nodded once. “Positive. Remember what I told you. You need to survive, it’s not the time for bravery.”

Will just stared back at him, the look in his eye unsettling Mike. 

He scanned the horizon line. The lowland, unlike the forest, provided no cover for Will to hide behind. Fighting together wasn’t a much better option, either. Will had the bow and the dagger, but Mike was unwilling to take the chance. One wrong move could mean the end of everything. 

He was wholly unwilling to ask Will to use his magic, either. The prince feared his fire too much. Suggesting he use it to fight would be a betrayal.

His eye caught a red barn, about a mile away to the west by his estimate. There was a large field of rolling wheat that filled the distance. The sound grew louder now. “That barn, do you see it?”

Will scanned for a minute, then nodded. “Yeah.”

Mike reached out, grasping Will’s upper arm tight in his hand. “I want you to dismount and run as fast as you can to it. The wheat won’t hide you completely but it gives us a chance. Get up in the hay loft and hide. Wait for night to come before you leave.”

Will’s eyes searched his face. “No, I can’t just…”

“Listen to me,” Mike begged. “All of this will be pointless if you don’t. As soon as I give the signal, book it.”

Mike placed his hand on the hilt of his bastard sword. He would need to cover Will’s escape to the west and prevent any pursuers. 

The first of the riders came over the hill to the north, galloping toward them with weapons already in hand. There were three. Mike whipped his head around to count three approaching from the south too. Too many.

“Will,” he said, firm. “Go now.”

Will hesitated, eyes darting across Mike’s face. He dropped from the horse, bow and quiver taut across his back, and ran. Mike felt instant relief, but also a painful twinge of regret that he had likely seen his companion for the final time.

He would guarantee him a safe escape.

Mike swung his horse around to block off the west, shielding Will’s escape route. He withdrew his sword with a flourish, staring down the riders as they approached him in V-formation. He swallowed hard, remembering his sacred oath.

These riders, unlike the last, had no interest in pre-battle discussion. Axes and swords already in hand, bloodlust written across their faces. The world should count itself lucky that these men were not clerics, he thought, for they would have burned humanity to ashes by now.

Mike kicked his horse into a dash to the right, flanking that row of riders. He swung down hard toward the first man, his sword clanging and vibrating wildly as it slammed against the iron axe. The man growled in mindless rage, giving Mike the opportunity to grip one of his throwing knives in his left hand and plunge it into the man’s side, just below his heart.

The axe dropped, his horse whining loudly before bolting from fear. 

Mike had no time to reorient himself before the next riders approached him from both sides, working in tandem to prevent him from dodging their swords. He instinctively leaned back, flattening his body as much as he could, and tumbled off his horse, landing hard on the ground. He rolled back up fast onto his feet, deflecting the left rider’s sword with his own.

He panted hard. He was at a disadvantage now, unhorsed against a contingent of mounted swordsmen. Mike fended him off from all sides, thinking about nothing but his next move. The next slash to parry. The chance of dismounting the next rider. The amount of time he needed to buy Will for his escape. 

A hard cut at his back, a spark that blazed an inferno of pain. He hoped it had been enough. 

***

His chest heaved as he ran, sprinting hard through the stalks of wheat. Will focused his attention on that barn, his one possible refuge. He could make it there. He could protect the crystal.

The clatter of metal stopped him in his tracks, body taut with trembling adrenaline like a deer at a stream, on guard against watchful predators. Some sort of mix of fear and realization. Mike was alone, standing to fight for him against the high priest’s former guard. The vicious, horrible nature of those men unsettled him normally, let alone what they could muster in battle. 

Mike had pleaded with him to choose his own life and the crystal’s safety. Would it be a betrayal to disregard his words and return to his side? Or was leaving him behind to be hurt or killed worse?

Will panted, torn in two directions, slowly falling into the crack that formed between them. The regret of indecision burned in his heart, knowing the doom that could come if he didn’t make a choice.

He heard a loud crash from the direction from which he came. His heart dropped. Mike was in trouble. Mike needed him. If death surrounded him, as he so long believed, perhaps it was better to die next to his companion than alone.

Will ran back.

He charged forward, resolved. All his life he contended with the decimating void within himself, a magnet with unipolar ends that repelled others. He was sensitive, gentle, quiet. Everything a prince should not be. He thought he had found peace in his isolation so long as he could fill his life with his art and his gardens, but meeting Mike granted him a wholly new, recklessly dangerous understanding: he deserved better than what his life had given him thus far. And there were people in this world who could love him for who he was.

He trampled over the wheat stalks as fast as he could, reemerging on the other side at the road again. His blood drained to his feet. Mike was surrounded and on his feet, his back to Will. He parried the blows the men rained down on him, but he was already pushed to his limit.

The high priest’s voice snuck back into Will’s mind. You are what I said you were. A fire-wielding monster, a blaze that would burn away souls. Doubly cursed with the wrong love to give and the wrong power to control. 

But he also remembered the way Mike smiled so brightly when he impulsively gifted him the yellow azalea, the way his own chest filled with light as he laughed along to the paladin’s stories. How Mike had wrapped himself around Will in comfort after his nightmare, firm but gentle. The purifying clarity of his reassurances that Will was never alone with him by his side.

Will exhaled, instinctively clutching his bow in hand as he dropped to a knee. He nocked an arrow, holding it just as Mike had reminded him to a few days ago. Soft words of prayer spoken, asking for the gods’ guiding hand of protection.

The point of the arrow sparked into a flame. He loosed it, darting through the air toward the man who was bringing his sword down toward Mike’s exposed side.

The man stumbled backward, falling to the ground in shock. The arrow had pierced his chest, flames quickly blossoming across his leather armor. Will steeled himself to block out the sounds of his terrified screams, the way the fire consumed him. This was right, Will knew. Fire could be a necessary evil.

Mike’s head whipped around to see him, eyes filled with fear and confusion. Will tried his best to ignore him, firing another arrow to hit another attacker in the side, the force of the blow knocking him from his horse. 

The knight took his chance. The rider to his left was distracted by Will’s sudden appearance in the conflict. Mike popped up from his stance like a spring, bringing his sword up to plunge into his stomach. Will could hear even from his distance the way the man groaned in pain, slumping over his horse after Mike withdrew his sword from his flesh.

Two men left. The rider to the left charged at Will, axe raised. The other dismounted and engaged Mike in intense close combat, the clatter of swords ringing out across the hills. They were too intertwined, so close that he worried he might hit Mike accidentally. Will hesitated to decide which man to shoot. 

He chose to have faith in Mike. He aimed and fired for the rider who galloped toward him, landing the arrow in his arm, firm and true. The man tumbled off, but he stubbornly stood again, fire spreading down his chest. Will hurriedly nocked his last arrow and slammed it into the warrior’s torso, grounding him for the final time.

His eyes flashed to Mike in an instant. Mike had gained the upper hand, disarming the man. He dodged the warrior’s fists and kicked the back of his legs, sending the attacker to his knees. In a show of knightly mercy, Mike plunged his sword through his back and into the man’s heart, ending his life swiftly.

All of Will’s senses felt numb, the adrenaline still flowing hard through his system. He dropped the bow carelessly and stood, walking fast toward Mike. The paladin rose, sword in hand. He turned, a flash of indigo in a flourish behind him, and smiled at Will with such bright relief.

Mike wavered, then fell to the ground. 

Will’s breath caught in his throat. He sprinted to Mike, falling to his knees beside him. He took the paladin in his arms, eyes flashing across his body for signs of wounds. Mike laughed softly, the radiant sunlight of midday glowing across his face. 

Will felt warmth on his hand. He raised it to find it covered in dark crimson ink, Mike’s lifeblood painted on his skin. Will choked, his eyes immediately filling with tears. 

He had been too late. He had failed. Death truly, irrevocably, eternally surrounded him, his curses spreading like smallpox. He was exactly what his father and the high priest and every man who ever laid eyes on him believed him to be. 

“Don’t cry,” Mike said, coughing. Will was sickened by his calm expression and the softness of his voice. “It’s okay, Will.”

“You’re…you’re,” Will stumbled over his words, holding Mike tighter in his arms. He scrambled to know what to do. The wound was slashed across his back and side, blood flowing down his legs. Mike had already lost so much of his life force, and it was all because he had run when he knew he shouldn’t have. He should never have left him.

“It’s okay,” Mike repeated. “You’re safe. I kept my oath.”

Will’s throat seized, the tears on his cheeks dripping onto Mike’s face and neck below him. “No,” Will cried, his words cracking. “You’re not okay. You…you…I don’t want to be without you.”

He pressed his face to Mike’s chest, sobbing. The coolness of the metal plating was sharp against his flushed, fevered cheeks. Every ounce of Will’s inherited sorrow poured forth, a total collapse of himself down to his soul. Mike was innocent. He deserved to live. He deserved to be enveloped by the same love that flowed forth from him so purely. He never wanted his bright, shining self to be reduced to just a cold, grotesque corpse.

Warmth. The warmth that flowed in his veins flooding his left arm unknowingly, down into his hand. He felt a warmth beyond description, somehow like sunbeams filtered through tree leaves. A yellow light glowed from behind Mike’s back, shining from where Will’s hand covered his wound. 

Will raised his head to find his paladin blanketed in a sheet of ethereal gold, glowing the way light does through stained glass. He had no words for the sight before him, confused but strangely consoled. He felt a pull in his chest, energy flowing from him. He melted the sun in his hands and pressed it into Mike.

Mike’s eyes flashed open again, breath drawing in deep. He gazed upon Will, wide-eyed in fear and awe, then upon himself, watching as the golden haze that blanketed him evaporated into the air. 

“What was that?” Mike asked, staring at Will. “Did I…did you…”

Will swallowed hard. “I think I just healed you.”

The ramifications of his words crashed through his core. Had he truly healed Mike? Only clerics of the highest mastery could do something like that, the self-discipline required was long-won and grueling. He turned his paladin on his side. Where there had been a gaping gash before, there was now simply a raised scar. He had sped up the body’s natural process of healing?

He knew not how, but Mike was alive. He had cheated death.

He turned Mike back to look at him again. “You’re okay,” Will said, smiling through new tears. 

Mike half-smiled back, fatigue and exhaustion setting in. “I told you I was. Because I have you.”

Will wrapped him in a hug, holding Mike’s body close to his own. They had survived together. They had saved each other, in the end, a team of two essential parts.

Will never wanted to let go of his paladin again.

***

He awoke in the softest bed he had ever felt. He blinked a few times, focusing his vision. Wood-paneled walls surrounded him, light flooding in through the great window to his right. Paintings decorated the walls, refuges from monotony. He must be in Will’s room in the castle. He could barely remember the ride here, after the battle.

The exhaustion in his bones returned to him again and he wished he was still sleeping. He groaned, wiping his face with his hand. He realized, then, that he wasn’t alone.

“Hey,” the familiar voice said softly. Will was seated next to him, leaning forward to greet Mike. He was dressed in new robes, a lush mossy green adorned with yellow trim. He looked like a proper prince now.

“Hey,” Mike echoed back, sitting up. Will smiled and he felt renewed, the hope in his eyes bright and glowing despite how tired he must be. He looked beautiful. 

“How are you feeling?” Will asked, studying Mike’s face.

Mike turned his head slowly to each side, the bones in his neck cracking. “I’ve been better. But I’m alive. How are you?”

“I’m fine, Mike, don’t worry,” Will said.

“The crystal, it’s…”

Will shook his head, shushing him. “Don’t say a word about that. Not here.”

Mike raised an eyebrow. “But we’re alone?”

“This castle has ears everywhere. Just focus on us right now,” Will said firmly. Mike admired this more confident, assertive side of the prince. “My father has requested your presence in the Grand Hall soon.”

“I’m honored but why would the king wish to see me?”

Will looked away for a moment in thought, then back at Mike. “I had to tell him just enough. That I left to find the High Priest, failed, and was saved by you when attacked on the road. The royal house could not allow the rescue of one of their own to go unrewarded.”

Mike shook his head. “I don’t want an award. I thought your father didn’t care about you?”

Will cleared his throat. “His Majesty could not allow the rescue of one of his own to go unrewarded. Doing so would leave the royal house indebted to you.”

Mike understood the meaning Will passed to him through veiled terms. This was, effectively, a bribe. To buy Mike’s silence and force him to leave without Will. 

“I see,” Mike began. He tossed the bedsheets off of himself, turning to face Will on the edge of his bed. Their faces were so close together their noses were practically touching. Will’s eyes were wider than dinner plates. “I could hardly refuse an audience with the king, could I?”

Will swallowed hard. “The castle maids washed your clothes while you slept. If you want to dress behind the divider,” he said, nudging his head behind him toward a standing set of panels. “I will accompany you to the hall.”

Mike smiled. He stood, stretching to alleviate the pain in his exhausted body. He walked to the divider to find his tunic and pants hung up and his armor laid out neatly, cleaned of dirt and blood. 

He started by unwrapping the bandages around his forearm. That gash also had been healed by whatever magic Will had used to heal him. If he was a liar, he would pretend being filled with golden light hadn’t terrified him, but he had never been good at lying.

“Will, uh,” he started while dressing. “What happened out there?”

A pause. Mike wished he could see Will’s face. “I…I don’t know. I shouldn’t have been able to do that.”

“My wounds aren’t gone, they’re just scars already. Like weeks passed in a moment.”

“I only have one idea right now. I think my fire and the sunlight on your skin might have…melted together. Something like that.”

Mike tried to take this in stride. Will thought he had manipulated sunlight? Like his body had absorbed sun rays the way a plant did to grow, but rapidly. Sunlight to grow.

“Will!” he shouted suddenly, peeking out from around the divider despite still being shirtless. “Your fire, it doesn’t just destroy. You healed me by growing new flesh in my wounds.”

Will’s eyes widened again, thinking over Mike’s realization. “It makes sense but…that should be impossible. Nowhere in any of the books mentions that as an ability.”

Mike tied the collar of his tunic, then began clasping his armor in place. He mourned the absence of his purple-blue cape, likely too soaked with blood to have been salvaged. “Not only those things written down by old men in books are true. But you proved that your power is not just something to fear.”

Will sighed. “Maybe. I think most people would have us condemned to the sanitorium if we told them, though.”

Mike stepped out from behind the divider, placing a hand on his hip. “Unless the ears in the walls have heard us,” he said, smirking. Will rolled his eyes at his sarcasm. “We’ll keep it a sacred secret between us. And find a way to help you understand it better.”

Will nodded, then stood. “Our secret. Gods know we carry enough of them as it is.”

Mike strode over to him, wrapping their arms together at the elbow. “Let us go, then, and meet His Majesty the King.”

Will sighed. “You need to be respectful in front of him,” he started as they passed through the bedroom door and out into the hall. The wood paneling that had left Will’s room feeling so sterile continued here, dotted with fine tapestries and little tables decorated with vases of cut roses. “He is the king.”

“Don’t worry, Your Grace,” Mike said, using Will’s honorific where others could hear. He was still a low-born commoner, after all. “I have no intention of offending His Majesty.”

The hall ended in a great atrium, above which hung a massive wooden chandelier adorned with thick unlit candles. On the nearest wall to the right hung a massive tapestry, depicting a chivalry scene. A blonde maiden wrapped in the arms of a brave, perfect prince. Hagiographic stories royalty told themselves to justify their existence. Rescuing those in need was never as clean or glorious as the stories seemed.

The space felt at once infinite and airless, somewhere someone like him should never occupy. Will, thankfully, oriented him toward the entrance to the Royal Hall. “Kneel before the throne as soon as I stop,” Will informed him quietly. “He will beckon you to rise.”

Mike nodded in acknowledgement. They stood on the threshold of the hall. A single trumpet sounded and they stepped through together, walking into great beams of light that were cast through the stained glass windows to the left. As they approached, Mike noticed the great throne positioned in the middle, occupied by a greyed, expressionless man crowned in gold. To his left and right, in smaller thrones, sat a beautiful woman and a handsome man who both reminded him of Will in different ways. 

Will stopped around ten feet away, dropping their interlocked arms. Mike immediately dropped to a knee, head down. 

The King cleared his throat slowly. “You may rise, Sir.”

Mike rose gracefully, looking directly at the King. He tried to push away his disgust with this man who had caused much of Will’s pain. “I must apologize, Your Majesty. I have never been truly anointed in the eyes of the Gods.”

“My apologies, Father.” Will added quickly.

The King hummed. “I see. We are grateful to you in any case,” he said, voice dripping with disdain. “You brought back our prince.”

Mike glanced to the Queen for a moment, a placid smile on her face. Will had her kind eyes. “It was the least I could do.”

The King gestured to a member of the guard positioned to Mike’s left. The guard carried a modest box, handing it to Mike. 

“A reward for your services,” the King said.

Mike opened the box. Untarnished gold coins were stacked neatly inside. This was the sort of wealth that could last him a lifetime. His memories of childhood flooded back, times when he was forced to sustain himself on stale biscuits and watery stew alone. The smell of sheep shit following him everywhere he went. The biting cold of winter nights when the fire burned out and his blankets were too thin to keep him warm.

He would rather endure all of that again before accepting this blood money.

“You honor me far beyond what I deserve, Your Majesty,” Mike said, closing the box. He looked over to Will, who met him with guarded eyes, then back to the king. “But I am afraid I must decline this gift.”

For the slightest moment the king’s mouth rose in a snarl, then morphed into a false smile. His hand gripped the end of the throne’s armrest. “It is not a gift. It is payment for your services.”

Mike heard Will whisper for him to just accept it, but Mike refused. His honor could not be besmirched by a man such as this king. “Aiding His Grace was not a service, Your Majesty. It was a kindness. I am owed no payment.” He placed the box squarely on the ground in front of him.

“You make a fool of me, and…”

The Queen rose, and so too did the Prince when he saw her. “You might not be anointed, Sir,” she began, interrupting her husband before his frustration could turn to rage. “But you are truly chivalrous. I owe you my gratitude. Thank you for helping my son.”

Mike smiled, bowing to her. “There is no debt owed of any kind, Your Majesty.”

The king rose from the throne and Mike dropped to a knee again. “You may claim your reward or leave it. Good day,” he said, voice flat, hiding his anger. He strode down the steps with Queen and Prince in tow, leaving through the door on the left.

When they were gone, Mike rose again. Wordlessly he intertwined Will’s arm with his at the elbow again and turned to leave the hall. He could feel how the Prince trembled. 

Mike smiled softly at him. “It’s alright. I’m glad I bet correctly.”

Will looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“The strength in your mother’s eyes,” he said. “I bet on it because it mirrors your own. Now we are free.”

Mike hoped what he said was right.

***

Will paced back and forth across the library, hands writhing together in front of him. He dug his fingernails into each other, feeling the minute pain from the skin underneath. He had waited too long already.

Jonathan was late. They had a little spot they’d known since they were kids where they could speak without fear, an old alcove of forgotten books in the dark dungeons of the castle. The one place where they had full privacy. 

He feared for how long Mike was safe here. No one without shrewd cunning made it long at court, let alone someone as blunt and open as Mike. He needed to circumvent whatever his father planned in retribution for the refusal of his bribe. Jonathan was his key to survival, as he always had been.

He heard the door to the library creak open. Jonathan turned the corner around a shelf and stopped dead in his tracks, exhaling. He smiled wide and wrapped Will tight in a warm hug.

“You’re safe,” Jonathan said in a whisper. “I was so worried about you. Mother, too.”

“I’m okay,” Will said, stepping back. “I’m sorry I didn’t come see you right away.”

“It’s been a mess around here lately. I’ve been trying to hold things together, but Father…”

Will exhaled. “I know. Listen. I have it.”

Jonathan studied him for a moment. The semi-circles under his eyes looked a shade darker even than normal. “You have it,” he echoed. “How?”

“I left to steal it back. The High Priest took it,” Will said, omitting the part about the role the priest had tried to force upon him. “He’s no longer a concern.”

Jonathan closed his eyes. “A damned mess this all is,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Will replied. “You don’t deserve to have to pick up the pieces.”

The prince shrugged. “What else can I do?”

Will felt a twinge of regret knowing he had to ask his brother for more. “I need your help, Jonathan. Serious help.”

Jonathan’s eyes filled with concern. “Whatever you need, always.”

Will swallowed. “I want to forfeit my titles.”

Jonathan blinked quickly. “Will,” he said, shaking his head. “Why ask for the one thing I cannot do?”

“This is hardly the first time,” Will said. “You always wanted it for me. And I think there’s a way it can happen now.”

“How?” Jonathan asked, irritation growing in his voice. 

The memory of Mike’s reassurances that he wasn’t alone gave him strength. “The crystal is somewhere only I know. The kingdom is weak without it.”

Jonathan’s eyes squinted. “And you would leave it defenseless?” he asked, anger in his voice. Will knew Jonathan’s responsibilities were often contradictory. 

His stomach filled with intense guilt. “No. I want a trade. The crystal for my freedom.”

Jonathan sighed, looking away for a moment. He ran his hand through his hair. “The knight, did he put you up to this?”

Will’s eyes widened. “What? No. You know me better than that. Mike just…makes me feel stronger.”

Jonathan considered for a moment. “Let me talk with Father and Mother. I will meet you in your garden tomorrow. Coming back here would only draw more attention,” he said, before quickly turning to leave. He always was like that, throwing himself at new issues to handle. 

He turned back again to look at Will, eyes gentler. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

Will smiled softly. Despite his fear, despite the guilt that bubbled black in his core, he had to have faith this was right.

***

In the gardens, Mike saw a whole new side of the prince.

“Look at these!” Will said, shocked. He immediately knelt, holding a pink rose in his hand. The petals were shriveled, like someone had wrung the water from them. “They look miserable.”

Mike laughed. “We can fix that,” he said. 

Will stood, walking beside him to a well. “It’s not just about that.” he said. “They needed me.”

Mike used the rope and pulled the bucket of water up from the bottom of the well. “It just hasn’t rained in a while. They’ll be alright, Will. They’re just plants.”

Will scoffed. “They’re not ‘just plants,’ Michael. Not to me.”

Mike realized the insensitivity of his words as he poured the bucket into a watering can. “I’m sorry. I would never mean to mock you. We’ll get them looking pretty again together.”

Will nodded. They worked side-by-side, watering the patches carefully. The garden was modest, no more than fifteen feet on each side, but abounded with roses of all colors. Lemon yellows and sunset oranges and pale pinks dotted the space, a flourishing of life Will had nurtured with his own two hands. 

Mike learned the hard way that pruning was not his strong suit. “Shit!” he shouted, pulling another thorn from the side of his finger.

Will laughed, the sound filling Mike’s chest with gold. “You have to be more patient,” he said, holding back the rose stem so Mike could try again with the pruning shears. 

“I’m too coarse for this sort of thing.”

“No way,” Will said. “You just have to keep trying.”

Mike turned his head to look at him, their faces painfully close. “You’re stealing my lines now.”

Will smiled, the sunlight in his eyes twinkling. “Oh? But you looked so in need of reassurance.”

Mike playfully shoved Will, sending him falling back on his ass. “Fuck off,” Mike said. “You’re so insufferable sometimes.” They laughed together, the sound filling the garden like a sonata.

A flash of movement to their right. Will’s head turned quickly. “Mike,” he said softly. The paladin turned his gaze to find the prince walking down the path toward them. 

Will stood, while Mike rose to one knee. 

“I’m not interrupting you, am I?” the prince asked softly. 

“No, of course not,” Will replied. 

“Rise, please,” the prince beckoned. Mike did as he was bade, finding a smile on the prince’s face. “Thank you, truly, for all you’ve done for my brother.”

Mike nodded. “It would have been a dark spot on my honor if I had not, Your Grace.”

The prince twisted his hands together before him. He seemed to be even more quiet than Will, less comfortable in his own skin. “I bring news from His Majesty.” He looked straight at Will. “Does your paladin know what you asked of me?”

Mike was confused. “No,” Will said. “I waited until I knew what was decided.”

Will stood a little taller. “Tell me.”

The prince paused, exhaling. He looked like he carried the weight of the world squarely on his shoulders. “Father refused to allow you to forfeit your titles.”

Mike’s eyes widened. That night on the mountain, Will had said he wanted to give up his life as a prince, but truly trying surprised him. Gone was the boy who doubted himself and the importance of his freedom.

“Then I cannot…” Will began.

Jonathan raised a hand to quiet him. “He did agree, upon Mother’s suggestion, that in return for the safe return of the crystal, you could fill a particular vacancy. He would name you royal ambassador to the city-state of Lenora across the sea,” he said, then turning to face Mike. “And he would name you as Will’s Royal Guard, as payment for your services.”

An ambassadorship wasn’t the same as leaving the royal family entirely, but it would ensure Will’s physical freedom from court. And he could keep Will safe from any who might do him harm. Mike had wished for him to leave all his pain behind him, but perhaps that was too much to ask immediately. He hoped Will would choose to be prudent.

The king also, evidently, was hell-bent on paying his perceived debt to Mike somehow. He stood a little taller, knowing he had intimidated a king without even trying.

“He truly will let us leave, just like that?” 

“Upon the safe return of the crystal, you may leave the beginning of next month,” the prince affirmed. “Believe me, Will,” he added, quieter.

Will nodded. A pause, before he exhaled. “I agree, then.” He looked at Mike, eyes guarded. “What do you say?”

“Wherever you go, I follow,” Mike replied, smiling.

Will returned the smile, then back to his brother. “Thank you. I know that was not an easy conversation.”

The side of Jonathan’s mouth tensed. “Just promise me you will go,” he said. “Don’t look back.”

“I promise,” Will agreed.

The prince smiled. “I will leave you to it, then,” he said, before departing the direction he had come.

Will turned away from Mike, head down in thought. Mike knew that this was the greatest hope he had for happiness in his life, but also left him with a lot of uncertainty. He would have to leave everything he had known behind, stepping into the unknown. There was no shame in fearing this sort of change.

Mike placed a hand on Will’s shoulders. The prince faced him again, eyes filled with tears.

“Hey, don’t cry,” Mike said softly. “This is good.”

Will wiped his tears hard with his thumbs, as if to deny their existence. “I know, I just…there’s so much, and I don’t….Gods, I don’t know what I want.”

His hand squeezed the prince’s shoulder gently. “It’s alright, Will,” Mike started. Looking into his glassy green-brown eyes in the new light of freedom gave Mike courage to be the one to step forward first. “Listen. I know we’ve hardly been companions long, but I like you. A lot. And I would love the chance to remain by your side, if you would have me.”

Will’s expression softened, considering Mike’s words. His face illuminated Mike’s dreams in the brightest sunlight. The prince swallowed his tears. “I like you, too.”

Mike grinned. The risk had paid off so far, so he took another step. “Can you stop calling the part of yourself we share a curse, then?” Will looked as if all his thoughts had careened off a cliff into nothingness. “You don’t have to say anything,” Mike added. “Let’s just be as we are.”

Will nodded, flushed in a fear that melted into freedom. For Mike to see him as he truly was didn’t end in annihilation.

“Thank you,” Will said, exhaling. “For giving me a new chance.”

Mike smiled wide. “You made it for yourself. And I’ll never let anyone take it from you.”

Will stepped forward and wrapped Mike in a tight hug, an embrace of warmth that melted the horrors of their pasts into something new. A long road of healing and understanding stretched before them, but they would walk it together. Love was a word said in haste far too often, Mike knew, but he found someone beside which it was alright, at last, to hold hope in his heart. That was enough, after all.