Chapter Text
“Will!”
Mike’s scream tore itself from his throat, raw and desperate.
“No, no, no! Will, please.”
His breath shuddered violently in his chest, his heart racing faster than he thought possible. Pain throbbed through his abdomen where he’d been struck, hot and relentless. He pressed a shaking hand over the wound, blood slick and warm beneath his palm, but he barely felt it.
Not pain, not warm blood, not exhaustion.
He barely felt anything except fear. Fear for Will.
Will.
Everything had gone to shit so quickly. And now, now Will was… Will was… Mike took a shuddering breath. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. His brain only had one mantra, one word, repeating in his mind, spinning like a wheel.
Will, Will, Will, Will.
He tried to push himself up from the ground, but his body refused to cooperate. The world tilted. His vision blurred. Stone and soil scraped against his palms. Somewhere behind him, Dustin and Lucas were shouting, his name, perhaps, or Will’s, but their voices sounded distant, distorted, as though he were underwater. Everything felt far away.
All he could see was Will.
Will stood several feet away, directly before the monster.
Bleeding. Beautiful. Burning.
The world was on fire. The trees were flickering orange, the crackling of flames echoing around the forest. The monster in front of them was burning, too. Everything was burning.
The world was so fucking hot and Mike couldn’t fucking breathe.
Light and fire spilled from Will’s hands in brilliant waves, gold and white and blinding. Magic wrapped around him like a living thing, flickering through the air in violent bursts. His shoulders shook with the strain of it, but he did not step back.
He never stepped back.
He was beautiful. Even now - especially now - he was beautiful. Bleeding and so very close to breaking.
He was magic. Will was magic.
And Mike was terrified for him.
The creature towered over Will, wounded already from the battle, shrieking as fire struck its twisted form. It lunged, and Will answered with more magic, flinging it forward in a desperate, blazing arc.
Will screamed as it tore out of him. As he poured every ounce of his strength into defeating the beast.
The sound broke something inside Mike.
The monster writhed, howling as flame consumed it from within. Mike could see it burning from the inside out. Will had done that. Will was powerful enough to do that.
Will, Will, Will, Will.
The air crackled. The ground trembled. The world seemed to simmer around them. Hot and thick and full of terror.
And then… the screaming stopped.
The creature disintegrated into ash and smoke, collapsing in on itself in a blinding haze until there was nothing left.
Will swayed where he stood. His shoulders slumped and suddenly he looked small.
“Will,” Mike whispered hoarsely, the word catching in his throat.
Will crumpled to the ground.
Mike forced himself forward, dragging his injured body across the forest floor. Every movement sent fresh agony through him, but he didn’t stop. He clawed his way across the distance between them, breath ragged, vision blurring.
Fuck. Gods above, it hurt. It hurt so fucking much. But he needed to reach Will. He needed to hold him. He needed to feel him. He needed to know that he was alive, breathing. Please let him be alive and breathing. Gods above, please.
He reached Will’s side and with a pained scream he gathered him close. Will was frighteningly still. Blood streaked his skin. His lashes lay dark against too-pale skin. The glow of magic was gone.
He looked like a corpse. Mike trembled.
Please no. Please let him live.
“Will,” Mike croaked, voice breaking. “Will, please.”
Tears blurred his vision, the salty liquid running down his face and grazing his lips. He brushed shaking fingers across Will’s face, desperate for any sign, any movement. Something. Something to tell him that Will was alive. That Will was okay.
He needed Will to be okay.
“Please,” he whispered, trembling fingers cupping Will’s cheek. “My love. Please wake up.”
His body trembled uncontrollably. Sobs tore through him, ugly and raw. His face was coated in snot and tears and blood. His wound was still bleeding. He could feel it. But he didn’t care. All that mattered was Will. His Will.
He clutched at Will’s tunic, at his arm, at anything solid.
“Don’t leave me,” Mike begged. “Please don’t leave me.”
The world tilted again. Nausea surged up his throat and he turned, retching weakly onto the ground before pulling Will back against his chest.
He held him there, cradled against his heart as though he could force it to beat for both of them.
His vision darkened at the edges.
Blood loss. Shock. Terror.
He didn’t care.
He pressed his forehead to Will’s and squeezed his eyes shut.
“Please,” he whispered again, softer now. “Please. Darling.”
And as darkness threatened to claim him too, Mike clung to Will with everything he had left, praying to whatever god that might be listening that this was not the end.
*******
3 months earlier
Mike was already dressed and staring out the tall arched window when Will came stumbling into his chambers.
Will’s boots skidded against the stone floor. His sharp breath cut through the quiet, like Will had run the entire length of the castle to get there.
“Sorry, sorry!” Will said, breathless.
Mike grinned as he looked out the window, before he turned to face Will. He raised his eyebrows.
“You’re late,” he accused, trying to be firm, but the smile on his face gave him away.
He could never be angry at Will. Not really.
Will rolled his eyes, hands braced on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. His hair was a mess, more than usual. His black breeches were worn with wear and age, and so were his boots. He was wearing that one tunic with the torn sleeve, the fabric loose at the wrist. It was purple, an old hand-me-down of Mike’s from when the tailor got his measurements wrong.
When Mike had made sure that the tailor got his measurements wrong.
All so that Will, who had never had much and whose tattered shirt was causing Mike physical pain, could get a new tunic without the cost of paying for it. Mike had almost felt guilty about the whole affair when his father had thrown a fit and nearly sacked the poor woman who’d made it, but Will had gotten new clothes out of it without him ever knowing Mike had done it on purpose and that was all that mattered, really.
Will didn’t like feeling pitied.
“I was detained,” Will said, straightening and attempting to smooth his clothes with what dignity he could recover.
“Detained,” Mike echoed, lips twitching into a wider grin. “By what? A tragic inability to wake up on time?”
If Mike knew anything about his friend, it was that he hated early mornings. Not that Will was usually late. If anything, Mike was the one who couldn’t keep up with time and regularly showed up after he was supposed to. Much to his parents chagrin.
Will shot him a look. “By your father’s guards, actually. Apparently, servants aren’t meant to use the east stairwell before sunrise.”
Mike snorted and turned back to the window. “Well, that’s a load of bullshit. You always use the east stairwell.”
Below them, the courtyard was already alive with people. Soldiers drilling in perfect lines, banners snapping sharply in the wind, servants weaving between them with baskets and buckets. The castle never truly slept, but mornings like this reminded him how relentlessly it moved.
“I know,” Will replied. “But I guess the king has changed the rules.”
“Well,” Mike said, “ignore them. The east stairwell is the fastest way between your chambers and mine and I won’t have you going the long way round and being late. I need you here. If anyone has a problem with that, they can talk to me.”
He heard Will swallow. Mike kept his eyes fixed on the courtyard below, even as he tugged at the sleeve of his tunic. He was dressed in more formal wear than usual and he hated it. He’d rather be in his armour or a simpler tunic and breeches. But today, him and his family would be seeing off a delegation that had been staying with them for the last few days and it was expected that Mike would be dressed in his best attire for the occasion.
Will stepped up beside him, close enough that Mike could feel the warmth of him through the narrow space between their shoulders. Will followed his gaze down into the courtyard, his expression shifting into something quieter, more thoughtful.
“You’re up early,” Will said.
“I’m always up early.”
“That’s not true,” Will said immediately. “Last week I had to wake you for-”
“Will.”
He stared back at Mike, unapologetic. “Yes, sire?” he said teasingly, his lips tugging up into a grin.
Mike sighed, though there was no real irritation in it. If anyone else spoke to him like that, there would be consequences. With Will, it felt easier. Like the weight of the crown eased, just a fraction.
He looked over at Will, at his slightly flushed cheeks. He looked tired. Beautiful, but tired.
“You were meant to be here before I woke up,” Mike said. “To bring me breakfast. And help with the cloak.”
Will glanced at the chair where the cloak lay folded, royal blue fabric embroidered with silver thread. For a brief moment, something unreadable crossed his face.
“I’ll make it up to you,” Will said quickly, stepping forward. “Turn around.”
Mike did, relaxing as Will settled the cloak across his shoulders. Will’s fingers were careful as he fastened the clasp at Mike’s collar, gentle and cautious as always. Mike caught his reflection in the mirror. No crown yet, but unmistakably royal all the same.
“You’re quiet,” Mike said. “That usually means trouble.”
“Does it?” Will asked, a little too lightly.
“Yes. When you’re quiet, something’s gone wrong. Or you’re hiding something.”
Mike hated it when Will hid things from him. They were friends. Best friends. But sometimes, he felt like Will was holding back. Because even though they were friends, Mike was still a prince. And Will was still his servant.
Will’s hands stilled for half a heartbeat.
Then he scoffed. “You give me too much credit.”
Mike turned before Will could step away, nearly colliding with him. Will froze, eyes widening for a fraction of a second before his face smoothed into neutrality.
“What?” Will asked.
“Nothing,” Mike said slowly, studying him. “You just look… tired.”
“I am tired.”
“More than usual. Are you okay?”
For a moment, Mike thought Will might say something else, something real. The air between them felt charged, like the moment before a summer storm. It was in moments like these that Mike wished, more than anything, that they were equals. Mike may be a prince and future king of the kingdom, but Will was so much more than just his servant. More than the castle healer's son. More than a peasant.
Will was Mike’s best friend. And had been since they were children. And while he knew his father didn’t approve of the friendship, Mike was never going to give Will up. He needed him.
“Mike-” Will started, then paused.
Mike swallowed. No one else called him Mike. It was always Michael or sire or Your Highness or Crown Prince. But to Will, he was Mike. And something about it tugged at Mike’s chest. He watched Will, the air still charged, waiting for him to say something. Anything.
Then the feeling slipped away as quickly as it had come.
“I’ll survive,” Will said, offering a crooked smile. “I always do.”
Mike wanted to say something else, but Will turned away and crossed to the cabinet where Mike kept the box. The box with his crown. He watched as Will opened it and carefully lifted out the crown - silver, set with blue gems - before walking back towards him.
Will stopped before him, holding the crown carefully in his hands. Mike gazed at him and Will stared back, his eyes softening. Will rose onto his tiptoes as Mike dipped his head, and Will gently settled the crown atop Mike’s curls.
His hands lingered there for a moment, light and warm, before he stepped back.
“There,” Will said softly. “You’re ready, my prince.”
Mike’s breath hitched. He looked back up, meeting Will’s steady gaze. Then Mike smiled, softly, a smile he only ever offered to Will. Will smiled back at him and reached out, fussing slightly as his hands patted and straightened out Mike’s cloak.
A bell sounded in the courtyard below, the signal that Mike was needed. Duty, as ever, calling him.
“Come on,” Mike said, turning toward the door. “If I’m late, I won’t hear the end of it.”
Will fell into step beside him. Like he belonged there, beside Mike, always.
***********
Mike stood beside Nancy and Holly on the courtyard steps, the early morning sun warming the stone beneath their feet, and watched as their parents bid farewell to the latest noble they had attempted to marry Nancy off to.
The man was ancient, at least twice Nancy’s age, and wore a smile that never quite reached his eyes. Nancy had taken one look at him upon his arrival three days ago and made it her personal mission to ensure he would leave as quickly, and go as far away, as possible. She had spoken far too frankly at dinner, laughed too loudly at his stories, and asked pointed questions about his estate that had left him blinking and flustered. By the second night, he had looked vaguely afraid of her.
Now he was leaving with no proposal, no promises, and an expression of strained politeness as their mother clasped his hands and thanked him for visiting.
Mike knew their father would be furious once the gates closed behind the departing entourage.
But Mike only felt relief.
The sooner Nancy married, the sooner she would be gone. Off to live in her husband’s kingdom, far from home, far from him. The thought of it made something tight and uncomfortable settle in his chest. He liked having her here. He liked hearing her laugh echo through the halls, liked knowing she was only a corridor away. Liked having an ally against their father.
If only Nancy could inherit the throne herself. She would have been brilliant at it, better than Mike. She was sharp-witted, fearless, impossible to intimidate.
But she was a girl.
And according to his father’s laws, girls could not inherit.
Which made Mike the heir, whether he wanted it or not.
“He was the worst of them all,” Holly muttered at his side.
Mike glanced down at his youngest sister. At fourteen, Holly was growing too quickly. Longer limbs, quieter smiles, and a new, worrying habit of watching their parents with wary eyes. She had begun to realise, he thought, what the future might hold for her.
Mike nudged her gently with his elbow. “Not as bad as that one noble who was obsessed with insects.”
Holly wrinkled her nose. “Oh gods above. He kept trying to show me that beetle in a jar.”
Nancy snickered. “I still think the man with the moustache and the unhealthy devotion to cheese was worse.”
Mike shuddered. “He smelt like it.”
Nancy laughed outright at that, leaning slightly into Mike’s shoulder. For a brief moment, all three of them forgot where they were, forgot the watching courtiers and the rigid expectations, and were simply siblings again - conspiring, teasing, safe.
Their laughter faded as their father cleared his throat sharply. The sound snapped through the courtyard like a whip.
Immediately, Mike straightened. Nancy smoothed her skirts. Holly stilled. Together, they bowed and curtsied as the visiting noble turned, offered a stiff farewell, and descended the steps to join his waiting guards.
Mike kept his head lowered until he heard the echo of hooves fading beyond the gates.
Only then did he dare to breathe again.
Nancy leaned closer and whispered, barely moving her lips, “I give father a week before he invites another noble to come and visit.”
Mike smiled despite himself. “I give it two.”
“You’re on,” Nancy replied.
Mike spotted Will standing slightly to the side of the courtyard with the other servants, hands folded neatly in front of him, posture just a touch too proper. He blended in easily when he wanted to - head bowed, expression mild - but Mike had never found it difficult to pick him out in a crowd.
He said a quick goodbye to his sisters - Nancy still smirking, Holly squeezing his hand - before making his way over.
“Hi,” Mike said, unable to stop himself from smiling.
Will looked up, surprised for half a second before his face softened in return. “Hello, sire.”
Mike grimaced. “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“That,” Mike said, gesturing vaguely between them. “Being… official.”
It was one thing when Will jokingly called him sire, another when he said it for real. When he acted like a servant. Mike hated it.
Will’s lips twitched. “We’re in public,” he said, his voice soft. “People are watching.”
Mike glanced around the courtyard. The servants were already dispersing, and most of the nobles were too busy whispering amongst themselves to pay them any attention. He leaned in slightly anyway.
“Thank the gods he’s gone,” Mike murmured.
Will snickered, ducking his head. “He was awful. Not that I said anything,” he added quickly. “Since that would, in fact, be treason.”
Mike rolled his eyes and reached out, giving Will’s shoulder a gentle shove. “Nothing you do could be treason.”
Will stumbled half a step from the push, laughing softly, then stilled.
Something crossed his face, quick and unreadable. His smile lingered, but his eyes dimmed just a fraction, like a cloud passing over the sun.
Mike hated that look. Hated that he couldn’t tell what it meant, or why it made his chest feel tight.
“You’re thinking too much again,” Mike said lightly, trying to chase it away. “I can practically hear it.”
Will blinked, then shook his head. “Am not.”
“You are,” Mike said. “You get that crease right here.” He gestured vaguely at Will’s forehead. “Like the world has personally offended you.”
Will huffed a laugh. “Forgive me for worrying about the prince’s reputation.”
“My reputation survives you daily,” Mike said. “It’s remarkably resilient.”
Will smiled at that, properly this time, easy and familiar, and whatever tension had crept in seemed to ease.
“I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment,” Will said.
“You should,” Mike replied.
A bell rang somewhere inside the castle, calling servants back to their duties.
Will straightened instinctively. “We should go and get you changed.” Will reached out, hesitant in a way he only ever was in public, and ran his fingers over Mike’s shoulder. “I know how you hate this cloak.”
Mike nodded, then hesitated. “Will?”
“Yes?”
“I’m glad you were here.”
Will’s smile softened, just a little. “I always am.”
Mike swallowed, then he turned and started to walk away, Will beside him. Like always. Like he should be.
*********
Will was a horrible, awful friend.
Firstly, he was in love with Mike.
Mike, his best friend since childhood, his favourite person in the world. Mike, who laughed too loudly and trusted too easily and looked at Will like he belonged. Mike, who was kind without meaning to be and brave without ever realising it. Mike, who made Will feel safe and wanted and loved. Mike, who didn’t care about their positions or titles and who saw Will as his equal.
Mike. The prince. The heir to the throne. Future king. Paladin. Knight.
Secondly, Will’s very existence was treason.
Magic in Hawkins was illegal. Feared. Hunted. Punishable by death. And Will, well, Will was one of the most powerful magic users there was.
It wasn’t something he had sought out or trained for, not something he had ever wanted. His life would have been immeasurably simpler without it.
But magic had chosen him anyway.
It had chosen his twin sister, El, too, settling into their bones as naturally as breathing, as unavoidable as blood. It pulsed under Will’s skin whether he acknowledged it or not, answering his fear, his hope, his love.
And worse than having magic was having magic and lying about it to Mike.
Because Mike could never know.
Oh, Will knew, without a shred of doubt, that Mike would never hurt him. That Mike would stand between him and the world, between him and his father, crown or no crown. Mike would keep his secret. Mike would protect him. Mike wouldn’t care that having magic was punishable by death. He’d defend and protect and care. When it came to Will, Will didn’t think there was much Mike wouldn’t do for him.
And that was precisely the problem.
Will couldn’t bear to put that weight on him. Couldn’t stand the thought of being the reason Mike had to lie, to choose, to carry a secret that could shatter a kingdom. Mike already had a throne waiting for him like a cage. Will refused to be another set of bars.
So instead, Will hid.
He stayed in the shadows, where servants were meant to be. He did his job as Mike’s personal servant. He whispered spells into dark corners and empty corridors, hands pressed to cold stone as magic hummed obediently beneath his fingertips. He used it carefully, quietly. Always watching, always listening.
He protected Mike from unseen dangers, nudging fate just enough to keep accidents from happening, blades from slipping, tempers from flaring too far. He strengthened his mother’s potions and herbal remedies when no one was looking, coaxing healing where it might otherwise fail. He did what good he could, wherever he could, without ever letting the truth show.
Because loving Mike meant keeping him safe.
And if that meant being an awful friend, a liar, then Will would bear it.
“Why are you sad?”
Will glanced up from the row of glass vials he was sorting on the remedies shelf. He adjusted one slightly so it lined up perfectly with the others before answering. El was watching him from across the infirmary table, rolling strips of clean cloth into tight bandages.
They were alone in the castle infirmary, which was tucked into the quiet corridor that was also home to their family’s quarters. The room smelt faintly of dried lavender and crushed rosemary. Their mother was out in the lower town, tending to patients who could not make the climb up to the castle.
“I’m not sad,” Will said, the denial automatic.
El cocked her head, dark eyes narrowing in that infuriatingly perceptive way she had with him. Sometimes, Will was sure she could read his mind, either because of her magic or because she was his twin.
“Will. Don’t lie.”
He exhaled softly and set the last vial down. There was no point pretending with her. There never had been.
Will crossed the room and dropped into the chair beside her. The wooden legs scraped softly against the stone floor.
“I was thinking about Mike.”
A slow smile tugged at El’s mouth. “Aren’t you always?” she teased.
Will huffed a quiet laugh and nudged her shoulder. “Shut up. My life doesn’t revolve around him.”
El didn’t even try to hide the scepticism in her expression. “You spend all day running about after him as his personal servant,” she said. “Then you spend half the night using your,” she lowered her voice, glancing instinctively towards the doorway, “gifts to protect him.”
“To protect the kingdom,” Will corrected quickly.
“To protect him,” El countered, just as firmly.
Will opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again.
Because she wasn’t entirely wrong.
“You help too. Besides, I’d do it for anyone,” he said eventually, though even to his own ears it sounded weak.
El raised an eyebrow. “Would you?”
Will looked away, picking at a loose thread on the sleeve of his tunic. “He’s going to have to marry someone,” he said quietly.
The teasing fell from El’s face at once.
“Oh,” she said, softer now.
“They’re focused on Nancy at the moment, but Mike’s the future king. And he’s 21,” Will sighed wearily. “They’ll find someone suitable eventually. Someone political. Someone useful.” He forced a small, humourless smile. “Someone who isn’t me. And that’s not to mention my gifts and all the lies I’ve told him.”
El reached across the table and tapped his hand lightly. “You are useful,” she said. “Excessively so.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.”
The infirmary fell into a gentle silence.
“You could tell him,” El said after a moment. “How you feel. And the other thing.”
Will looked at her sharply. “Absolutely not.”
“He adores you.”
“He thinks I’m his friend.”
“You are his friend.”
“Yes,” Will said, voice tightening. “Exactly.”
Before El could respond, the infirmary door banged open hard enough to rattle the hinges.
Max stumbled in, slightly breathless, her red hair half-escaped from its braid.
“I swear,” she announced, “if I have to lace one more bodice today, I’m staging a rebellion.”
El brightened immediately. “You’ve only had to help Holly change twice today.”
“That is not the point,” Max replied, dropping into the empty chair opposite them. “Why do royals need so many layers? It’s so stupid.”
Will’s mouth twitched despite himself.
Max squinted at him. “Why do you look like someone’s just told you the kitchens out of apples?”
“Is the kitchen out of apples?” Will pondered, already dreading telling Mike that his favourite snack wasn’t available and seeing that sad look in his eyes.
“No,” Max huffed.
El leaned back in her chair, entirely unhelpful. “He’s pining.”
Will groaned. “I am not pining.”
“You are,” both girls said in unison.
Max grinned wickedly. “Is this about the prince?”
Will dragged a hand down his face. “I hate both of you.”
“Untrue,” El said sweetly.
“Deeply untrue,” Max agreed.
Will tried to glare at them and failed. The corner of his mouth betrayed him, lifting despite his best efforts.
“Go on,” Max pressed. “What’s he done now? Become even more unfairly handsome?”
“That’s not funny,” Will muttered.
Max and El dissolved into laughter. Will rolled his eyes.
“You didn’t tease El this much when she had a crush on him,” Will huffed.
Max snorted. “That’s because El had a crush on him for one week when we were 12 before she realised that having a crush on His Royal Highness was all kinds of wrong. Prince Michael is a menace.”
Will banged his head on the table. “He is not. Mike is lovely.”
El and Max dissolved into louder laughter, the sound bright and reckless in the small infirmary.
Will wearily lifted his head to look at them, trying and failing not to smile. He opened his mouth to retort when a horn split through the air.
The sound was unmistakable.
All three of them froze.
It wasn’t the call to assembly. It wasn’t a warning of attack. It wasn’t the summons for court.
It was the signal for an execution.
The echo lingered in the air, low and dreadful.
Will’s stomach dropped.
He met El’s eyes. She had gone pale, the colour draining from her face as quickly as his own. Neither of them needed to say it aloud. There were many reasons King Ted might order a death.
But the most common, by far, was the use of magic.
Max swallowed hard, her earlier humour gone entirely. “I should go,” she said quietly. “Holly will need me.”
Holly, like Mike, hated executions. Hated the spectacle of them, the forced attendance, the cold expectation that royal children must learn what disobedience cost and that harsh punishments were needed to rule the kingdom. Max was right. Holly would need someone kind beside her.
Will nodded.
Max hesitated only a moment before slipping from the room, the door closing softly behind her.
Silence pressed in around them.
The horn sounded again, more distant now, signalling the gathering crowd.
“I’m not going,” Will said, his voice low but firm.
El shook her head immediately. “Me neither.”
They had never gone. Their mother never forced them. She said there was enough suffering in the world without choosing to witness more of it. Especially when it was the murder of people like them.
Still, that did not stop the dread.
Will reached across the table and El took his hand without hesitation. Their fingers laced together. Identical hands, identical trembling, identical fear.
Somewhere beyond the castle walls, a crowd was gathering. A pyre was being set alight. Someone was dying, painfully and unnecessarily.
Will shut his eyes briefly.
Magic hummed faintly beneath his skin, restless. Afraid.
He squeezed El’s hand tighter, willing his heart to steady. Willing the horn to stop echoing in his head. Willing the fear to leave him alone.
And, as always when the sound rang out across Hawkins, he prayed, selfishly, desperately, that it was not someone like them being punished for being born different.
***************
Mike pushed his food around on his plate, appetite long gone.
The dining hall was unnaturally quiet. No music. No conversation beyond the scrape of cutlery against porcelain. Even the servants moved more carefully than usual, as though sound itself might provoke something.
Might provoke the wrath of their king.
Across from him, Holly sat stiffly beside Nancy. Holly’s eyes were red and swollen, her lashes still damp at the edges. She kept her head lowered, staring down at her untouched meal.
Nancy was quieter than usual too. Her expression was carefully composed, chin lifted, shoulders straight. She had long since mastered the art of masking her disgust in the presence of their parents.
Mike wished he were half so controlled.
He glanced towards the far side of the room.
Will stood with the other servants, positioned near enough to refill Mike’s goblet or fetch whatever he might require. It wasn’t truly his responsibility, there were servants assigned for that, but Will had never paid much attention to the strict boundaries of his role.
Where Mike went, Will followed.
Not out of obligation.
Out of choice.
It meant more to Mike than he could ever properly explain.
Will caught his eye and offered a small, steady smile. It was meant to reassure.
But Mike saw the tension in his shoulders. The tightness around his mouth. Will, gentle and soft-hearted, hated executions. He hated the cruelty of them. Hated the injustice of it.
Mike dragged his gaze away and looked at his father instead.
Ted ate as though nothing had happened. As though a life had not been taken that very afternoon. As though the stench of it, as though the fear he reigned with, didn’t make the entire kingdom cower.
Something hot and bitter curled in Mike’s chest.
“You didn’t have to execute him,” Mike said suddenly.
Everything stilled. His words hung in the air.
Nancy’s head snapped up. She caught Mike’s eye and gave the smallest shake of her head, a warning.
He ignored it.
“Oh?” his father asked mildly, setting down his knife and fork with deliberate care. “He used magic. Magic is treason. Punishable by death.”
Mike swallowed but held his father’s gaze. “He used magic to heal his dying daughter.”
His father nodded once. “Magic,” he repeated. “Exactly. Which is treason.”
Mike’s hands tightened around his fork. “It’s not as though he was out murdering babies. I don’t think healing someone you love should be a crime.”
“Michael.” His father’s voice sharpened, slicing through the room.
The servants had gone completely still. Watching. Listening.
Across the hall, Will’s posture had changed, subtly, but enough. Alert and ready.
Mike felt it without looking. He could always feel Will, they were weirdly attuned to one another.
“I am your king before I am your father,” Ted continued, voice cold and even. “And you would do well to remember that the law exists to protect this kingdom from corruption.”
“And what about compassion?” Mike asked before he could stop himself.
Nancy inhaled sharply.
For a moment, Mike thought his father might truly lose his temper. Instead, the king leaned back slightly in his chair.
“You are heir to this throne,” he said. “One day you will understand that mercy is a luxury rulers cannot afford.”
The words settled heavily over the table.
Mike’s throat felt tight. Mercy. Slaughtering people with magic for simply being born was evil. Sparing them wasn’t mercy. It was what was right.
He finally glanced towards Will. Their eyes met across the room.
There was something there, fear, perhaps. Or something deeper. Something that made Mike’s chest ache. Will almost looked… proud.
Mike looked back down at his plate.
“I’m not hungry,” he said quietly.
Without waiting for permission, he pushed back his chair and stood. The sound echoed far too loudly. No one stopped him. He walked from the hall without looking back. He didn’t need to.
Will was already falling into step behind him.
*********
“I just don’t understand him!” Mike half-shouted, pacing the length of his chambers as the fire crackled behind him. “How can he justify it? His hatred. His… his murders.”
Will stood in the centre of the room, watching him carefully, as one might watch a storm building over open sea.
“I mean, why does he hate magic so much?” Mike continued, running a hand through his hair, musing up his curls. “Yes, people have done terrible things with it. I know that. People have tried to kill me with magic before.”
You have no idea, Will thought, a familiar chill settling in his chest as he remembered the countless unseen threats he had already extinguished.
“But that man today?” Mike pressed on. “He’d done nothing wrong. And that girl last week, she only used magic to steal strawberries for her little sister. Strawberries.” His voice cracked with disbelief. “Anyone else would have been fined. Or sent to the stocks. But because she used magic, he had her executed.”
His breathing was uneven now, chest rising too fast, anger tipping dangerously towards something more fragile.
Will crossed the room before he could think better of it. He reached up, resting his hands carefully on Mike’s shoulders.
“Mike,” he said softly. “Hey. Look at me.”
Mike swallowed and lifted his head.
Their eyes met.
The anger was still there, but beneath it was hurt. Confusion. A deep, aching sense of betrayal.
“He says it’s about protecting the kingdom,” Mike said, quieter now. “But who is he protecting it from? Fathers? Children? People trying to survive?”
Will’s fingers tightened slightly against Mike’s shoulders, a silent reminder that he was there.
“Fear makes people cruel,” Will said gently. “And sometimes… fear makes them believe they’re right, even when they’re not.”
Mike searched his face. “Do you believe that?”
Will held his gaze. Careful. Measured.
“I believe,” he said slowly, “that you would do it differently. You will do it differently.”
The fire crackled behind them, sparks flaring briefly.
Mike’s jaw tightened. “I will.”
“I know.”
The words hung between them, heavier than they sounded.
Mike exhaled shakily, the worst of the fury draining out of him. He leaned forward without thinking, and Will did not hesitate. He let Mike rest his forehead against his shoulder. Just for a moment.
Mike rested his hands on Will’s waist and Will let his hands slip from Mike’s shoulders and move, one hand coming to rest on the back of his neck, the other slipping into his soft hair.
“I don’t want to become him,” Mike admitted quietly.
Will’s heart clenched.
“You won’t,” he said, certain in a way he rarely allowed himself to be. “You’re nothing like him.”
And as he held the future king in his arms, Will felt the familiar, dangerous pull of magic stirring beneath his skin.
Ready to protect the boy he loved.
Always.