Chapter Text
James had made a colossal mistake.
He should have stayed by Will’s side, damn all the consequences. James never should have left him, but that’s what he did.
James had left, and now Will might be dead, and it would be James’ fault because he hadn’t protected him.
Simon had to know that something happened when James hadn’t returned, and James knew he’d grown restless over the years, desperately wanting to gain power and waiting for His return. Now, Simon had lost his biggest asset. Simon’s prize. Another man might have taken a step back, reconsidered, and taken measurements to regain his overview and guarantee success. But Simon wasn’t a patient man. Arrogant, and convinced of his superiority, he would want to act now, before James’ disappearance became common knowledge. Simon would redouble his efforts to find Will, and when he did, it would end in a bloodbath. Unlike James, Simon wasn’t interested in idle conversations and games, not after all these years of waiting for the Dark King. No, Simon was ruthless. He would kill Will the first chance he got to resurrect Him, and everything would be over.
But Will was clever—more clever than James had given him credit for in the beginning. Will didn’t have to fight Simon, no. To keep the Dark King from rising, Will simply didn’t have to get caught. His connection to the Hall meant he was safe, or as safe as one could be considering the circumstances. James never would have thought he would feel an ounce of gratitude to the Stewards again, but he did. They never protected him, but they would try their best to protect the Blood of the Lady, their saviour.
That knowledge calmed James until he heard of Simon leaving for Bowhill. A move that made no sense and hadn't been planned beforehand; James would have known otherwise. It meant something big was happening when Simon went there himself instead of sending one of his men. A sense of unease filled James. If James hadn’t left, Simon might have sent him, and James would know what was going on. James wasn’t used to being in the dark; he didn’t like it.
To gain more information, James went to one of Simon’s most trusted contacts, ready with a plan to pretend he had never vanished in the first place, but he needn’t have bothered. The man was frantic, nervous, and yapping about Simon’s absence, who had left for Bowhill two days ago and hadn’t returned yet. James had deemed it uninteresting—the man didn’t seem to know anything of importance—until the man mentioned Simon calling for the Remnants and that he had taken the Shadow Stone with him before he had left. James’ posture grew taunt.
“Why did he go to Bowhill with that entourage?” James asked lightly. “Seems a bit of an overkill, doesn’t it?”
Why had he taken the Shadow Stone?
“I don’t know, my lord.” Then he narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Shouldn’t you know why? Come to think of it, why didn’t you accompany him?”
Indeed, why didn’t Simon’s prize accompany him?
With one hand gesture, the man was three feet from the ground, feet uselessly kicking at the air.
“I’m the one who’s asking the questions,” James informed him. “Do I look like I would answer to you?”
“Please,” the man gurgled, and James felt a rush of disgust.
“Why did he go to Bowhill?” James asked slowly, tightening his grip with each word.
"I—he forbade anyone to—”
James didn’t have time for this. Every wasted second made Will’s death more likely. James’ hand tightened to a fist, and the man screamed in agony when his arm broke with a resounding crack.
Will wouldn’t like that, whispered a voice in James’ head.
James ignored it. Will wasn’t here.
“I will not repeat myself for a third time,” James said. “But perhaps you simply didn’t understand me the first two times?” He increased the pressure slightly on the injured arm, and the man screamed again.
Two guards burst into the room, weapons already drawn. They froze at the sight of James, hesitating.
“What are you waiting for? Attack him!”
Slowly, James turned his head and raised a single eyebrow at the guards. Magic cackled like electricity through the room. Without saying a single word, the guards gave their boss one last look, then quickly backed out of the room.
“Did you say something?” James said sweetly. “I think we were interrupted in the middle of you answering my question before I tear you limb from limb, weren’t we?”
Under his invisible grip, James could feel the man shaking. “He wanted to… do something there. Something important. To… to…”
“To do what?” James spat.
“Simon said he would return with your Master. So maybe act a little more humble; I bet He wouldn’t like your attitude,” the man brought out through clenched teeth, eyes shining with pain and fury.
James flung him into the wall, where he landed with a crunch and didn’t get up again. James didn’t turn back when he left. Outside, warm sunlight greeted him, but James was cold.
The logical thing to do was get a horse and ride for the Hall. Would the Shadow Kings be able to break through the Hall’s ancient barriers? More importantly, would James be able to stop them? They should know him as an old ally after all.
No. The logical thing was to get as far away from London as possible, maybe even leaving the country.
It didn’t make sense. Will had no reason to be in Bowhill; he should be at the Hall with his lion and Cyprian. Yet James found himself riding as fast as he could towards Bowhill.
James couldn’t explain why; he just knew.
Will.
His name was a mantra, pulsing through James in the rhythm of the hoofbeats hitting the ground. The scenery around him had turned to a blur.
Will, Will, Will.
There was a small flame of hope that James didn’t dare to nurture, but it still burned bright. Simon couldn’t have killed Will, he just couldn’t. Because if he had, the Dark King would have returned, and James surely would have felt that, right?
He would have galloped past the inn in Castleton if it wasn’t for the horse, he saw out of the corner of his eye. It stood out from the others like a raven in a flock of pigeons. It was taller and more muscular than the rest; it had an all-black coat, a long, flowing mane, and a wavy tail. An old breed. A Friesian, if James wasn’t mistaken.
James stopped. The stallion looked back at him as if he recognised him. James had seen this horse before. He didn’t dare to hope, not yet, but his heart was suddenly thumping against his rib cage like a drum.
As if in a dream, James dismounted and pressed the reins of his horse into the hands of a spluttering stable boy. James stumbled a little after hours in the saddle. Day was slowly changing to night, and James shivered in the cool evening sun. When was the last time he had taken a break?
He felt a twinge of guilt at the exhausted and sweat-soaked state he left his horse in. Usually, James would never have pressed his horse so hard, and he would take care of it himself. But today was not a normal day.
Will.
A handful of copper coins thrown carelessly at the stable boy silenced his protests, and he eagerly led James’ horse to the stables, talking about the great rooms and food they had, but James was already out of hearing range.
He stalked past the innkeeper, who looked shocked at his entrance. It wasn’t a surprise; James’ clothes were probably worth more than the whole house, not to mention that he was alone.
James walked upstairs and, determined, headed for a door at the end of the hall because he just knew...
He stopped with a hand on the door handle.
What if...?
No. There was no time for doubt.
James pushed the door open.
Standing with his back towards him was Will, and for a moment, James forgot how to breathe. James was weak with relief. He hadn't failed; he wasn't too late.
You.
Will turned.
Absurdly, the first thing James noticed was Will’s jacket: all black, made of rich velvet, looking as expensive as James’ clothes. Wasn’t that Simon’s jacket? Why on earth was Will wearing his clothes?
He opened his mouth to ask him just that.
Then James took one look at his face, and the question died in his throat.
Something had happened. Something had happened that had fundamentally changed Will. There was less softness and more hard edges in his face. His cheekbones, always sharp, now looked like they could cut through glass, but what stood out most were his eyes. His eyes had always had that glint in them that made James draw to him like a moth to the flame—a silent call, a soft but demanding pull. Now, his eyes were dull.
Will didn't smile; he didn't cross the room to pull James into his arms; he didn't kiss him. Instead, Will took a step back.
It was all wrong.
“James,” he finally said, and James waited, but nothing else followed.
Will was far too calm for someone chased by Simon and his dark creatures; there was no fear or anticipation, just cold, hard calculation. That meant…
“You did it,” James heard himself say. He saw the evidence of it in front of him, and still, he couldn't quite believe it. “You stopped Simon from returning the Dark King.”
James was free. For the first time in his life, James was free. True freedom, gifted to him by the boy in front of him. Will, the hero of the Light, had saved James, the Betrayer. Freedom. It meant James could do what he wanted, and James knew exactly what he wanted.
But Will still didn't smile; instead, he stilled. It was the complete absence of any reaction that unnerved James.
Don't you see? We can finally be together.
“You shouldn't have come here.” The words hit James like a physical blow. “It's not a good time to be around me.” With that, Will made to turn away.
“You killed Simon,” James said, and Will stopped. “Drew your first blood and got antsy, didn't you? Our dear darling saviour made his first kill and can't cope with it. Did you really think you'd get away with clean hands? You are not special, Will. Get over it.” As always, when he was hurt, James went to attack. “Believe me, darling, the first kill is the hardest. It gets easier after that.”
Will didn't rise to the bait; his face didn't change. “It wasn't just Simon. I killed more than just one of His servants.”
Oh. James blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected that. Was that the reason why Will was being so weird?
“I am also one of His creatures, but I don't think you would hurt me,” James said, trying for a teasing tone.
Will tilted his head. “Won't I?”
James was very close to showing him exactly how outclassed Will would be in a real fight, and yet, for a tiny moment, James saw the crack in his mask.
Hurt. Indescribable pain and despair.
He hadn’t meant to mock him; Will had been serious. Will was afraid of hurting him. The thought was almost laughable, but James couldn’t be any further from laughter. He didn’t want to see Will in so much pain; he wanted the Will back he’d had before. James wanted him to be happy.
James took a step forward, and Will tensed.
James said, “Forget it.”
“What?”
James took another step forward. “Forget what happened there.”
A brittle laugh. “You have no idea what you are talking about. If you knew—”
“Then don’t,” James interrupted him. “Don’t tell me then.”
He was close enough to touch Will, but James didn’t dare to reach out yet. Will looked like a cornered wild animal, not ready to attack but to run away at any second.
“You... you don’t understand,” he choked out.
James shrugged. “Then tell me later.”
“Later,” Will echoed.
“Later.” An invisible finger brushed his chest, and Will gasped. “You are no danger to me. I am more powerful than you are, remember, darling?” James smiled and closed the distance between them. His real fingers touched the fabric of Will’s shirt and came to rest on his shoulders.
“You are,” Will breathed, his hands cupping James’ face. How badly James wanted to lean in and kiss him, but he held himself back. Just a little longer.
James saw the inner fight, the rift in his eyes, what Will clearly wanted, and something that still clawed at him and held him back.
“Whatever happened, I’m sure you did what you had to do to survive,” James reassured him. “Simon and his father... they had a dream of ruling a dark world, and they told me there was a place for me at their side. But I don’t want to follow them.” He looked Will straight in the eye, willing him to see the sincerity of his words. “I am here to follow you.”
Will’s grip fell from his face.
“Follow me.” His voice was faint.
“Yes.” James tightened his grip. “I am here to follow you. I’d follow you anywhere.”
“Of course you are.” And Will… Will laughed. It wasn’t the warm laughter James had begun to love; it was bitter and harsh, even a little mad. James' hands slipped from his shoulders when Will staggered away from him. The room suddenly felt cold.
For the first time, James felt a sense of unease in Will’s presence. The fine hair on his arms stood up, and he had to fight the urge to take a step back. What was happening? This was Will.
Will held one hand in front of his mouth to stifle the laughter. “I’m sorry, I just—” Abruptly, he straightened. “I can’t do this.”
“Will.” James stepped forward again.
“Stop.” The command was so sharp that James froze in his tracks. “Believe me when I say you don’t want to be around me.”
James was starting to lose his temper. To hell with this weird mood Will was in; he had enough of it.
“Don’t tell me what I want,” James hissed. “I don’t know why you are behaving like this, and I don’t care.”
“James—”
“Are you going to send me away?”
“No.” The answer was abrupt, followed by dawning horror in Will’s eyes. “I’d never ask you to leave,” he said slowly. He looked up. “Never.”
You.
A pleasant shudder fell over James. “Well, now that this is settled, can we go back to where we were before?”
“No, I have to—I have to tell you.” Will swallowed. “It would be wrong not to.”
It would be wrong not to. The ultimate conviction in his saviour’s mind.
What an idiot.
“I told you you don’t have to talk about—”
“Listen to me, and if you still want to stay after, I won’t stop you.”
James narrowed his eyes at him and studied him silently, then he crossed his arms. “You are ridiculous. Deal.”
Will nodded and took a deep breath.
“We had decided to flee. If Simon truly needed to kill me to resurrect the Dark King, the best course of action would have been to run.”
“That makes sense,” James said, his voice flat.
“I wouldn’t have left without you.” Accompanying that was a strange smile. “I didn’t want to be on the run again. I had been on the run for my whole life with my mother, and in the end, we were caught anyway. But then I also realised that Simon didn’t have to kill me to return the Dark King.” He chuckled without humour. “The Dark King will be born from the Blood of the Lady. Well, it doesn’t say you have to kill; you just need the blood.”
“And your mother had already been killed; her blood was probably left there.”
“Exactly. But Simon seemed to have come to the same conclusion. So I went to Bowhill to finish this once and for all.”
“You went there by yourself? Are you crazy?”
“That was between me and Simon. I didn’t want to put anyone else in danger.”
“This isn’t just about you!” James hissed. “If you’d failed, the Dark King would have risen, and the world we know would have been doomed. You would have been doomed.”
Will gave him a long, silent look, that awful smile still tugging at his lips.
“I knew I was right when I saw his men patrolling the area. I had to get to our old house and stop him.”
That must have been awful, James thought. Going back to the place where you saw your mother getting murdered to meet the man who had ordered the kill, the man who was after your head as well. All alone. James wished Will would’ve taken him with him.
“You can call yourself lucky that the Remnants weren’t there.”
“They were there.” James could feel the blood draining from his face, but Will didn’t seem to take note of his distress. His voice was strangely toneless.
“How did you…?”
“I killed them.”
I killed more than just one of His servants.
James couldn’t believe it. The Remnants killed everything they touched; they smothered every living being; even nature’s life was burned to ashes and withered by their mere presence. How on earth did Will manage that? “You could kill them because you are Blood of the Lady.”
“Something like that.”
There was a high ringing sound in the back of James’ head.
“Then I found Simon,” Will continued, and for the first time, James desperately wanted him to stop talking. Face blank, words emotionless. He was looking at James, but he also wasn’t, as if he were seeing right through him.
“Simon had the Corrupted Blade with him. He drew it. Black fire erupted, and every living being in miles was annihilated.”
“But you didn't die.”
“No, I didn't. Neither did Simon.” Again, Will gave him this look, as if he were asking him to—
No.
“Fine, so you survived because of your blood, but that doesn't explain how you killed Simon.”
“I’m not a fighter, and neither was he. I used my sword and stabbed him. Simon didn't expect me to survive; it caught him completely by surprise. And why wouldn’t it? It didn’t make sense, and he knew my blood shouldn’t have protected me.”
James shook his head, but Will continued without mercy.
“I am not Blood of the Lady.”
His heart was beating too fast, and his vision grew fuzzy at the sides. The ringing in his head grew louder. “Fine, whatever. Then you are something else, who cares? I—”
“James.” Will had reached in his pocket and held out the Shadow Stone between two fingers. It was so dark that it seemed to consume the light around it; James could feel its power and its hunger, even from a distance. The Shadow Stone, a deathly dark magical artefact that would kill anyone but—
“You are Blood of the Dark King then.” A last attempt to save this. He felt feverish and cold at the same time.
Stop talking, James begged silently.
Casually, Will put the stone back in his pocket. “The Dark King comes from the Blood of the Lady. My aunt had died shortly before my mother got pregnant with me.”
“No.” James shook his head.
“James—”
“No.”
“You can’t deny it; I know that you—”
“Then say it!” James straightened, his chest rose and fell rapidly. He was about to be sick. “Stop being such a fucking coward and say it.”
Will closed his eyes for a brief moment.
The ringing in James’ ears was so loud it should have drowned out the words—James wished they would—but instead he heard them so clearly as if Will had spoken to his soul.
“I am the Dark King.”
Long silky black hair, familiar dark eyes, a finger hooked in the link of the Collar on his neck, pressing him down on a mattress, hungry lips on his. James looked at Will and recognised Him.
Sarcean.
The word rang like a bell; the ringing noise was gone, leaving a terrifying silence behind that was even worse than the cacophony before.
Before James knew it, the Dark King was flung into the wall, crashing against it with a wet thump. James’ arm was outstretched, his fingers splayed. He kept Him there, one ghostly hand on His throat, ready to crush His windpipe with a single thought if He made a move.
The Dark King didn’t look surprised or disturbed by His predicament.
He didn’t struggle, expression apathetic. It was as if He had already surrendered, as if He had resigned himself to the outcome of His possible death.
Manipulation, carefully crafted. It had to be; that’s what all of Him—all of this—had always been. Nothing more than a lie.
James was feeling light-headed.
James should kill Him. Kill Him now before He whispered sweet words in James’ ears again, before He had him under his thumb again. And hadn’t James made it laughably easy for Him? He had basically thrown himself at His feet, begging for a chance to serve his old Master again. So willingly, so pathetic.
Everything in James had turned to ice.
“Did you enjoy it?” James finally asked. His voice was trembling, but he couldn’t suppress it, no matter how hard he tried. “The ground you walked on being worshipped? How they met you with open arms and loved you as their supposed saviour while you killed the Stewards from the inside?”
Did you enjoy fucking me while I didn't know who you were?
Did you enjoy playing with me and making me fall for you?
Did it amuse you?
Did it make you laugh?
“I didn't kill them; I never asked for this to happen.” The Dark King's eyes hardened, and James couldn't find the boy he'd wanted to follow any more in them. Will was gone, like he had never existed in the first place. But, of course, that was the truth. There was no Will Kempen; there was only the Dark King who wore his face. A lie. It would be easier to accept if James didn’t still remember Will’s warm smile, fingers in his hair, soft lips on his skin…
James laughed, a hollow sound echoing in the room. “So I suppose it was a simple coincidence that right after you appeared, almost all of the Light perished? How convenient that must have been for you.”
Hadn’t James wished for this to happen? Shouldn’t he be happy about it? Imagining the demise of the Stewards, who had shunned and tried to kill him when he’d been helpless, had filled James with glee. It had kept him going, giving him something to work for in his darkest hours, but now all James felt was fury and grief.
“That was Simon's doing, not mine. I only ever tried to help them. They saved me; I didn’t want them to die. I didn’t want anyone to die,” the Dark King told him.
James scoffed at the pathetic lie. “Why would the Dark King help the people who dedicated their lives to destroying Him?”
“I didn't know,” He said quietly. “I didn't know until Bowhill.”
“You're lying.” At that, the Dark King's gaze darted sideways. “Since when?”
James tightened the grip on His throat and didn't stop until He was choking, then he kept going. A gurgle emerged from His lips, and His face started turning red, and James still didn’t let go.
“Please,” He rattled, and in this moment, He didn’t look like a king. He looked like Will, and Will looked terrified. He looked like he was dying.
Panic flooded James, and his hold on Him ceased completely. The Dark King collapsed on the ground, a hand pressed against His throat, gasping for air. James held a splayed hand forward, ready to attack. He hoped the Dark King couldn't see him tremble. He felt sick.
James was so so cold.
“Answer the question.” James said over the emerging coughs.
“I didn't lie.” James was going to choke Him again, and this time he would go through with it, even if He looked like him, but then the Dark King continued. His voice was hoarse, and He kept rubbing His throat. “I think a part of me always knew. My mother definitely did, even though she never told me.” At this, He tightened His right hand to a fist, and James prepared himself for the incoming attack, but nothing happened. “I tried to ignore it, to push the evidence away, to try to be who they thought I was. But that part got louder when I met the Stewards and learned about the ancient world, and of course when I...” He stopped.
James forced his chin up, invisible fingers digging hard into the soft skin. “When you what?”
Something flashed in His eyes. “When I met you. It is always the strongest when I'm around you.”
You, you, you.
James bit down on his tongue, hard, but the relieving fresh pain didn’t last when the damage was immediately healed. Something else James had to thank Him for, another loss of control.
“Let's pretend I believe what you say. Why wouldn't you want to accept your legacy? It must have been so hard to find out you are the most powerful man in the world, a king.” And to know your pet was waiting for you and immediately came running, even when it thought you were on opposite sides.
Quietly, the Dark King said, “I am not a king.”
“You are. It's in your blood.”
But father, this is Jamie!
This thing isn't my child, and neither is it your brother. He is and was always the Betrayer; it's in his blood. We have to dispose of him.
“I didn't want this. I didn't ask for this. I never wanted to hurt anyone.”
Word for word, the things James had said himself.
“You hurt me.” It was supposed to be a cutting comment, but instead it came out as pathetic, and James flinched. “Forget it, I—”
“I'm sorry, James. I'm sorry for everything that happened to you because of me. I wish I could take all of it back.”
It hurt. God, it hurt. And these words came from the man who dared to wear Will's face—Will, who he had started falling for—the only person who had treated him like a human being, the only person who had given James hope, who had given him the feeling there might be other options for him.
He hated Him. He loved him.
“I should kill you,” James spat.
A part of him hoped the Dark King would finally reveal His powers and swat James away like the insignificant thing he was. James hadn’t restrained Him again; it should be easy to overwhelm James now.
But He was still on his knees, not even trying to get up.
“Just don’t choke me, please.”
James stumbled back. “I said I was going to kill you.”
“I suppose I deserve it.”
James was in free fall—had been from the moment he’d met the boy in front of him. Now, the ground was approaching quickly. Even before James said it, he hated himself, but that didn't stop the words from coming out of his mouth.
“Have you ever cared about me at all?”
It didn't even sound like an accusation, just like a desperate plea from a child. It was begging. Like so many years ago, when he had asked his father the same words.
At his core, James had always been weak.
And then James readied himself.
No one would ever care about you if they’d known what you were.
Will said, “Of course I care about you. I'll always care about you.” He looked achingly genuine.
The Dark King was lying. He had to be.
He knew exactly what to say and which buttons to push to make James do whatever He wanted. Wasn't it convenient that all His actions still left Him in the best position for more power?
His head told James to kill Him. He would grant the world a priceless favour, the only thing that might free his rotten soul. Killing Him would be the only good thing James had ever done in his miserable life.
Not killing Him would lead to the deaths of hundreds, no, thousands of people.
But his heart screamed at him that this was Will. James had enough reasons to loathe himself, but worst of all, he just wished the Dark King wouldn't have revealed His true identity to him. James wanted to go back to beautiful ignorance, to a world in which everything had turned out better than he had ever hoped for. He just wanted Will back, but Will was gone.
Why did you tell me? James wanted to scream.
It was too much.
The Dark King, Sarcean, Will Kempen.
James was at a crossroads, and he didn't know where to go. He didn't want to choose, but there was no other option, and—
Searing heat at his side, stronger than ever before.
Finally, finally, everything turned quiet, and a sense of calm overcame him.
James knew what he had to do.
Slowly, James reached in his riding jacket and took out a small bundle.
“James? What are you—”
The piece of cloth fell and revealed the Collar, the metal pleasantly hot on his skin. It was eager, almost as eager as himself. James held it towards Him. “Put it on me.”
And how he craved it—craved it more than ever before.
It was all so simple.
The Dark King would put the Collar on him, and James would finally truly be His. All his sorrows would be gone. James wouldn't have to choose between two wrong choices. He wouldn't have to decide anything at all, but he knew he would be happy; he felt it in his bones—a sense of absolute surety. James was at peace.
But why did He look at James with pure horror in His eyes?
“What's wrong, my king?”
“Put that away, James, please.”
James tilted his head. Already, the turmoil he'd been in just a few moments ago was gone; in its stead, a soft and gentle tune of warmth had filled his mind. Why would James ever want anything else? He already loved it, and the Collar hadn't even closed around his throat yet.
“Don't you see, this is how it is supposed to be. How it always was supposed to be,” James explained patiently. “It will bind us together. You can have me like you always wanted. We can be together; we can be happy. Forever.”
His king stumbled to His feet, and James felt a rush of affection. He could be so dramatic at times, but really, this wasn't necessary. He was always carrying the weight of the world on His shoulders, always caring too much.
“James, stop this immediately. It's not real. You don't want this.”
“Of course I want it, and you want it too.” He held out the Collar and smiled when his king's hand twitched towards it.
But then, He shook his head. “I promise you on my life, I will never put the Collar on you. Lay it down, James. Please.”
James hummed. This was a little inconvenient. He hadn't expected such a strong reluctance and quickly began to see it as true resistance instead of playful shyness.
This was a problem, but... James' head flew up.
Of course.
“Don't worry,” James said, but his king didn't relax. He knew James too well. “You don't have to put it on me.”
“Good, then put it down.” He was so tense that James winced a little at the sight.
“It doesn't matter,” James assured him. “It will only work for you, so I can put it on myself. You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”
James lifted the Collar with a bright smile to his throat. Gold touched his skin, and it wasn’t searingly hot anymore; it was warm, and wonderful, and better than James had ever imagined—his mouth opened in a soft sigh, and he trembled with anticipation when he made to close—
A body crashed into him, flinging the Collar away from his grasp. He fell with a loud thump, and James gasped in pain when the back of his head hit the floor. Sitting on top of him, the Dark King was panting quickly, his eyes wide with panic.
“You idiot, what the hell is wrong with you!”
James was staring at Him; his vision was a little blurry but was already turning back to normal. “My king? Won't you accept my services any longer? Did I do something wrong? I will forever be sorry if I have offended you against my better knowledge. Oh Sarcean, I—”
It wasn't the pain, but rather the utter shock of it, that brought James out of it.
The slap hit him so hard that his head was whipped to the side.
James blinked a few times. The Collar was out of his sight; he couldn’t hear its call anymore. Very slowly, James turned his head back to look at the boy straddling him.
James had seen him angry before, but never like this.
Will was absolutely furious.
Eyes burning with fire and wide open, teeth bared, his face had turned white with anger. Will’s fingers curled into the fabric of James’ shirt, grabbing him by the collar and shaking him roughly. He was screaming at James.
James saw his mouth moving but didn’t hear a word.
Will.
James mouthed his name silently, but Will was too busy yelling at him to notice.
Will.
Of course. Of course, it was him. It always had been him.
You.
Everything had changed. Nothing had changed.
They had been fascinated with each other from the beginning: an unexplainable push and pull, mutual desire, and conflicted emotions. They were made for each other.
You, you, you.
The shaking stopped, only for Will to pull James even closer, their noses nearly touching, and finally, the noise returned. Will was still yelling.
“How dare you give up so easily? You want an order? You get one: Never ever do this again. Not for me, not for anyone. It’s not worth it; it’s not even a valuable option, and by god if you—”
Gently, James touched two fingers to his wrist, and abruptly, Will quietened.
James said, “It's okay, Will. I understand.” And he did.
Will looked at him. “Are you yourself again, or will you run for the Collar the moment I let you go?”
James decided not to point out that he could have used his powers to throw Will across the room at any given moment.
“Oh, I don’t mind. Lie on top of me as much as you like.”
The flirty tone did not lead to an exasperated eye roll from Will. James saw the moment realisation hit him, and then Will basically threw himself off him.
“Will.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” He had flushed deeply red. "I'm sorry, James."
“Shut up.” Again, Will closed his mouth immediately, and it didn’t satisfy James like it might have otherwise. There was this terrible look again, and now James recognised it for what it was. Terrible, terrible guilt interlaced with dread.
James said, “I still want you.”
It wasn’t even disbelief or surprise on his face; it was full miscomprehension. He'd made Will speechless. In any other situation, James would have been immensely pleased with himself.
Will had never believed for James to still accept him afterwards, James realised with a sinking feeling in his stomach. Will had told him the truth with the firm belief that James would kill him, accepting and taking his supposed fate without complaint. He hadn’t been cold earlier; it had been only defeat and resigned acceptance of his inevitable incoming death. James didn’t know if he wanted to hit Will or himself more.
After a long moment, Will finally remembered how to speak. “Have you heard anything of what I just said? Or did you suffer a head injury?” And then he looked at James as if he were the crazy one.
What a stupid, stupid idiot.
"Yes yes, you are the Dark King, mass murderer, the destroyer of the world, the one who dragged me into this world, my former Master, et cetera. I know all that, and I still want you.”
Will flinched, and James winced. “Too soon? It was a joke, just a joke, Will.”
“You don't want me.”
“Are you sure? Because I could’ve sworn I said the opposite. Twice.”
“No, you think you want me because of whatever He... I did to you in our past lives.”
“Honestly, you should keep quiet because you are being stupid again.”
“James…” There was so much pain in his voice. Then Will shook his head. “I should leave.”
“Oh, where are we going?” James asked in a fake-cheerful tone and smoothly stepped in front of the door.
Will sighed. “You can't come with me.”
James stalked closer to him, and Will stumbled back, but this time, James didn't let him get away. He jammed a finger against his chest. “Are you done with your pity party then? Or will you actually start listening to me instead of only hearing what you want to hear?”
“I don't want to—”
James continued as if he hadn't spoken. “Yes yes. I imagine you hate yourself quite a lot at this moment, and everything I say is twisted to feed in your self-hatred, but I'm starting to get seriously annoyed, so be a good boy and get a grip on yourself.”
Will's temper snapped. “Can you hear yourself? Don't you see that the only reason you feel this pull is because of the Collar? It’s not real.”
James didn't back down. “The Collar you didn't put on me when you had the chance? Again, I might add? The Collar I hadn’t even seen, and you didn’t know existed, the first time I had you? In the dungeons, remember? You kneeled and sucked my—”
Will threw his hands in the air. “You don't actually want this; you only think you do because I made you believe it.”
“Don’t you dare,” James' voice had grown dangerously quiet, the ice in him growing back with force, “to take away my agency, Will Kempen. I've had enough of this for my whole life, and I will not accept it from anyone anymore, and that includes you.”
Will opened his mouth, closed it, and then settled to look at the floor.
James was breathing harshly until he calmed in the continuing silence. James took a deep breath, and the ice thawed.
“I know how you feel,” James said quietly. Will still refused to look at him, and James wanted to do nothing more than pull Will into his arms and tell him everything would be alright. “You thought you were one of the good ones, destined to fight the dark, cheered and supported by everyone. So much pressure and expectations on you. Until you found out that you weren't destined to be the hero but the monster of the story and that everyone who you thought loved you would turn away from you once they found out the truth—they might even attempt to kill you. And perhaps you even believed you deserved it.”
Slowly, James reached out to tilt his head up. There were tears in Will's eyes. “I know how you feel,” James repeated. “I'd been there many years ago.”
Will shook his hand off.
“You are not a monster,” Will said firmly.
And James nearly smiled. Of course, Will still didn't think about himself for a moment.
That stupid, lovable idiot.
“Neither are you.”
“You know what I have done.”
James scoffed. “In a life we both can't remember? Who cares? Who even knows what really happened, if the stories are true? But does it even matter? You have this life now, and you've only ever tried to do the right thing.”
He shook his head. “Katherine,” he pressed out. “She's dead because of me.”
And there was this haunted, glassy look in his eyes again. James snapped his fingers a few times in front of his face. “Will? Will? Tell me what happened.”
And he did. Will made it sound like a confession.
See how horrible I am? See what I’m capable of?
Silently, James was listening to the end of the horrible confrontation at Bowhill, and James' heart clenched for Will.
“I know this is not what you want to hear, but it's what you need to hear.” James clasped his shoulders carefully. “This is not your fault.”
Will laughed. “Of course it's my fault; she only took the sword because of me and—”
“You didn't make her take the Cursed Blade. You tried to talk her out of it.” James tightened his grip, and he could feel the warmth of Will’s skin radiating through the fabric. “What happened to Katherine at Bowhill was not your fault. She made her choices.”
“Are you saying it's her fault?”
“That she took the sword despite your warnings, yes.” Will opened his mouth to retort, but James continued. “So let's make a list of your so-called crimes. You unknowingly infiltrated the Stewards—thanks for the laugh, honestly—without doing anything but trying to help them. You killed Simon—good riddance—and destroyed the Remnants and stopped the Shadow Kings from attacking Katherine. Then she tried to kill you, and you tried to stop her from killing herself but failed.”
Will blinked rapidly. “You make it sound so easy.”
“Will, of course it's not easy, but it's the truth.”
“You weren't there. Katherine was innocent; she only tried to do the right thing,” he said stubbornly.
“So did you.” James sighed. “Do you know how many people I have killed under Simon and Sinclair? Do you know how many of them were innocent? The blood of how many Stewards I have on my hands? If one of us is a monster, it's me.”
“You are not a monster, James. You did what you had to.” There was no hesitation, no doubt, and he was staring at him so intently with these dark eyes of his. Was Will even aware of how much power a simple look from him held?
“So your rules only apply to yourself but not to me? Hypocrite. Either we are both monsters or not. You can't have it both ways.”
Will sighed. He looked as if he hadn't slept in days. “This discussion is pointless.”
“You only say that because you know I'm right.”
Will scoffed but didn't answer.
“I'm not leaving, Will. Deal with it.” Why was it so hard to get this simple message through his thick skull?
Will closed his eyes. “James.”
“I thought you kept your promises.”
When Will opened his eyes, they were clear. “What?”
“You told me to listen to what happened and that you wouldn't stop me from staying afterwards. I listened. I'm staying.”
James stared him down, unblinking, daring him to deny it.
“Fine.” Will said through clenched teeth after a long silence.
“Don't flatter yourself; if you continue to whine so much, I'll leave. I can leave whenever I want to.”
“Okay,” Will whispered. Ironically, James' threat seemed to reassure him.
“Have you eaten anything?” James asked suddenly.
“I…”
“I'll get us something. Stay here.” James pushed him back until the back of his knees hit the mattress, and Will stumbled on the bed. James briskly walked to the door but turned back once more. “I mean it, stay.”
Without waiting for a reply, he closed the door behind him and walked downstairs.
“Is there any food in this place?” James asked the innkeeper in lieu of a greeting.
“Of course, my lord. We will serve you the finest cut of meat and—”
“See, I'm not here for small talk; I'm here to get food. So how about you do your job and get me two plates?”
The innkeeper pressed his lips together, and without another word, he gave a short bow and disappeared into the kitchen.
James knew he wreaked his ill humour on an innocent person, but Will wasn't with him to chastise him, so James couldn't bother to care.
Still, James left more coins than needed on the counter and carried the plates upstairs himself. His heart skipped a beat when he opened the door. If Will had left after all…
A lone dark figure, head buried in his hands, greeted him. Will hadn't moved at all.
“I brought us food,” James announced unnecessarily. “Here. Eat.”
Will took the offered plate. “Thanks.”
They ate in silence. The food was surprisingly good—a beef roast in a rich, dark sauce with two sick slices of rye bread. James made sure Will ate the whole portion, then took his plate away.
“What are you doing?” Will was alarmed when he saw James unlacing his jacket.
“It's late, and I intend to get some sleep. I had a long day, and so did you. You should sleep as well.” James paused his movements and gave Will a quick once-over. “You look like shit, by the way.”
Will stood up. “You can have the bed.”
James was affronted. “Of course I will have the bed. Do you expect me to sleep on the floor?”
“No, obviously not. I will.”
Will took off his boots and his jacket while James gaped at him. When he made to lower himself on the floor, James was shaken out of his stupor. Unceremoniously, James' magic flared, and Will was dumped on the bed with a little more force than necessary. “James—”
James climbed after him, and Will grew very still.
“You can thank me later for saving you from ruining your back. Don't even think about sleeping on the floor, or I will tie you to the bed.”
Will's lip twitched, and James could feel his cheeks growing warm. “See, this is me ignoring your clear orders and forcing you to do what's best for you. Because I do happen to possess something called free will, and I will never get tired of telling you when you are acting stupid.”
"You will not let this go, will you?"
"Correct. Don’t fight me; you will lose."
Finally, Will relaxed, and James settled as well. They faced each other, barely a hand’s width separating them.
“Come here,” James said in the silence.
Will hesitated.
More softly, “Please.”
Will exhaled with a shudder and finally shifted closer. James reached out to the back of his neck and pulled Will’s head right under his chin, James’ fingers playing with the strands of his dark hair. Will’s breath tickled James’ neck.
Gently, James guided Will's arm to his waist, and James sighed when he felt the steady, warm pressure of Will's hand through the layer of cloth.
“I don't know who I am anymore,” Will whispered against his throat.
“Well, I know who you are.” James tightened his grip, pressing him even closer against him. “You are Will Kempen.”
“One of my many names,” Will muttered.
“I wasn't finished,” James chided, and began stroking his hair once more. “You are Will Kempen, and you are an idiot. That's it, mostly.”
A wet laugh escaped Will, and a burst of affection threatened to suffocate James with the force of it. He coughed.
“They were right when they called you a hero because you seem to think the fate of the world rests on your shoulders and that you are responsible for saving everyone. Your saviour complex is ridiculous. You are kind, honourable, and sometimes exceptionally dimwitted. You are compassionate even to those who don't deserve it.” James' breath caught for a moment, and he swallowed thickly. “My whole life, all anyone’s ever wanted was to possess me. The only one who ever set me free was you.”
Will pulled back to look at him. “Did I?”
“Yes. Even if you are too stubborn to see it right now.” James paused. “Oh, I forgot to mention how stubborn you are.”
Will smiled weakly. “I think that falls under occasionally dimwitted.”
James shrugged. “Fine.” Then he grew serious again. “Promise me you won't leave.”
“Okay.”
“I mean it, Will. Don't. I will find you. I will always find you.”
“Try to run,” Will finished for him, and then he almost smiled. “I don't remember anything about my past life, but sometimes there’s—”
“—a feeling,” James said.
“Yes.” Will blinked slowly. “I won't leave, I promise. As long as you'll have me.”
James pulled him closer again and pressed their foreheads together. “You have no idea about the enormity of the promise you just gave me, don't you?” James mumbled, then he put Will’s head under his chin again. Will shuddered against him.
With a handwave, James extinguished the candles in the room.
“I'm here,” James whispered in Will's hair in the dark. “I'm here with you.” In a silent answer, Will squeezed his waist, and James closed his eyes.