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Chapter One: Steel and Starlight

The banners of House Wheeler hung heavy over the stone walls of Castle Hawkins, their deep blue fields embroidered with silver wheels and crowned lions. They snapped loudly in the late autumn wind. Below them, the courtyard rumbled with anticipation.

Servants hurried with bolts of silk. Stablehands scrubbed the flanks of restless horses until they shone. Soldiers lined the parapets in ceremonial armor polished so bright it mirrored the overcast sky.

Sir Michael of House Wheeler stood among them, silent.

His armor bore the royal crest on the breastplate, less ornate than the other knights. Where his older sister Nancy preferred precision and pageantry, Mike preferred function. His gauntlets were scratched from use and his sword hilt had been worn smooth by practice. He stared toward the eastern road. Two figures stood next to him on the balcony.

“They’ll be here by dusk,” Dustin muttered beside him, adjusting his helmet for the fourth time in as many minutes. He took a moment to examine Mike’s expression before speaking again. “You look like you’re marching to your own execution.”

Mike didn’t look at him. “It’s an alliance.”

“Right,” Lucas scoffed dryly from the other side. “And I’m a duke.”

The horn call sounded in the distance, low and rolling. They had arrived.

 Mike’s spine went rigid. The boys rushed down the main staircase to the front of the castle to greet their guests.

Behind them, the great oak doors of the castle creaked open. Princess Nancy Wheeler stepped forward in a gown of deep sapphire, her hair braided with fine blue thread, their kingdom’s color. She looked every inch the future queen. Her posture replicated her mother: sharp, composed, unreadable.

“You will stand to my right,” she said quietly to Mike.

He nodded once.

“And you will smile.”

Across the courtyard, a ripple passed through the crowd. A young man appeared as the sea of people parted. He did not wear armor. He wore no crown. But every person in the courtyard, including Mike, shifted slightly at the sight of him.

William Byers, Royal Wizard of Hawkins. Magic was an enigma in the kingdom. It had saved the kingdom during the Deep Winter, when crops froze in their fields and something nameless stalked the forests. Will had been fifteen then. He had stood on the castle walls, hands glowing with golden yellow light, and driven the darkness back into the trees. Saving the kingdom came at a price however. His energy had been almost completely depleted, so he had gone away to study higher magic for the summer. Some called him a miracle worker. Others called him unnatural. 

Now he crossed the courtyard quietly, robes dark purple and trimmed with yellow that shimmered faintly, as if catching sunlight that wasn’t there. A silver ring encircled his right hand, likely an enchanted object, Nancy said.

Mike tried not to look at him.

Will’s hair had grown longer since summer, brushing his jaw. His expression was composed yet distant. He reached Nancy first, bowing.

“Your Highness.”

“Will,” Nancy greeted. Her tone softened by a degree only someone watching closely would notice. “I’m sorry my mother and father aren’t here to greet you. How do the gates look?”

“They will hold.” he replied. His voice was steady. Mike forced his gaze forward. Will didn’t greet him.

Another carriage dawned over the hill, dust settling behind the wheels. The windows were covered by banners of crimson and white. Horses draped in embroidered capes. Gold-plated carriage wheels. The kingdom of Lenora.

The neighboring kingdom was wealthier than Hawkins. Larger armies, stronger trade routes, and blah blah blah. But they lacked what Hawkins possessed: 

Magic.

The carriage doors opened and Lady Jane Hopper of Lenora stepped down like something out of a hymn. She wore a long flowing gown, her dark hair braided with tiny pearls. She was beautiful in the way saints were painted. She looked younger than Mike, but maybe that was because of the softness of her expression. Her eyes scanned the courtyard and landed on him. She smiled. Something twisted in his chest.

Nancy stepped away from Will to greet her. “Welcome to Hawkins.”

Jane curtsied, “Princess Nancy. It is an honor.”

Then her gaze lifted to Mike, “And you must be Sir Michael.”

He bowed stiffly. “My lady.”

The words tasted like iron. It was too rehearsed. This wasn’t how he wanted to meet his wife to be.

As he rose, he felt the hum of magic beneath his skin. He didn’t need to look to know Will had moved closer. The boy was radiating with the stuff. Instead he kept his gaze fixed on Jane. Her gaze flickered past Mike.

Will inclined his head politely. “I’m William, my lady. Wizard to Hawkins”

“Lady Jane of Lenora, it’s a pleasure.” She smiled softly before turning her gaze back to Mike. 

Mike and Jane turned back to face the castle, Will following behind them. The courtyard erupted in applause.

The betrothed had met.

The feast that night glittered with the sparkles from champagne and garlands hanging from the castle walls. Long tables sagged under roasted pheasant, sugared figs, and dandelion wine. Musicians played harps and violins in the gallery above while torches burned low and golden against stone walls.

King Ted and his wife, Karen, sat at the head of the table, Princess Nancy sat next to her mother. Mike sat beside his father, with Jane on his right. He answered questions, smiled when required. He did not drink. The rest of the room’s conversation dissolved off into mindless chatter as the silence between him and Jane became increasingly obvious. Mike couldn’t help but notice how Jane looked even more beautiful in the candle light than she had outside. She would smile or fidget with the purple jewels around her neck whenever they made eye contact. She asked about his training. About the forests of Hawkins. About the sea beyond the cliffs.

“You prefer the sword to court?” she asked gently.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because steel was simple and swords didn’t judge. Because when he held one, he did not feel like he was lying," Mike thought.

“I serve where I am needed,” he replied. “My sister is much more competent to the crown than I am.”

Across the hall, Will stood near the pillars, speaking quietly with Lucas and Dustin. He held a goblet but did not drink. Torchlight flickered over his cheekbones. 

He looked beautiful. 

The word struck Mike so hard he nearly choked on a piece of fig.

Beautiful.

He forced his gaze away instantly. Jane noticed.

“Is the wizard a friend of yours?” she asked.

Mike’s jaw tightened. “He serves the crown.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

“He’s been with us since I was a boy. We had a fight a few weeks before he left for the summer. I… I said some stuff to him. He’s probably mad so no, we’re not friends. The two he’s talking with, the bard and the archer, those are my friends.”

Later on, when the feast had thinned and music softened into something slower, Mike escaped to the balcony overlooking the gardens. He had brought Jane to talk to Nancy and Karen so he could have some time alone.

The cold air lapped angrily at his face. He exhaled before leaning over the railing. His eyes made their way to the forest, a moment later a voice behind him made him jump slightly.

“You are avoiding your own celebration.”

He didn’t turn around.

“Go back inside, Will.”

Soft footsteps approached anyway.

The runes hummed faintly along the garden walls, Will’s magic reinforcing the kingdom’s boundaries.

“You don’t have to marry her,” Will said quietly.

Mike barked out a laugh, “That’s exactly what I have to do.”

“You could refuse.”

“And disgrace my house? My sister? My parents? Risk war with Lenora?”

Silence.

Mike gripped the stone railing until his knuckles ached.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

“I could feel you unraveling.”

The words were soft. Mike turned.

Will stood a few feet away, hands folded in his sleeves. His eyes were luminous in the moonlight—dark and deep and terrifyingly perceptive.

“I hate it when you do that.” Mike grumbled.

“Do what?” Will replied.

“That emotional magic bullshit!” Mike snapped. 

Blood rushed to Will’s cheeks. He reached out an arm to apologize but was cut off.

“Don’t,” Mike said.

“Don’t what?”

“Look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“You know what I mean! You act like you still know everything about me, but you don’t,” Mike snapped, stepping closer. “You don’t know what it’s like to be expected to–”

He cut himself off. Will didn’t move.

“I know what it’s like to be something people fear,” he said quietly. “And still have to stand in front of them and smile.”

Magic glimmered faintly like starlight along Will’s fingertips—uncontrolled emotion. Footsteps echoed from inside. Jane appeared in the doorway before Mike could answer, let alone process what Will had just said. He stepped back immediately, snapping back into place. Jane looked between them before focusing on Mike.

“I wondered where you’d gone,” she said softly.

Mike cleared his throat. “Fresh air.”

“Of course. Her majesty would like to talk to you, Mike.”

Her gaze flickered to Will again.

“I’ve never met a royal wizard before,” she added. “Lenora burned ours.”

“I’m sorry,” Will said gently.

Jane studied him like he was something rare and fragile.

“Are you feared here?” she asked.

“Yes,” Will answered simply.

“And respected?”

“Yes.”

She nodded slowly.

“I think that is better than being erased.” she laughed.

Jane stepped closer, offering her hand—not to Mike. To Will.

“I hope we may be friends.”

Will blinked in surprise. Then he took her hand carefully, as though she may turn at any moment and strike him.

“I would like that,” he said.

Mike watched them. He knew, in that moment, that Jane was not his enemy. And that made everything worse.

Later that night, alone in his chambers, Mike knelt before the small chapel altar carved into the stone wall. The carpet protected his knees from the cool wood floors. A single candle burned.

He bowed his head. “Please let the marriage between Jane and I be smooth and peaceful. Let Lenora and Hawkins be strong for time to come.” He paused before finishing his prayer. “Let Will forgive me— so he can serve us without hardship. Amen.” 

Mike blew out the candle and made his way to his bed, allowing himself to sink into the sage comforter and drift off to sleep. 

Outside his window, the runes shimmered softly. Jane was staying in a separate room on the floor below until they were to be wed. Will lay awake too. He observed the memories and trinkets left in his astronomy tower-turned bedroom. It looked like the room hadn’t been touched since late spring. Upon further inspection, Will could tell something was changed, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Will sighed heavily, taking off his purple robes he had thrown on for the feast. He flopped onto his bed, tired from his long day of travel and socializing. He quickly whispered a protection charm for Jane and the royal family before finally going to sleep.

Chapter Two: The Tournament of Vows

In Hawkins, alliances were not trusted until they had been tested in steel.

That was what King Ted liked to say, though it was Queen Karen who ensured the steel was sharp and the alliances sharper.

Three days after Lady Jane ’s arrival, the tournament fields beyond Castle Hawkins were transformed into a spectacle of banners and various decorations. Wooden stands had been erected along the winding hills, draped in the blue and silver of House Wheeler and the crimson of Lenora. Merchants lined the outer edges of the grounds, selling sugared almonds, cider, ribbons, and small carved tokens shaped like swords and crowns. Hundreds from each kingdom swarmed the grounds. It was not merely a celebration. It was a performance.

Hawkins was not the largest kingdom on the continent, nor the wealthiest. Its lands were thick with forest and cliffside, difficult to farm, difficult to invade. What it possessed, what made neighboring rulers hesitate, was magic.

Not an army of sorcerers.

Just one.

Will Byers stood at the northern edge of the field, near the runestones half-buried in the earth. The stones formed a loose circle around the tournament grounds, etched with ancient sigils that glowed faintly beneath the dirt. They were not there for spectacle. They were there because magic, respected though it was, could be unpredictable. Especially when weapons and pride clashed. Magic in Hawkins was a sanctioned force. Recognized by the crown. Regulated by the church. It was feared by the common folk in the same breath they whispered prayers of gratitude for it.

Will had been appointed Royal Wizard at fifteen after the previous court advisor died without an apprentice. Upon the discovery of magic, the role of advisor was replaced. His power had manifested violently when he was a child, storms gathering above his house without warning, shadows bending wrong in candlelight. His mother, Joyce of House Byers, had hidden him as long as she could. The crown had found him anyway. Nancy had been seventeen then, smart for her age and already learning to lead. She had argued before the council that power untrained was more dangerous than power embraced. That Hawkins could either exile its magic or claim it.

House Wheeler had chosen to claim it.

Now Will served the crown directly. He answered to Ted, Karen, and Nancy. He reinforced the kingdom’s runes. He advised in matters arcane and otherwise. He was permitted at council meetings but rarely spoke unless asked. He was both weapon and shield.

And today, he stood in the cold morning light, pretending not to watch Sir Michael prepare for combat. Mike adjusted the straps of his armor near the knight’s pavilion. The Wheeler crest gleamed on his breastplate. He wore no cape; despite his fathers demands. He disliked how they caught on things and threw off his balance.

“Stop scowling,” Dustin muttered, tightening the buckle at Mike’s shoulder. “You’re supposed to look gallant.”

“I am gallant.”

“You look like you’re attending a funeral.”

Lucas snorted from where he leaned against a barrel. “In his defense, this kind of is one.”

Mike shot him a glare, “It is not. No one’s dying. It’s all just for show.”

The tournament had been Queen Karen’s suggestion. A display of Hawkins’ strength for Lenora’s delegation. A reassurance that the kingdom Lady Jane would marry into was formidable, disciplined, worthy of alliance. It was also, whether spoken or not, a display for Jane herself. The future husband proving his worth. Mike’s jaw clenched as a trumpet sounded across the field. 

Princess Nancy took her seat beneath the royal canopy, crown resting lightly against her curls. To her right sat Lady Jane, dressed in white and silver,  her sleeves were fitted for warmth and embroidered with Lenoran roses. Her gaze swept the field with open curiosity. When it landed on Will, who was standing among the runestones, she lifted a hand in greeting. Will hesitated only a fraction before waving back. They had spoken more in the past two days than Mike had spoken to her since her arrival.

The setup of the tournament was simple: mounted jousts in the morning, melee combat in the afternoon. Blunted steel. First blood ended a match. There was no magic permitted. Will pressed his fingers lightly against the nearest warding stone and felt the sigils hum to life under his skin. The field shimmered faintly, an invisible barrier to suppress any arcane interference. He couldn’t use magic here. Will told himself that was why he felt so restless. Definitely not because Mike was about to ride into a field of armed men.

The first jousts passed in flashes of splintering wood and cheers. Knights from Hawkins and Lenora alike tested one another. Horses thundered across the lists. Lances cracked against shields. Jane applauded politely for both sides. When Mike’s name was called, the air seemed to shift.

He mounted his horse in one fluid motion. The animal, a dark gelding named Arrow, pawed at the dirt, eager. Across the field, his opponent lowered his visor. Sir Hammond of Lenora. He was broad-shouldered and experienced.

“A deliberate choice. Not humiliation, but challenge.” Mike thought.

Mike lowered his own visor. From the north, Will’s breath slowed. The trumpet blared. Hooves tore into earth. Wind howled in Mike’s ears. He leveled his lance, muscles locking into instinct. Wood shattered upon impact. The force nearly tore him from the saddle, but he held. Hammond wavered before falling. The crowd erupted. Mike wheeled Arrow around sharply, heart pounding, and dismounted. He removed his helmet, sweat dampening his hair. For a second, his gaze lifted to the royal canopy. 

Jane was smiling, and Nancy nodded approvingly. Something warm and painful bloomed in his chest. He shoved it down. Mike won two more jousts.

By the time the melee began, the sun had climbed higher, burning off the cold air from the morning. The melee was chaos by design. Six knights at once within a roped boundary, last standing declared victor. It was aggressive and violent, exactly what the people wanted from him.

Mike rolled his shoulders once before stepping into the ring. What felt like the hundredth trumpet of the day was blown. Steel clashed. Shields rang. Mike moved on instinct, lunging left, pivoting right. He disarmed one opponent with a twist of his wrist, then quickly ducked beneath another’s swing. A blade glanced off his breastplate, another struck his thigh. The pain was noticeable, but manageable enough that he would fight through. He retaliated harder than necessary.

Across the field, Will’s fingers tightened against the runestone. Magic responded to emotion, and Mike’s emotions were rarely quiet. Frustration, fury, something tangled and desperate.

“Easy,” Will murmured under his breath.

The runes flickered. Inside the ring, one of the Lenoran knights stumbled unexpectedly, as though his footing had shifted beneath him. His swing went wide. Mike disarmed him in a clean motion. “Shit” Will thought.

 The crowd roared approval. Mike was the last remaining. Victor. The herald announced his name, voice booming across the field. Sir Michael of House Wheeler. Jane rose to her feet, clapping earnestly now. Mike pulled off his helmet again, breathing hard. His eyes found Will. There was no mistaking it. He knew, not exactly what had happened but that something had. Will released the runestone slowly and the glow dimmed.

The feast that followed was smaller than the betrothal banquet but no less formal. Mike endured congratulations with stoic nods. Jane approached him as the hall thinned.

“You fought beautifully,” she said.

“Thank you.”

“You fight like someone trying to prove something.”

Mike laughed. “I fight to win.”

“Those are not always the same.”

Before he could respond, Will entered the hall, robes exchanged for a simpler dark tunic. Without the ceremonial layers, he looked younger. Jane noticed him immediately.

“Walk with me,” she said suddenly to both of them.

Mike blinked. “My lady—”

“It is only the inner gardens,” she insisted lightly. “Surely Hawkins is not so dangerous?”

It was not a request she would be denied. The gardens were quieter at night. Moonlight silvered the fountain at their center. Curtains of ivy clung stubbornly to their trellises. Jane walked between the boys.

“I did not know magic could be… restrained,” she said.

Will glanced at her. “It must be.”

“In Lenora, it was eradicated.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “You mentioned.”

She folded her hands in her sleeves. “My father believed it was too volatile to control. Too easily corrupted.”

“And what do you believe?” Will asked.

She was quiet for a long moment.

“I believe anything powerful is dangerous in the wrong hands,” she said finally. “But I have seen what fear does to a kingdom. I do not wish to live in fear.”

Mike listened, something tightening in his throat. Jane stopped walking and turned to Will fully.

“You held back today,” she said.

Will’s pulse skipped.

“The runes did their work. Like you said, my emotions can get in the way of my magic, I didn’t mean to–”

“That is not what I meant.”

“My lady—This is inappropriate,” Mike managed.

Jane studied him.

“I am not your enemy,” she said gently. “I agreed to this betrothal because it secures peace for my people. But I would prefer honesty within it.”

“There is nothing to be honest about,” Mike said too quickly.

Will looked like he wanted to disappear into the bushes.

“In Lenora,” Jane said quietly, “there were things one did not speak of. That did not make them unreal.”

Mike’s chest ached.

“You deserve better than half-truths,” she continued. “Both of you do.”

She stepped away then, giving them space. Mike watched her walk back to the castle. When she was gone, the silence between Mike and Will felt fragile.

“You shouldn’t have interfered,” Mike said finally, voice low.

Will’s head snapped up. “I didn’t mean to.”

“But you did.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t need protecting,” Mike added.

Will swallowed. “I know.”

“Then why?”

“Because sometimes you fight like you’re trying to be hurt.”

Mike stared at him, noticing the moonlight caught in Will’s eyes.

“I missed you.” Mike said, barely audible.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I missed my best friend.” 

Chapter Three: Of Bards and Boundaries

The morning after the tournament arrived quieter than the one before it.

The banners still hung from the battlements, but the crowds had thinned. Merchants dismantled their stalls beyond the outer walls. Knights nursed bruises with prideful silence. The alliance between Hawkins and Lenora had been displayed, applauded, and recorded by at least three scribes. Now came the slower work.

Integration.

Castle Hawkins rose in tiers of gray stone above the cliffs, its oldest foundations carved directly into the rock face overlooking the sea. The lower levels housed servants’ quarters, kitchens, armories, and the training yard. Above them, the council chambers and royal chambers. At the highest tower, slightly apart from the rest, stood the observatory.

And beneath it, the wizard’s study.

Will preferred the lower rooms. He stood now in the circular chamber that served as both library and warding nexus. Shelves lined the walls, filled with scrolls and leather-bound volumes. The air smelled faintly of ink and lavender. At the center of the room, etched into the stone floor, lay a large sigil. When Hawkins slept, the sigil pulsed faintly. When danger approached, it burned.

Will knelt at its edge, adjusting a small silver charm at one of the rune intersections. His magic sparkled lightly beneath his skin, steady and controlled. He had spent years learning the difference between feeling and reacting. Yet he was still learning. Footsteps clattered down the spiral staircase.

“Knocking is a courtesy, not a suggestion,” Will called without turning.

“It ruins the dramatic entrance,” Dustin replied, beaming.

He bounded into the chamber with a lute slung across his back and a satchel at his hip. Unlike most at court, Dustin did not wear a uniform. His tunics were embroidered in mismatched thread, sleeves patched in different fabrics, boots scuffed from travel. Officially, Dustin Henderson held the title of Royal Bard of Hawkins.

Unofficially, he was also courier, intelligence gatherer, morale officer, occasional chaos instigator, and a litany of other titles too long to list.

He had arrived at the castle at twelve, carrying nothing but a broken string instrument and a story so outrageous Queen Karen had demanded he perform it twice. He never left.

“You missed breakfast,” Dustin said, dropping onto a nearby stool. “Again.”

“I was recalibrating the northwestern rune.”

“You say that like it’s a normal sentence.”

Will smiled faintly.

Dustin watched him for a moment, expression softening. “You overextended yesterday.”

Will stiffened. “The runes held, didn’t they?”

“Yeah,” Dustin said gently. “They did.”

Silence settled between them.

Dustin was one of the few who knew how much effort restraint cost.

“So, what’s up?” Will asked, changing the subject. “You didn’t come down here for my dietary habits.”

Dustin brightened immediately. “Correct! I bring news from the kitchens, the stables, and the terrifying network of gossip that is the laundry staff.”

Will sighed. “Go on.”

“Lady Jane is taking riding lessons this afternoon. With Max.”

Will blinked. “Max?”

“Maxine? You haven’t met her yet?” Dustin gasped dramatically. “Scandalous.”

Before Will could ask further, another figure appeared at the stairwell.

Lucas Sinclair descended more quietly than Dustin had.

Lucas was not nobility, but his family had served House Wheeler for generations. His father oversaw the castle’s armory; his mother managed supply records and inventory. Lucas himself held the position of Master of Arms’ adjutant, a title earned rather than inherited. He trained recruits, maintained weapon stock, and advised Nancy on military readiness. And when necessary, fought. Unlike Mike, Lucas had chosen this life.

“You’re late,” Lucas said to Dustin.

“I was gathering critical intelligence.”

“You were flirting with a pastry girl.”

“She has excellent sources! Besides, don’t act like I’m the only one who gets distracted. You’re always hanging out with the cavalry captain.”

“HEY. Do not throw dirt on the Harrington name. Steven actually likes my music.”

Lucas rolled his eyes, then turned to Will. “The princess asked for you at the council this afternoon.”

“Why?”

“Lenora’s delegation wants to review the rune systems along the eastern border.”

Will nodded slowly. “That is… reasonable.”

It was also delicate. Magic was Hawkins’ advantage. Sharing too much could weaken them.

Lucas watched him carefully. “You don’t have to reveal anything you’re not comfortable with.”

Will met his gaze..

“I serve the crown,” Will said.

“And the crown values you,” Lucas replied evenly. “Not just your power.”

The training yard that afternoon smelled of leather and damp earth. Mike stood at the far end, running drills with two younger knights. His movements were precise, controlled. He gave corrections without raising his voice.

He was good at this. At least better at this than at banquets.

Jane watched from the fence, her hands clasped in front of her. Beside her leaned a girl with fiery red hair pulled into a messy braid and trousers instead of a gown. Maxine Mayfield had arrived at court over the summer as part of a trade delegation from the western territories. Her father, a minor noble with more ambition than influence, had hoped proximity to Hawkins’ magic would elevate their standing. Instead, Max had elevated herself. She rode better than half the knights, shot arrows straighter than most soldiers, and possessed a mouth sharp enough to rival Nancy’s.

Officially, she served as Lady Jane’s companion during the Lenoran princess’s stay, appointed by Queen Karen to ensure her comfort and, perhaps, her education in Hawkins’ less rigid expectations. Unofficially, Max had already decided for herself that Jane was worth protecting.

“He always looks like that?” Jane asked, nodding toward Mike.

“Like what?” Max replied.

“Like he’s arguing with someone.”

Jane watched Mike disarm a recruit with efficient grace.

“Yes,” she said softly. “He does.”

Max tilted her head, then continued. “You’re not upset about it.”

Jane considered.

“I think,” she said carefully, “I could be stuck with a much worse husband”

Max studied her face.

“You look at him like he’s a puzzle.”

“Is he not?”

Max snorted. “Everyone here is a puzzle. It’s exhausting.”

Jane laughed softly. Across the yard, Mike caught sight of them watching. He gave a smile to Jane before shifting his focus.

Will stood near the girls, under a tree a few yards away, speaking quietly with Lucas and Dustin. Sunlight caught in his hair. Mike’s grip tightened on his practice sword, he turned away too quickly and took a hit to the ribs for it.

“Focus, your highness” Lucas called dryly.

Mike shot him a glare.

After Mike and the knights had finished sparing, Jane found Will seated beneath an old oak tree, a book open in his lap. Max trailed behind her, curiosity barely disguised.

“May we join you?” Jane asked.

Will looked up, surprised. “Of course.”

Max flopped onto the grass without ceremony. Jane sat more gracefully beside her.

“What are you reading?” Jane asked.

“A book on ley lines,” Will replied. “The natural currents of magic beneath the earth.”

Max squinted at the page. “Thrilling.”

Will smiled faintly. “It is, actually.”

Jane leaned closer, studying the diagrams.

“Your kingdom is lucky to have you,”

“Thank you, Jane.”

Max frowned, bored.

“You should teach me something,” she said abruptly.

Will blinked. “Magic?”

“Yeah. Something small.”

He shook his head lightly. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because magic responds to emotion,” he said. “And control. It requires… understanding.”

Max grinned. “I understand plenty.”

Jane laughed again.

Will felt something ease in his chest.

Across the courtyard, Mike watched them from the colonnade. He told himself he was only ensuring Jane’s comfort. Only observing. He did not examine the sharp twist in his stomach at the sight of her smiling at Will. Or the unfamiliar warmth at the sight of Will smiling back.

He turned away before either of them noticed.

Chapter Four: Things Left Unsaid

The castle was loud in the mornings. Not ceremonially loud, just alive.

Servants arguing in low voices over bread rations. The clang of practice swords in the lower yard. Someone was always running late to something important. The salty wind shoving itself through half-closed shutters and making candles gutter. Mike preferred mornings because no one expected him to perform yet. He was already awake when the sun pushed thin light through his chamber window. He hadn’t slept well. He lay there staring at the ceiling beams, replaying the gardens from two nights ago. Jane’s voice. Will’s face going pale. The way the words had landed between them like a thrown stone.

It would have been easier if she’d been angry.

He rolled onto his side and pressed his forehead into his pillow like that might erase the memory. All he managed to do was waste more time before getting dressed.

Will was also awake too early.

He was sitting cross-legged on the floor of his study, not doing magic, which was unusual for him. The sigil beneath him was dormant, faint lines carved into stone. Quiet.

He liked it when the magic was quiet.

He kept thinking about Mike’s face in the garden. It hadn’t been romantic. It hadn’t been anything, really. Just raw. Will hugged his knees briefly, then dropped his arms like he’d been caught doing something embarrassing. He didn’t want to want things. It made everything harder.

There was a knock at the bottom of the stair. Not a polite one.

“You’re awake,” Dustin called as he climbed. “I can feel it. You have a brooding aura.”

“I don’t have an aura.”

“You absolutely do.”

Dustin appeared holding two cups and shoved one into Will’s hands.

“Tea,” he said. “Before you try to live on pure vibes and anxiety again.”

Will gave him a look but accepted it.

Dustin watched him over the rim of his own cup.

“You and Mike weird still?”

Will nearly choked.

“We are not weird, we’re—”

“Don’t say fine. If you say fine, I’m throwing this tea at the wall.”

Will exhaled slowly. “It’s just… different.”

Dustin softened.

“Different how?”

Will thought about it.

“Like he said he missed me, but things haven’t changed.”

Dustin didn’t push. He rarely did when it mattered.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “That sounds about right.”

Jane learned she hated embroidery. She was good at it, but that didn’t matter. The afternoon light poured into her temporary sitting room, catching on silver thread as she stitched careful roses into a handkerchief she did not care about. Max was sprawled across the floor, chin in her hands.

“If you stab that cloth any harder, it’s going to confess to crimes,” Max observed.

Jane huffed a small laugh.

“I’m thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

Jane set the embroidery aside.

“In Lenora,” she said slowly, “betrothals are celebrated for weeks. Banquets. Blessings. Public devotion.”

“And here?”

“Here it feels like everyone is waiting for something.”

Max rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling.

“They are.”

“For what?”

“For someone to mess it up.”

Jane didn’t smile this time.

“You think I will?”

Max propped herself up on her elbows.

“No,” she said. “I think you’re smarter than that.”

Jane tilted her head.

“And Sir Michael?”

Max hesitated.

“He looks like someone handed him a sword and told him it was a wedding gift.”

Jane stared at her.

“Woah, That’s very specific.”

Max shrugged. “I pay attention.”

Jane folded her hands in her lap.

“He is kind,” she said quietly. “In small ways. He always walks on the outer side of the path. He sends extra bread to the lower kitchens. He apologizes when he doesn’t have to.”

Max watched her carefully.

“But?” she prompted.

Jane looked toward the window.

“But I do not think he sees me.”

The practice yard was muddy from last night’s rain. Lucas was already there when Mike arrived, sleeves rolled up, inspecting a rack of training swords.

“You’re early,” Lucas said without looking up.

“So are you.”

Lucas shrugged. “Someone has to keep this place from falling apart.”

Mike grabbed a blade and began running through forms. Lucas watched for a while before stepping closer.

“You’re overworking your legs,” he said.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Mike stopped, lowering the sword.

Lucas leaned against a post.

“Look, you don’t have to tell me what’s going on with you,” he said evenly. “But don’t take it out on the recruits.”

Mike’s jaw tightened.

“I’m not taking anything out on anyone.”

Lucas raised an eyebrow.

“You nearly broke Morrow’s wrist yesterday.”

“He dropped his guard.”

“He’s fourteen.”

Mike looked away.

“You don’t love her, do you?,” Lucas said quietly.

Mike froze.

“That’s not—”

“You don’t have to,” Lucas cut in. “It’s political.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

Mike didn’t answer. Because the truth was ugly and confusing and didn’t fit into words he was allowed to say.

Lucas studied him for a long moment.

“Just, try not to hurt her, she’s a sweet girl.” he said finally.

Mike’s shoulders sagged slightly.

“I won’t.”

He meant it. 

Will was in the library alcove off the main hall, reorganizing a stack of scrolls Nancy had requested. He liked tasks that didn’t require thinking. He heard footsteps approaching, but didn’t look up right away.

“Do you always hide in corners?”

Mike stood there, no armor, just a simple dark tunic and boots still muddy from the yard.

“I’m not hiding,” Will said.

Mike glanced around the alcove.

“You kind of are.”

Will flushed faintly.

“I didn’t mean to,” Will said suddenly.

Mike blinked. “Mean to what?”

“The melee. The Lenoran knight. I didn’t consciously—”

“I know.”

Will’s mouth closed.

“I know,” Mike repeated, softer.

They stood there, close but not touching.The castle noise felt far away as they spoke.

“I don’t need you to fix things for me,” Mike said.

“I wasn’t trying to fix you. I was trying to make sure you didn’t get hurt.”

Mike let out a quiet, humorless breath.

“That’s not your job.”

Will’s eyes flicked up to meet his.

“No, it’s not” he agreed.

But he didn’t look convinced. Mike shifted his weight.

“Jane likes you,” he said, and immediately regretted it.

Will frowned slightly. “She’s kind.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Will studied him.

“You don’t have to be afraid of her,” Will said gently.

“I’m not afraid.”

“You seem like it.”

“I just– I don’t want to ruin this,” he said quietly.

“Ruin what?” Will questioned

“The alliance. My sister’s trust. Her future.”

He didn’t say anything else, he didn’t have to. Will swallowed.

“You won’t,” he said.

He sounded like he was trying to convince both of them.

From the hallway, laughter echoed, Jane’s, light and surprised, followed by Max’s louder cackle. Both of them turned instinctively toward the sound. They didn’t step away from each other. Silence followed Mike as he turned to leave.

Both boys felt a growing awareness that something was shifting under their feet. But neither of them knew what to call it. 

Chapter Five: The Shape of Devotion

The betrothal ceremony was scheduled for sunset.

Vows were not exchanged lightly. They were witnessed. By the crown, by the court, by the church, and, whether openly acknowledged or not, by the kingdom’s magic itself.

The chapel stood on the western side of the castle, half carved into cliffstone, half built outward in pale gray arches. The sea roared somewhere below it, unseen but constant. It made the stained-glass windows tremble faintly in their frames.

Mike stood at the altar steps and tried not to feel like he was waiting for sentencing.

He wore formal armor today, ceremonial rather than practical. Polished steel chased in silver, the Wheeler crest engraved over his heart. A blue cloak fell heavy from his shoulders. It made him look broader. Older. More certain. He hated it. He did not feel any of those things.

Behind him, candles flickered in long rows. Nobles filled the pews in muted blues and reds. Lenora’s delegation sat to the right, Hawkins’ to the left. Princess Nancy stood near the front, composed and unreadable. Queen Karen’s gaze missed nothing. The High Father of Hawkins adjusted his robes near the altar, expression solemn. And at the far edge of the chapel, near the columns where shadow met stone, stood Will. Close enough to be called if needed. Far enough to not be seen as part of the union.

The doors opened.

Jane entered in a fitted white gown, a long veil trailing behind her like spilled moonlight. Max walked half a step behind her, not in finery but in a dark fitted gown that looked like it had been argued into existence. She caught Mike’s eye briefly and held it, forcing him to look away first. The ceremony began with scripture. Words about unity. Duty. Peace forged through bond.

Mike tried to focus on the sea instead.

When Jane reached him at the altar, she met his gaze without hesitation.

“You look like you’re going to war,” she murmured under her breath as the High Father droned on.

He almost smiled.

“War, alliance, same thing.”

Her lips twitched as The High Father called for hands to be joined. Mike removed his gloves. His fingers felt colder than they should. Jane’s hand slid into his. It was warm and steady. He expected some kind of emotion, panic, clarity, anything. Instead there was just pressure. Skin to skin.

The High Father began the vows and Mike repeated them. Every word correct, every syllable measured. When Jane spoke her vows, her voice did not waver once.

“I bind my house to yours,” she said clearly. “In peace and in protection.”

Protection. The word sat strangely in his chest. When it was done, the chapel filled with applause. Mike leaned forward as expected, brushing a restrained, ceremonial kiss against Jane’s cheek.

It was brief. Chaste. Correct. The alliance was sealed.

The celebration afterward was smaller than the first feast, more controlled. Nobles spoke in low tones about strengthened borders and trade routes. Lenora’s ambassador discussed shipping access along the cliffs. Mike smiled through congratulations like a soldier standing inspection. At some point, he found himself outside. The western balcony overlooked the sea. The sky was streaked in bruised purples and orange, the sun dipping toward the horizon.

“You’re very bad at pretending,” Max said from behind him.

He didn’t turn.

“I’m not pretending.”

She came to stand beside him anyway.

“Right,” she said. “And I’m a nun.”

He shot her a look. Her humor mirrored Lucas’ even after just a few months of being friends. She leaned her elbows on the stone railing, wind tugging loose strands of her hair.

“You don’t hate her,” Max said.

“Of course I don't."

“You don’t love her.”

He went still.

“That’s not relevant.”

“It will be.”

He clenched his jaw. “You’re her companion. Not her interrogator.”

“And you’re her betrothed. Act like it.”

The words hit harder than they should have.

“I am acting like it.”

“No,” Max said sharply. “You’re acting like someone stole your favorite sword.”

Anger flared. It was familiar. Rage was easier than whatever else was under it.

“You don’t know anything about this.”

Max’s eyes flashed.

“I know she deserves someone who wants her.”

He opened his mouth just to close it again. Because he couldn’t argue that. Footsteps approached from inside. Lucas stepped onto the balcony, then paused slightly at the tension in the air.

“Am I interrupting?” he asked evenly.

“Yes,” Mike said.

“No,” Max said at the same time.

Lucas raised an eyebrow.

Max straightened, crossing her arms.

“Tell him,” she said to Lucas. “Tell him he looks miserable.”

Lucas glanced at Mike.

“You look miserable.”

“Traitor,” Mike muttered.

Max huffed.

“I’m going back inside before I commit treason,” she said, brushing past Lucas on her way in.

Lucas watched her go. His expression softened in a way Mike had never seen before. Not obvious, just… quieter.

“Careful,” he muttered.

Lucas shot him a look. “About what?”

“Her.”

Lucas’s mouth twitched slightly. “Oh shut it.”

He left it there and leaned beside Mike at the railing.

That night, long after most guests had retired, Mike found himself walking the lower corridors near the library. He knew better. The door to the wizard’s study was ajar. Light spilled onto the stone floor. He hesitated, then knocked once on the frame.

Will looked up from where he sat cross-legged near the sigil.

“Oh.”

Just that.

Oh.

“You weren’t at the feast,” Mike said.

“I was.”

“Not long.”

Will shrugged lightly. “It wasn’t about me.”

Something in Mike twisted at that. He stepped inside, letting the door fall half-closed behind him.

The room felt warmer than the corridor.

“How did it feel?” Will asked quietly.

Mike frowned. “What?”

“The ceremony.”

The honesty of the question disarmed him. He spoke after a moment, “It just… felt final.”

Will nodded slowly. Silence stretched between them.

“She’s good,” Will said. “Jane.”

“I know.”

“She’ll make a strong queen.”

Mike’s gaze snapped to him.

“That’s Nancy.”

“You know what I mean.”

Yeah. He did.

Mike moved closer to the sigil, standing just at its edge.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he said before he could stop himself.

Will’s breath caught.

“You won’t,” he replied.

Beyond the cliffs, across the sea, and through the forests east of Lenora, forces were already moving. The alliance had been noticed, and not everyone was pleased. The fractures in the system had not yet begun. But the first cracks were there, invisible to most. Not to the wizard, nor to the knight.

Chapter Six: The Arrow in the Dark

The night it happened, the castle smelled like rain and iron.

It had been a week or so since Will’s return and Jane’s arrival. A storm had rolled in from the sea just after dusk, thick clouds swallowed the moon. Wind rattled the shutters. Torches along the walls bent and hissed. The sea below the cliffs roared louder than usual, waves crashing almost hard enough to make the stone tremble faintly beneath their feet.

Storms made Hawkins uneasy.

The older servants still whispered about the winter when the sky had turned dark for weeks, when frost crept over windows from the inside and something howled in the woods beyond the treeline. Will had been fifteen then. He’d stood on these same walls, shaking and furious, and forced the darkness back with magic that had burned through him like fever.

People remembered that. They also remembered how close it had come. Tonight’s storm was natural, but tension hung in the air all the same.

Mike was on watch.

He preferred it that way, patrolling the inner wall when the weather turned ugly. It gave him something to do with his hands. Something to focus on besides the strange hollow feeling that had settled in his chest since the ceremony. He walked the stone path along the eastern wall, rain slicked the stone beneath his boots. Two younger guards trailed several paces behind him, murmuring to each other about who knows what. He paused at the curve of the wall near the old watchtower, one that predated House Wheeler. The stones there were older, darker. The runes were strongest in that direction.

Will had reinforced them three nights ago. Mike rested a hand briefly against the cold stone. It glowed faintly. He didn’t know why, but that comforted him. A flash of lightning tore across the sky. For a split second, the forest below was illuminated, and he saw movement. It was too deliberate to be an animal. His body reacted before his mind did.

“Archers,” he turned to the guards. “North treeline.”

They barely had time to raise their shields. The first arrow hit the stone beside Mike’s head with a violent crack. The second arrow hit flesh.

One of the guards went down with a strangled sound. Chaos followed. Shouts erupted along the wall. More arrows sliced through the rain. Mike drew his sword.

“Shields up!” he yelled.

Another arrow grazed his shoulder, slicing through cloak and skin. Pain sunk its teeth into his skin, hot and sharp. Mike cursed himself for not bothering to put on all his armor. Below, figures emerged from the treeline. It was too dark to see the details of them. Rain blurred his vision. Lightning cracked again, and something slammed into his chest, but it wasn't an arrow this time. Force.

He staggered backward, air punched from his lungs. Across the wall, the runes flared violently.

Magic.

Will woke before the first scream. He didn’t know why. Sometimes he just… knew. The sigil beneath his bed pulsed hard enough to rattle the small objects on his desk. The air felt tight, stretched thin. He was on his feet before he was fully conscious. The second pulse was sharper. Someone was attacking the wards directly. Will jumped, he didn’t have time to bother with proper robes. Just boots and the first cloak he could grab as he ran for the staircase. By the time he reached the courtyard, rain was already soaking through the fabric. Soldiers were shouting. Horns rang from the towers. He felt the direction instinctively.He ran straight to the east wall.

Mike regained his footing just in time to see it. One of the cloaked figures below wasn’t firing arrows. He was looking for something periodically between focusing on the runes. The runes along the eastern wall shuddered again under a directed strike. Fractures of light webbed across the sky like cracks in glass.

“Fall back!” someone shouted.

Mike didn’t move. He could see the damage to the runes. The next strike would do serious damage. Just as the enemy archers began to take their aim, the air shifted, the same way Mike felt it shift the night of the feast when he was out on the balcony. Will stepped onto the battlement beside him, rain plastering his hair to his forehead, eyes already glowing faintly.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Mike yelled, his voice fighting to be heart over the thunder.

“I’m trying to help!”

The arrow strike hit. Will threw his hands forward. The world went quiet. For a split second, everything paused. The rain froze in air, lightning stopped mid-arc. Then the impact landed.

Weapons slammed against Will’s magic. He felt it like his flesh was being torn open. Will desperately fed his own power into the cracks. Mike watched the air in front of them distort, bending like heated glass. He could see both forces colliding. White cracks peeking out of the runes twisted together with Will's golden purple magic in violent arcs.

“Will—” Mike started.

Will didn’t answer. He was shaking. The rain around them began to steam once it touched the floor. Will’s arms strained as he fought against the cracking rune. A gold orb swelled around the rune for a few moments before sending out a wave of energy. The impact sent a shockwave up the wall. Mike lost his footing. Something caught his wrist before he could hit the ground. Will’s magic wrapped around him like a tether, yanking him upright.

“Get back!” Will gasped.

Mike didn’t move.

Instead, he stepped forward, placing himself slightly in front of Will without thinking.

Another shockwave strike hit. The runes screamed, hissing in the wind. Will felt himself fracture, but he couldn’t stop. Not now. He pulled harder. Memories of the dark winter flashed through his mind. He was standing alone on the wall at fifteen, convinced he would die, Mike sitting beside him afterward in the infirmary, refusing to leave even when Will couldn’t stop shaking.

Will poured all of those memories into the rune. The light surged, pulsing violently before dimming into a faint glow. Below, the cloaked figure staggered backward, calling out to the others. The remaining attackers retreated into the forest as quickly as they’d come.

Silence fell across the wall, broken only by rain and heavy breathing. The runes dimmed slowly. Will swayed, Mike caught him this time, returning the favor from just mere moments ago.

“Hey,” Mike said, panic sharp in his voice. “Hey, stay with me. Will.”

Will’s hands were ice cold.

“I’m fine,” he whispered, an automatic response.

Mike knew he wasn’t. There was blood at the corner of his mouth, and dripping down from his nose.

“Lucas!” he shouted. “Get a healer. Now!”

Boots pounded across stone. Will’s head relaxed slightly against Mike’s shoulder.

“I got it,” he murmured faintly.

“I know,” Mike said, voice breaking despite himself. “I know you did.”

He pressed his forehead briefly against Will’s rain-soaked hair without thinking. He didn’t notice he’d done it. Lucas did, pausing before running into the healers quarters. The storm began to move inland, thunder rolling farther away. The attack had lasted less than five minutes, but that had been more than enough.

By dawn, the castle buzzed with a controlled alarm. One guard dead. Two injured. The eastern rune was weakened but intact.

Nancy stood over the fractured section of stone at first light.

“Lenora?” she asked quietly.

Mike shook his head.

“No. The uniform and their weapons were different.”

“A third kingdom,” Lucas muttered.

Nancy’s gaze flicked toward the forest.

“They waited until after the betrothal,” she said.

The alliance had shifted the balance of power. Two kingdoms now had access to magic. Someone had noticed, and clearly didn’t like it.

Mike spent what time he could with Will in the healers quarters. He hadn’t slept.

Every time Mike closed his eyes, he saw that flash of white. He felt the moment Will had nearly collapsed in his arms. They didn’t talk much, and when they did it was Will trying to convince Mike he was fine. Whatever his argument was, Mike stayed anyway. That scared Will more than the attack had.

Later that morning, Jane found Will seated in the infirmary courtyard, a healer finishing wrapping his wrists where the magic had burned faint lines into his skin.

She dismissed the healer gently.

“I’m glad you're okay,” she said once they were alone.

Will gave a small, tired smile.

“For someone who comes from a kingdom without magic, you’re not really afraid of me,” he said quietly.

“I am afraid for you.”

He looked down at his bandaged hands.

“I couldn’t let it break,” he said. “If the rune had fallen—”

“Mike would have been exposed,” she finished softly. “I can’t thank you enough for protecting him.”

Will didn’t say anything for a while.

“For what it’s worth,” she said after a moment, “I am glad you were there.”

He glanced at her.

“And I am glad,” she added gently, “that he was there for you.”

Upstairs, Mike watched them through a window. He didn’t understand the nature of what he felt, only that when Will had faltered, something inside him had gone feral. Whatever fragile boundary Mike had tried to draw between himself and the wizard had shattered in a storm of gold and violet light.