Rebel Warlock's Wizard Mate: M/M Gay Fantasy Romance

by J B Black

  And all at once, he could feel the judgement in their gaze. They scanned him head to toe, calculating the cost of his clothing. Every stitch measured by their gaze found itself wanting, and in unison, they all stepped back, losing interest as they recognized that their lack of familiarity with Ælfweard didn’t come just from the difference in their ages but in their circles. All three left without another word, but the smirk Nicholas offered over his shoulder said enough.

  Unable to study, Ælfweard packed away his materials, returning to the door. His room stood with two beds, but his roommate hadn’t arrived yet. Most of the alchemy students paid for single rooms, but as he had been accepted under scholarship, Ælfweard had to share with another. He hadn’t found out who, and it had been suggested that there might not be anyone in the course who hadn’t paid extra for their own room this year as the only other student not from an affluent family had been given his own room — and now Ælfweard knew why. Rather than finding a roommate to bond over being an out of place student in a course made for the rich and powerful to help ensure that those families stayed that way, Ælfweard would have the extra space of a double bedroom while being once more alone.

  It was fine. Though he missed the constant noise of his siblings, he could adjust to the silence. The single bed held him fine. His years sharing with his younger siblings wouldn’t condemn him to sleepless nights forever. He could adjust.

  Changing into a loose shirt and pants, he walked down the spiraling stone steps to the first year alchemy baths. Gilroy Radcliffe and Timothy Burgundy stood in the doorway, letting the steam billow out around them as the door hung open with their magic, and though Ælfweard only caught the end of the discussion, he easily read between the lines. The dark-haired man in the baths was none other than the warlock in question. A man whose name Ælfweard hadn’t even learned, but who had already made a clear impression from the feigned ease of his body in the bath and the obvious interest in both Gilroy’s and Timothy’s trousers.

  As the two wizards retreated, cursing the warlock under their breaths in words if not by magic for fear of expulsion or the ricochet laws of the academy’s walls, Ælfweard heard the first clear word on the warlock’s name.

  “That Belmont is no more than a salacious upstart warlock whore,” Gilroy spat even as his aura pulsed with his arousal. “I wouldn’t touch him with a ten-meter pole! He’s undoubtedly carrying all sorts of disease.”

  Timothy nodded along even as he shifted his retreating strides to hide his own interest. “No better than a succubus!”

  Rolling his eyes, Ælfweard let them pass as he entered, and the looks of twin disgust at him on their faces told him well enough they had already judged him and found him wanting. Which was fine. Burgundy made a name as a hanger-on, and no one could say Gilroy Radcliffe spent even a second of his time on anyone who had less money than he did unless they kissed his skinny ass. Having no money and spending his time studying rather than ingratiating himself to those wealthier wizards, Ælfweard failed to meet either of those two conditions.

  His conversation with Belmont had hope swelling that he might have a friend after all. Not that he needed one. He intended to focus on his studies, but after being constantly surrounded, the silence might have worn on Ælfweard a bit more than he was willing to admit; however, the looks of curious interest and appreciation William sent his way cut short when he tried to offer the warlock some advice.

  “That...that’s not what I meant,” Ælfweard softly muttered as the door slammed shut, leaving him alone in the baths.

  Flushing, he buried his face in his hands. Warlocks blended well with mortals and most other magic users, but they rarely found themselves in wizard communities which were notoriously secluded. Ælfweard only wanted to help, but he had fumbled his words, angering the warlock, and any hope he had had of the two becoming friends evaporated as quickly as the droplets off the man’s body before he dressed and stormed off.

  And hadn’t that been a sight? Ælfweard blushed for a completely different reason as he recalled the smooth creamy unblemished skin decorated with poles like dark constellations. Three on the warlock’s right upper thigh — just beneath the firm curve of his ass — looked like Orion’s Belt. That backside and the long straight posture would feature in his dreams. Of that, Ælfweard had no doubt.

  Perhaps Nicholas and his friends had been right. Witches had a certain wild beauty, but their male counterparts had the rumors of allure and vice attached to them due to their unusual ability to conceive despite being entirely male in outward appearance until the time came for them to birth. Few spoke of how witches could sire if they so desired. Perhaps women wizards did. Ælfweard never spent much time with any women outside of his family, and from the way his heart thundered in his chest, he questioned if his general avoidance could truly be credited to his studious nature and family values. A man’s form left him wanting, and no matter if William could conceive or not — he was still a man. Tall and broad in the shoulder with a flat chest and the hint of a six-pack to his stomach. His cock hung between his legs with a nest of black hair at its base and well-formed balls beneath it.

  The more Ælfweard considered, the more he found himself certain that he needed to apologize to the warlock. As well-intentioned as he meant his warning, judgment came harshly down upon outsiders in Aelion Academy, and he refused to allow himself to be another in what would likely be a long line of individuals who weighed the warlock down and chased what was undoubtedly a talented magic user from the school.

  Unfortunately, in the week leading up to classes, he only caught glimpses of the warlock here and there about the castle. As quickly as he found him, William vanished once more. Resigned, Ælfweard decided to apologize in one of their classes. They were both alchemy students. William couldn’t avoid him forever.

  Chapter Five

  “I expect promptness,” Wizard McCoy proclaimed from the front of the class as he surveyed the ten first year alchemy students before him. “When I call upon you for an answer, I expect you to stand and present immediately. No hesitating. If you cannot have a firm grasp of a room and yourself, you shall never master alchemy!”

  Every bit of William wanted to move. He ached to twiddle his thumbs or drum his pencil on the table, but he held himself back. All the wizards, even Ælfweard, kept nearly perfectly still. Apparently, wizards mated with statues at some point, and they assigned a virtue to stillness, so if William wanted to fit in, he had to follow suit.

  After a needless roll call, Wizard McCoy spent an hour droning on about his expectations which their syllabus already clearly outlined. If all wizards needed so many reminders, the warlock failed to believe the weekly testing would be difficult. Of course, knowing that all tests would be posted and that the bottom twenty percent would be cut from the program left unease brewing in the warlock’s stomach. He could already see the judgment in McCoy’s gaze when he had stood to reply ‘present.’ Even though William matched the volume of the student before him, the wizard had paused on his name, narrowing his eyes and squinting like he was trying to peer through a particularly dirty window.

  “I won’t give you any handicap. Warlock or not — you entered the course, and I’ll expect you to keep up,” McCoy had announced.

  If he meant nothing but his word, William would’ve been happy enough, but the sort who said such things often intended to say that they expected more and would hold him to higher standards as a result of his being an outlier. Which was fine. He had scored top marks, forcing them to allow him entry despite their hesitation to consider a warlock, and they would not find him wanting now. He would take the top position as he had in every subject he had ever taken throughout his life.

  When McCoy finally dismissed them for lunch before their afternoon session with Wizard Alexander, William sagged in his seat for a moment before shoving his books into his bags. Unfortunately, that hesitation lasted long enough for Ælfweard to corner him.

  “What do you want?” William h
uffed, glaring up at the blond wizard.

  Ælfweard wanted to apologize, but he found himself distracted by the paleness of the other man’s face. “You weren’t at breakfast this morning. Did you get a chance to eat?”

  The warlock’s eyes narrowed. “I’m eighteen. I don’t need you mother-henning me.”

  Reaching into his bag, Ælfweard pulled out a scone he had tucked into his bag. “Here.”

  “What’s that, Ælfweard Grey, sneaking food into a lecture,” Gilroy teased as he sauntered over to where the blond wizard stood. Before Ælfweard could stop him, the red-head grabbed the scone and took a bite. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that an Irish wizard would squirrel away scones.” Timothy snickered as did a few of the other students who had paused to watch the exchange. “I wouldn’t bother trying to offer it up to the resident warlock. He’s not out to make friends.”

  William rolled his eyes, shoving his seat back. As the wizards laughed, he left, planning to grab a quick lunch before retreating to study in the library before their afternoon session started. They would all see. He had gotten into Aelion the same way as the rest of them, and when he outscored them, none of the wizards would be able to pretend otherwise.

  Unable to find the words to stop the warlock’s retreat, Ælfweard sighed, frowning at Gilroy who sat on a nearby desk. The red-headed wizard licked his fingers, having already finished the scone. His smirk reminded Ælfweard of his mother’s cat when the feline presented a dead bird — as if they should be honored to receive the corpse.

  “You shouldn’t waste your time with someone like that,” Gilroy informed him.

  Ælfweard glanced around wondering why the other wizard bothered talking to him when he had ignored him in the week leading up to their classes and even before when Ælfweard arrived early to Aelion Academy. “I don’t think we should make it harder on him. It has to be awkward enough being a warlock among wizards. It doesn’t hurt for us to be nice.”

  Maybe it was an illusion, or perhaps Gilroy actually had a more decent heart than Ælfweard had believed, but pity filled the wizard’s dark eyes. Pressing a hand over his heart, Gilroy murmured, “Oh, Ælfweard, you are an undoubtedly sweet but simple man.” Wrapping an arm around the blond’s shoulders, he guided him to walk alongside and out of the classroom with Timothy and a small cohort of other first year alchemy students. “William Belmont is a warlock, but if he were only a warlock, I’d honestly be impressed. Any non-wizard who gets into Aelion Academy worked hard to do so, but just because someone is intelligent doesn’t mean they’re a good person.”

  “He seemed kind,” Ælfweard argued.

  Gilroy’s brows rose. “Did he? Well then, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he was just discombobulated from traveling the mortal way, and he’s honestly a very good soul, but you see, Ælfweard, I’m an excellent judge of character, and Belmont...well...let’s just say he comes across as the sort who came to Aelion for one reason and one reason only.”

  Though he wondered if Gilroy was full of shit, Ælfweard found himself asking, “What reason?”

  “For the Wizard Workneh, of course,” Gilroy announced like it was the most obvious conclusion in the world.

  Timothy nodded along. “Even warlocks know he’s one of the only ways to learn the most advanced methods of alchemy.”

  “Even his best students have failed to do so,” Gilroy assured Ælfweard as if it wasn’t an open secret that none of Workneh’s students had tried to teach anyone else because only one out of every ten he took under his wing had actually managed to spine straw into gold or the like more than once under Workneh’s close supervision. “He’s always been the top of his class. Otherwise, why would they let him in? So, it’s so obvious he would want to take the empty spot on Workneh’s roster when Nicholas Blythe graduates at the end of the year.”

  “But should that spot really go to a warlock?” one of the students — Natasha Skald — asked.

  Gilroy frowned and stopped walking solemnly to face Ælfweard straight-on. “Natasha is right. There are nine first year wizards in this course. One of us should apprentice with the Wizard Workneh. He only takes one, and based on entry scores, you’re the only wizard who managed to outscore Belmont.”

  “But if he scores well and earns the spot -” Ælfweard tried to argue, but Gilroy waved his words away.

  “That’s exactly why you can’t be nice to him! You’re in his way, Ælfweard. He’ll completely turn your head around your cock if you let him,” the red-haired wizard proclaimed.

  Every wizard around him nodded along. While Gilroy no doubt held no goodwill toward Ælfweard, it would be easier to explain failing to apprentice to Workneh when the one who earned the spot was another wizard. Anyone who dropped from the course while William remained would suffer scandal, and if nothing else, this line of conversation underlined that ten times over for Ælfweard. Every struggle he faced as a child to earn the friendship of the local wizards paled in comparison to the sneers these rich wizards had given him whenever he attended any larger conferences or gatherings with his parents, and they now offered him a way into their sphere. He had to pick. Beat out the warlock and have a chance at acceptance amongst the elite, or risk their wrath as well as Gilroy being right by reaching out to the warlock again.

  Ælfweard wished the choice was easy, but despite his gut instinctively rejecting the other wizard’s words, they held some logic. Ultimately, Ælfweard attended Aelion Academy to earn the spot at Workneh’s side. Nothing else mattered. No friendships — warlock or wizard — placed before his family’s future prosperity, and if keeping on the path he set before himself ended up helping him grow closer to the sorts of families who would be able to help him beyond Aelion’s wall, all the better.

  Chapter Six

  Aelion Academy had more libraries than any city William had ever been to before. Every tower had its own library dedicated to whatever course spent their time there. If anything, wizards organized their world with the goal of avoiding interaction with anyone outside of those aiming at exactly the same goal, which meant William bathed with the same folks, lived in the tower with the same crew, and every single moment he spent in the library revolved around the same faces. The tower and the smaller dining hall belonged — at least — to all three alchemy years; however, a larger dining hall existed in the center for large gatherings where all the courses could mingle, but it was all the way in the lowest level of the castle. Nothing else was on that side, so whenever possible, William avoided wasting time moving that way.

  In the first few weeks, everyone claimed a desk. However, with only seven desks in the alchemy library, there wasn’t enough to go around. Luckily, William woke earlier. Before dawn, he arrived at the library, studying outside the door until the warding opened and allowed him to grab his favorite desk. In the far back corner, the desk was the only one that faced a window, and the lighting perfectly illuminated his work, keeping him from straining or having to hold a spell of lumosity above his head while he studied.

  Every night, he studied until the chimes warned the library would be closing. When the first tests came around, William refused to let any of the wizards see him sweat. He knew the answers. Every question — he had it owned. His confidence soared.

  Until the results came out.

  “There’s no way,” the warlock grumbled beneath his breath as he stared up at the public scores.

  While he hadn’t been first in everything, William came close. Fasted in his school when he joined the track team. He placed first in regional and state, and even in the national competition, he placed top three. Every exam resulted in first place in the school. Perfect ACTs and SATs. Everything he did put him in the lead, and though he knew the rankings going in put him in second, he believed he could overcome whoever had been first. Yet there it was. Ælfweard Grey took first by three points.

  “Wow, you got second,” the blond wizard said with a bright smile. “Are you sure you didn’t study with any wizards before?”


  A bit away, Gilroy and his friends snickered. Of course, they did. Ælfweard could pretend all he wanted, but his words spoke loudly. Wizards stuck together. This was just another way for Ælfweard to rub in the fact that he had never gone to the library once, and somehow — despite everything, he had managed to outscore William by three points.

  Glaring at the wizard, the warlock huffed, “It won’t happen again.”

  Determined, the warlock pushed further. He reviewed where had lost points. He wrote and rewrote his notes, practicing and studying the basics of wizardry and alchemy over and over until he memorized every known formula. If McCoy wanted him to write more objectively in passive voice, he would unlearn everything his teachers had taught him, and he would do it better and better until the wizard had no choice but to put his name up at the top.

  Bowed over his favorite desk, William scoured every essay McCoy had ever written. If he learned the man’s style, he could conform to increase his grade. His eyes burned, and the chime echoed announcing dinner, but he refused to go down. Food could be eaten in the library, but the six other desks already had third and second year students, so if he gave up his desk, someone who had grabbed food earlier would take his desk before he returned. It was fine. He didn’t need to eat. So what if he forgot lunch and skipped breakfast. It wouldn’t be the first time he fasted for a day.

  “Is that Wizard McCoy’s essay on the malleability of lead?” Ælfweard asked, leaning over William’s shoulder.

  The warmth of his body radiated through the thin shirt on William’s back, heating the warlock’s skin. Glaring at the wizard, William scoffed, “Could you not?”

  Large cornflower blue eyes blinked, and Ælfweard stepped back, blushing. “Sorry.”

  Huffing, the warlock turned back to his notes, and he expected Ælfweard to shuffle for a bit and just go away. The wizard walked off for a moment, but he came back with a chair and shoved it into the desk beside William. Jaw dropping, William prepared to argue, but the man set down two plates of food with a bright smile.