Wizard's Wish - (Kinda) Yandere SGE x reader

Chapter 67: Who Do You Belong With?

(Coming closer and closer to the end of book 3, and we are about to get into the real action and the drama. Again, my regular thank you to all of those who are still reading this book and those who comment. Had a lot of drops after I finished book 1, and a lot of people who dropped around December, so I'm very appreciative of those of you who are left, you make it all worth it. And it might seem a bit weird, or concerning, but you're a reason I'm still going and breathing. Life is tough sometimes, but seeing people who read this story and interact with it makes me sooo happy, so I really can't say thanks enough!)

____

Tedros had been staring at the steaming cup of cinnamon-apple cider for nearly twenty minutes, but had yet to touch it.
Watching him, Y/n had been so worried about what he was thinking that she hadn't touched hers either. Nor had Sophie on the other side of Tedros, who was too busy giving Lancelot nervous looks, as the swarthy, pock-skinned knight lay plates and silverware for each of them.
"You must be famished, the lot of you," he said in a rumbling tone.
"Mh-hm..." Agatha nodded awkwardly, the only one talking and responding.
"Your dark-haired friend asked if he could have a bath. Funny lad... said he didn't want to stink up the table. What's his name again? Homer? Hodor?"
"Hort," Agatha said, taking a quiet sip of her drink, trying to distract herself from the awkward tension.
Y/n could see Tedros' shirt wet with perspiration, his Adam's apple lurching up and down, the veins on his arms about to pop–

"Yes, Hort sounds right," Guinevere said, bustling in from the kitchen with a dish of fire-grilled turkey and a bowl of rampion salad. In the torchlight of the farmhouse's dining room, Y/n saw Guinevere had Tedros' small, snub nose, his flat brows over electric-blue eyes, as well as his tendency to sweat profusely. Her hair was another matter: it was so tangled and twiggish brown that her small, pallid face was like an egg in a bird's nest.
"It's Tuesday and Lance and I cook for the week on Mondays, so we have plenty to go around," she said "Until next Monday, that is. Doesn't mean you can't stay past Monday, of course. We're just not used to guests... or people for that matter. Sometimes Lance and I go days without talking at all." She sat down and waited in vain for someone to fill the silence. "Hope it's edible. Tedros always loved my turkey, even as a little boy. He'd come running the second he smelled it from the kitchen, even in the middle of his lessons with Merlin."
Tedros didn't look at her.
"Shall we start?" Guinevere said weakly, inching the dished forward. "You've been on a long journey, so load up your plates. I can always make more."
"Thanks..." Agatha said, slowly picking some food for her plate.
No one else ate.
No one else spoke.

"Well, it seems like you're all settled in, so I'll be on my way!" chimed Merlin, ambling in with his walking stick in hand.
Everyone looked up urgently, as if he were the last lifeboat leaving the ship.
"W-w-where are you going?" said Tedros.
"Just as you are safe here, I must ensure our other friends are safe too, including your fellow students at school," said Merlin. "No doubt the School Master has accelerated his plan, once the Storian revealed to him that you are under the Lady of the Lake's protection." He looked at Guinevere cryptically. "Apologies for not staying for dinner, my dear. Though I did go to the grove to pay my respects..."
Guinevere nodded, as if she understood what he meant.
"I'll see you soon, children," said Merlin, before he glanced at Sophie, his eyes finding the ring on her finger. "Hopefully with no more blood on our hands."
Y/n saw Sophie hold her breath as Merlin magically whisked a lump of turkey from the table to his hand and sauntered out of the cabin, the door swinging shut behind him.
Unbearable silence resumed.

Y/n tried to forget about Merlin's absence and Sophie's ring and Tedros' torment and focused instead on the house's logwood walls, the oval-shaped rooms with crackling fireplaces, the handmade leather couches and sheep-wool rugs, everything so cozy and lovingly crafted, as if two people, without friends, family, community, had made a home at the end of the world–
"White or dark meat, Tedros?" Guinevere's voice asked.
Y/n snapped to attention to see Guinevere pick up her son's plate and give him the best smile she could, however forced.
Tedros looked at his feet. "I can't do this," he breathed.
Guinevere said nothing as Tedros pushed himself away from the table, his cast-iron chair screeching against the floor.
Lancelot frowned. "Tedros, you don't have to talk to her, but at least eat your–"