The King's Gamma (#Wattys2024)

One Hundred and Three

Felix paced the length of his chambers, the water in every basin and vase trembling with each furious step. Dawn had come and gone. Hal had not.

The wine in his goblet had turned to ice hours ago, frozen solid by the restless magic crackling through his veins. He'd waited. Like some lovestruck fool, he'd actually waited—watching the doors, the windows, even the damn water channels in case the boy had found some clever way through.

Nothing.

A snarl tore from his throat as he hurled the frozen goblet against the wall. It shattered, sending dagger-like shards skittering across the marble floor.

"My lord?"

Felix whirled to find his head apprentice hovering in the doorway, eyes wide. The boy flinched as Felix's gaze landed on him.

"You." The word dripped venom. "The containment wards on the eastern aqueducts—have they been stabilized?"

The apprentice swallowed hard. "N-not yet, my lord. We were waiting for your—"

"Waiting?" Felix's voice dropped to a dangerous purr. Water rose from the nearest fountain in sinuous tendrils. "Waiting while the city's defenses remain compromised?"

A flick of his wrist sent the water lashing out, drenching the apprentice from head to toe. The boy gasped as the liquid immediately froze solid, encasing him in a brittle shell.

"Thaw yourself," Felix hissed, "and consider it a lesson in initiative."

He stormed past, leaving the boy shivering in his icy prison. Every servant, every apprentice scrambled out of his path as he descended the tower stairs. None dared meet his eyes.

It wasn't just the rejection that burned. It was the guilt—an unfamiliar, gnawing thing twisting in his gut. The memory of past lovers, discarded as easily as yesterday's clothes, now tasted like ash on his tongue.

Why should it matter? He was Felix of the Blue Tower. He took what he wanted, when he wanted it.

But the thought of Hal—of those storm-gray eyes looking at him with the same cold dismissal Felix had shown so many others—made his magic roil like a tempest.

Somewhere below, a pipe burst under the pressure of his unrestrained power. Felix barely registered the distant screams as the lower floors flooded.

Let them deal with it.

For days, Felix had made the city itself an obstacle.

Collapsed bridges. Flooded streets. Misdirected merchant caravans blocking every major thoroughfare—all carefully orchestrated inconveniences to slow Gareth's progress, to keep Hal within reach.

Felix lounged in his tower's observatory, watching through enchanted water mirrors as Gareth cursed and redirected, as Hal—his Hal—scanned the rooftops with those sharp, storm-colored eyes.

Looking for me, Felix thought with vicious satisfaction.

His fingers tightened around his wineglass, the liquid inside sloshing violently. He could have ended this farce already. A single icicle through Gareth's throat. A wave to drag him under and let the canals dispose of the body.

But—

"You're being reckless."

Felix didn't turn as the air behind him shimmered, revealing the lithe form of Lysara, Tower Lord of the Emerald Spire. Her green eyes flicked to the mirrors, her lips curling in amusement.

"If you kill the bear," she said, plucking the wineglass from his hand, "the cub will never forgive you."

Felix's magic crackled, the temperature in the room plummeting. "I don't recall asking for counsel."