The King's Gamma (#Wattys2024)

One Hundred and Four

Felix lounged atop his invisible water balcony, swirling a goblet of wine as he watched Hal haggle with a fruit vendor below. The boy's nose scrunched in that adorable way when the merchant tried to overcharge him, and Felix smirked, already preparing to ensure the man's scales would mysteriously tip in Hal's favor by tomorrow.

Then he appeared.

A young scholar—some ink-stained, book-laden nobody—bumped into Hal with an exaggerated stumble. Felix's grip on his goblet tightened, the metal warping under his fingers.

"Oh! My apologies," the stranger said, flashing Hal a smile that made Felix's blood boil. "I didn't see you there."

Gareth grunted, already steering Hal away, but the scholar persisted, falling into step beside them. "You're new to Trellis, aren't you? I could show you around the libraries, if you'd like. A mind like yours must crave knowledge."

Felix's balcony cracked, ice spiderwebbing through the water.

How dare he?

How dare this insignificant, ordinary creature presume to speak to Hal? To offer him libraries when Felix had given him orchids that sang and pastries shaped like celestial bodies? To imply Hal's mind—his brilliant, storm-lit mind—would ever settle for dusty tomes when Felix could show him magic that would make his pulse race?

The scholar was still talking, leaning closer to Hal, his fingers brushing the boy's elbow as he pointed toward the university district.

Felix saw red.

The canals erupted first.

A geyser of water blasted upward mere feet from the scholar, drenching him and sending his precious books tumbling into the murky depths. The man yelped, scrambling back—only to slip on suddenly frozen cobblestones.

Hal whirled, eyes scanning the rooftops. Looking for him.

Felix let the boy glimpse just a flash of gold hair, a flicker of violet eyes, before vanishing into mist.

Let him wonder.

Let him ache.

That night, Felix's chambers were a warzone.

His apprentices cowered outside the door as furniture shattered against the walls. "Find out who that worm was," he snarled to his trembling spymaster. "Every detail. Every breath he's ever taken."

Because no one touched Hal.

No one looked at Hal.

Not unless Felix allowed it.

Felix was mid-tirade, his latest victim—a hapless apprentice who had chosen the wrong moment to deliver a report—quaking before him as water lashed violently around the chamber. The spymaster had just confirmed the scholar's identity, and Felix was in the process of drafting particularly creative retaliation when—

"M-my lord!"

A young mage stood trembling in the doorway, his robes damp with nervous sweat. Felix turned his glare on him, ready to freeze the boy's tongue to the roof of his mouth for the interruption.

"H-Hal Menos is here," the mage stammered. "R-requesting to see you."

Silence.

Felix's rage evaporated like mist under sunlight.

For a heartbeat, he stood utterly still, the words refusing to process. Hal. Here. Asking for him.

Then he was moving.