The King's Gamma (#Wattys2024)

One Hundred and Six

Felix Vaelith, Lord of the Blue Tower, was in a rare state of irritation.

The High Council had wasted hours debating trivialities—border disputes with neighboring provinces, trade tariffs, the usual bureaucratic drivel—while his thoughts had been elsewhere. Specifically, on a certain storm-eyed boy who had been haunting his dreams.

Hal.

The name alone sent a curl of heat through him.

He strode through the tower's winding corridors, his robes billowing behind him, water magic humming restlessly at his fingertips. The servants and apprentices scattered before him, sensing his mood.

Then, a whisper caught his ear.

"The Tower Lord's guest is waiting in his chambers—"

Felix stopped dead.

His grip on the goblet of wine he'd been carrying tightened, the metal warping under his fingers.

Hal was here.

In his tower.

In his rooms.

A slow, predatory smile curved his lips.

He dismissed the rest of the council's reports with a flick of his wrist, his focus narrowing to a single, intoxicating thought: Hal had come to him.

——

Felix didn't rush.

No, he savored the anticipation, the way his pulse quickened with each step closer to his private quarters. The bond—that damned, delicious bond—had been a constant pull in his chest since the moment he'd laid eyes on the boy.

And now Hal was here.

Waiting for him.

He pushed open the doors silently, his magic dampening the sound.

And there he was.

Hal—his Hal—lay sprawled across the couch, asleep.

Felix drank in the sight.

The boy's dark lashes fanned against his cheeks, his breathing slow and even. The faintest flush colored his skin, his lips slightly parted. One arm was thrown carelessly above his head, the other resting on his stomach, fingers curled loosely.

Felix's throat went dry.

He approached slowly, as if afraid the slightest noise might shatter the moment. Crouching before the couch, he studied Hal's face—the sharp cut of his jaw, the softness of his mouth, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath.

Beautiful.

His fingers itched to touch.

He reached out, tracing the curve of Hal's jaw with a single fingertip, feather-light. The boy stirred but didn't wake, a faint sigh escaping him.

Felix's lips curved.

Mine.

The thought was primal, possessive, unshakable.

He didn't know why Hal had come tonight. Didn't know what secrets those storm-gray eyes hid.

But he intended to find out.

And when Hal finally woke—when those eyes fluttered open and locked onto his—Felix would be waiting.

With a smile as sharp as a blade.

Felix was a patient man when he had what he wanted within reach.

And right now, Hal—his Hal—was sprawled across his couch, utterly at his mercy.