Ronan’s face paled, taking in Mage Beaumont’s condition.
Leaning in close, Quinten murmured, “Can you heal her enough to get her to the Infirmary? And will you try to get her there without anyone seeing you? We need to protect her reputation, if possible.”
He nodded with a frown. “Of course. But what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to deal with Highbridge. What do you think?” Quinten said, a little heat entering his voice.
“Q, I know you mean well, but you can’t just go attack someone, let alone the Archmage’s son. Report this to the Academy guards. Let them handle it.”
Gritting his teeth, Quinten shook his head. “Captain Reese said it himself. They have no authority within these walls and definitely not over someone like him.”
“Surely the palace guards brought by the King—”
“Enough, Ronan.” Quinten barked. “I tried to do this the right way, and the Academy did nothing. We’re dealing with this. I will drag him before the King in front of the entire ball, myself. Then let them try to hide the monster in their midst.”
Ignoring anything his friend may have tried to say, Quinten turned and looked at Cedric. His eyes were still glassy and unfocused.
Woosh!
Cedric's head snapped back from the blast of icy water catching him full in the face. Shaking his head with the cold liquid running down the back of his neck, the fog around his mind evaporated. Blood rushed back to his brain, and slowly, awareness returned. He looked around, his senses sharpening as reality came into focus.
“Shit, what happened?”
“Instructor Highbridge. You with me?” Quinten asked, already knowing the answer.
A feral look came into his friend’s eyes, grateful to have something else to focus his pain on.
*****
The two young men marched back into the grand ballroom, separating to cover the space in its entirety. It only took a few minutes for them to acknowledge the fact Highbridge was not currently in the main area. Nodding to Cedric which side of the exterior storage and privies to check, Quinten turned to manage those left to him.
He barely made it a dozen feet before he was stopped by an unlikely pair.
“I hope this is him. The other one was a little too free with his laughter for my liking.” The older of the two said.
Stars blaze it. Quinten thought, barely able to contain his grimace. Of all the times to be approached by a princess—two princesses. He corrected a moment later.
Offering a bow as etiquette demanded, he met each of their eyes briefly. Quinten forced out from a quickly closing throat, “Your Highnesses, it is a pleasure to meet you.”
“Hmm… I assume it would be,” Said Princess Roslyn in an airy tone.
Unsure of how to reply to that, an eyebrow rose in victory as Quinten tried to contain it. He knew that every boy his age would kill for the chance to speak with either of the two beauties before him, but the opportunity was lost on Quinten.
If I wasn’t already on a mission, I could never forget who’s daughter you are. He thought coldly as he waited for them to continue the conversation or to leave him be.
His slight shifting to the side, and hopefully, around them, did not go unnoticed.
“You would pass on the opportunity to dance with a Princess?” Gwendolyn asked. Her brows drawn tight in incredulity.
Knowing better than to tell her the honest truth, Quinten said. “If I were able? Never, your Highness. Unfortunately, I am in the middle of a task that cannot wait, even for a chance such as this.” He ended his speech with another bow, making the young woman blush. In either irritation or embarrassment, he couldn’t say. Peering over their heads, he scanned the crowd for Highbridge, hoping he’d reentered the main room.
Princess Roslyn did not approve of his response and liked his inattentiveness even less.
Narrowing her eyes, she asked, “Where is your chivalry, Mage Ashford?” Raising her chin as if she were about to deliver a killing blow, she added, “Where is your honor?”
What he’d seen outside flashed through his head and it pushed him over the edge. A harsh laugh escaped him, causing both princesses to jump.
“Honor indeed,” Quinten said with a smile to match his laugh. “I would expect someone at your age would know there are more important things in life than a dance at a ball, your Highness.” He said, the last few words coming out clipped.
Taken aback and caught completely by surprise, Quinten offered them one last parting bow before rushing past them without another word.
Starry night, what a waste of time, he thought. Shoving open the first door he came across, Quinten found nothing but a stash of white linen tablecloths and spare chairs.
Three storage rooms and two privies later, he thought they may have missed their target when Quinten's luck changed.
Pushing open the second to last door in his hall, Quinten found him, patting his face with a towel. His wet hair slicked back from his damp forehead.
Looking up, Highbridge arched a brow. “Mage Ashford, what can I do for you?”
Quinten could see it in the man’s eyes, the self-satisfaction warming him from within.
Gritting his teeth so hard, he had to channel his gift to keep them from cracking, Quinten bit out, “You can come and present yourself to the King. Profess your guilt of the crime of rape and submit to his Justice.”
A long silence stretched between them until Highbridge threw back his head and laughed.
Quinten just waited, stepping into the privy and letting the door close behind him. All the while continuing his stare, unblinking.
The laughter finally ceased, and Highbridge wiped his eyes on his sleeve. Only then did he grace Quinten with a smirk. “You’re serious—Stars forsake me. Why would I want to do something foolish like that?”
“It is the truth. I have seen the victim. I will support her testimony, and have already filed a complaint with the Academy regarding your behavior and inappropriateness. After tonight, you are done…”
Highbridge’s smirk widened and he partially turned away from Quinten. Looking at himself in the mirror, he used the towel to dry first one hand, and then the other, as if he had no care in the world. “Have you forgotten who I am? Who my mother is?”
“The mother of a rapist, apparently.” Quinten said, feeling a tingle of anticipation beginning to spread up his spine.
Highbridge flushed in anger, but remained where he was, meticulously drying his hands.
The smile on Quinten's face started small. But it grew as he watched the man across from him throw the towel to the side, revealing his newly shifted and clawed hand. By the time the rest of Highbridge’s body began to change, a grin that most would have called crazed, had they been there to see it, stretched Quinten's mouth from ear to ear.
His mind, fully focused on the fight coming toward him, had time for one last thought before the stars began to fall.
Finally.
*****
A deep rumble shook the grand ballroom, nearly knocking Cedric from his feet. A few of the guests began to scream.
Sounds like Q found him.
Moving as fast as he could through the largely confused and slightly fearful crowd. Cedric had to fight against the tide of people as a loud crash and the unmistakable sound of air fueling intense flames thundered from the far side of the hall. He could see palace guards forming up around the Royals, not bothering to charge toward the unknown danger.
Before Cedric could reach one of the exit doors, a portion of the wall exploded inward and a large, dark, and furry shape was sent crashing into the ballroom amidst the broken stone and smoke.
Quinten, emerging through the gaping hole like a fabled hero out of legend. Determination set his jaw, and his robe flared behind him, its golden accents glinting under the crystal lights, mirroring the fiery gleam of conviction in his hazel eyes.
*****
Come on, you stars-cursed, deviant! Quinten mentally yelled. Ignorant of the fear and panic setting those closest to fleeing.
As if able to hear his thoughts, Highbridge slowly climbed to his feet. Smoke visibly curled away from the man. His previously fine robes left smoldering in places, singeing areas of the dark fur coating his opponent’s body.
Launching his metal orbs, Quinten altered their shape, turning them into restraints in an attempt to bind his opponent's wrists and ankles. To his surprise, upon contact with Highbridge, they were transmuted to stone, the deadly spears sent flying back at him.
Highbridge’s ability to use his elemental gift while transformed was exceedingly rare from what Quinten understood. Where Cedric could be captured and bound with earth or ice, having no gift to combat it directly. Someone like Highbridge, who could do so, greatly increased the difficulty in bringing him down non-lethally.
Reclaiming the projectiles in his telekinetic grip. He reformed them into metal spheres and set all but two in a defensive orbit around him, deflecting the stone and ice attacks sent his way. Having a special use for the remaining pair, he drew them to his hands and surged forward, snuffing out a fireball in his way with a bit of air manipulation.
The soon-to-be former-instructor’s ”battle form” as Cedric liked to call it, was that of a human and wolf hybrid. It added nearly a foot to the man’s height and tacked on several dozen pounds that left his robes nearly bursting at the seams where they weren’t already torn or burned. With large fangs, claws, and nearly glowing red eyes, Highbridge’s battle form created an intimidating visage.
Taking a swipe at Quinten, once he was in range, his opponent tried to take advantage of his larger frame to overpower him. Similar to his duels with Cedric, the older man was both faster and stronger than Quinten in his shifted form. But it was the years of combat training that would see him through.
He dodged to the side with just enough room that the elongated claws aiming for his face passed with barely an inch to spare. His expert footwork allowing him to move to Highbridge’s weak side. Landing a devastating combination to the abdomen that no amount of gift reinforcement could brush off, not with the metal knuckle dusters Quinten was striking with.
Grunting in pain, Highbridge attempted to barrel him over, but only managed to catch a ringing blow to the ear that set him wobbling.
You’ve earned this, Quinten thought, landing a satisfying punch to the family jewels.
A wet gurgle burst from his opponent’s jaws. As he curled in on himself, Quinten struck.
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Crouching, he drove into the polished marble with enough force it created a spiderweb of hairline cracks. Quinten rocketed upward, driving his knee into Highbridge’s elongated snout with a resounding crack, like lightning striking a thick oak. It lifted the man’s beastly form off the ground and left him airborne for what felt like several moments.
When he landed, it was in an unmoving and ungainly heap.
Quinten strode forward, ready to put an end to the fight, when a wall of earth rose between them.
“STOP!”
It wasn’t the King’s commanding voice that silenced the room. It was a woman’s, a whip-crack of sound that reverberated throughout the ballroom like thunder chasing after lightning in a child’s game of tag.
Halting his advance, Quinten turned to see the crowd part, revealing a woman. She looked to be in her mid-thirties, but in a gathering of this lofty height, that was more likely to be misleading than not. Her raven-black hair fashioned stylishly, though not in what would commonly be considered that of a young woman. The back was left loose, nearly reaching her backside. Her opulent robes were white, gilded in gold, almost a perfect opposite of his own attire. She was stunning, and Quinten didn’t need an introduction to know who stood before him.
After all, she was just a mother protecting her son.
“What is going on here?” The Archmage demanded, staring at Quinten coldly. Her icy words chilling all sound within the ballroom. The quiet, fragile like the silence after a heavy snow.
Quinten returned her gaze levelly. His blood roaring in his ears and the fire in his gut causing him to feel a bit reckless. Maintaining eye contact, he pushed his Gift into his vocal cords, projecting his voice for all to hear.
“I am apprehending a rapist—and you are interfering, Archmage.”
A unified gasp rippled through the room, one so loud that even Quinten's single-minded focus couldn’t ignore. Everyone staring at him in shock, Archmage Highbridge included.
“Ex—excuse me?” She stuttered in surprise.
“While we were celebrating ourselves, our power and influence.” Quinten said in disgust. “Instructor Highbridge raped one of his students. A young woman, who should have been safe at this institution, was instead abused and her trust irrevocably broken.”
His words caught in his throat as it tightened. Not due to a magical attack or even the strange ability to sense the feelings of others, but because of Quinten's own overwhelming emotions.
It was too much, too quickly. First his parents' honor and legacy. Then the games these people played with him, his family, and his friends. Cedric’s heartbreak, the most recent example. With the attack on Mage Beaumont… He couldn’t stay silent any longer. Just bidding his time until he completed his service before leaving the capital to govern his lands.
Quinten saw that goal for what it was. Running away in the hopes he’d be left alone. It was fear and cowardice bundled into an honorable and reasonable excuse. And it was no longer an option. It never had been.
Mage Beaumont had been right, and Quinten just wish she hadn’t been a part of the lesson that proved it.
“That man,” He grit out, pointing at the wall obscuring his view with a shaking hand. “Is a deviant. One I intend to deliver to face the King’s Justice.”
Dropping his arm, Quinten stared at the most powerful mage in the kingdom. The shock she’d initially shown now hidden behind a flat expression, giving away nothing.
“How shall we proceed, Archmage? Will you assist me, or will you protect an accused rapist?”
His question echoed in the absolute stillness of the ballroom. Everyone waiting to see how the Archmage would respond.
“I raped no one.” A voice rasped from the other side of the Archmage’s wall.
With a flick of her hand, she removed it, and Isaac Highbridge came into view.
He’d made it to his feet and was back in his normal form, but looked the worse for wear. Portions of his hair and an eyebrow had been burnt away. His jaw was visibly swollen and his robes were shredded with an entire sleeve missing. He stood staring at Quinten. Fury radiating off of him. He even lost control of his Gifts, letting out visible waves of heat.
“Your victim claims otherwise.” Quinten shot back, gaining a modicum of his own control after seeing the shape of the other man.
Upon hearing her son’s words, the Archmage acted quickly. Her voice rising as she turned to address the assembled guests. "The traitor's son gets his name cleared and decides to repay the king’s mercy by throwing accusations and causing a disruption at one of the year’s most important events.”
Turning back to Quinten, she asked, "Is that your goal? To sow discord on a night meant for unity?" Her words were sharp and laden with contempt.
She’s desperate, Quinten realized. She knows he’s guilty and is trying to use the crowd as leverage.
Turning to those watching, he announced. “My accusation stands. I accuse Instructor Isaac Highbridge of the crime of raping a fellow member of the Peerage, and of abusing his authority, both as a higher ranking noble and in his position as Instructor within this Academy. His actions, both seditious and dishonorable, cannot go unpunished.”
Isaac stepped forward, but a motion from the Archmage froze him in place. Her eyes, cold before, had turned white hot as she tried to incinerate him with her glare.
“This is a farce, and I will not stand for it. How d—”
“I—will stand for it,” Prince Estes interjected, a gleam of delight dancing in his eyes as he stepped into the open space left by the crowd, clearly reveling in the spectacle being witnessed.
The Archmage paled, “Your Highness, you can’t—”
“I can’t what…? Archmage?” The young prince asked, a sharp edge to his tone.
The king and queen, along with the princesses, joined him a moment later from where they’d been assessing each and everyone around them. Gauging how they could best handle the situation.
Time seemed to slow for Quinten as he watched the Royals take in the three of them.
The realm’s strongest and most accomplished mage, her beaten and sorry looking son, and finally, Quinten. Who, until a few weeks ago, had been nothing but a disgraced traitor’s son.
To his surprise, he wasn’t dismissed outright.
“It is not the time nor the place for this.” The king began slowly, holding a silent conversation with his wife. “Your accusations have been heard. We will investigate and hold a trial as the law demands.”
Quinten's eyes flashed at the word trial, but he bit his tongue and forced his hands to remain unclenched at his sides.
“He attacked a fellow member of the peerage in an unsanctioned duel, your Majesty.” The Archmage interjected. "The laws around that offense are very clear, imprisonment in the dungeons.”
Letting out a strangled laugh, Quinten bowed to the king and asked, “Your Majesty, if I may?” Earning a slight nod of approval.
Turning to the Archmage, he asked. “How do you know I attacked him, Archmage Highbridge? It was, in fact, your son who attacked me.”
Her mouth formed into a flat line and they both shifted to face the king. The room holding its breath as he considered. Eventually, he exchanged a look with the Archmage and sighed. But before he could speak, a voice could be heard from the rear of the ballroom.
“Excuse me. Pardon me… move, you lout!”
Looking over his shoulder in confusion, Quinten watched as Ronan shoved his way through the crowd. Pausing for a moment, he fixed the fit of his sleeves before making his way to stand beside his friend, placing a hand on his shoulder in support.
Quinten felt a warmth spread through his chest at Ronan’s actions, the first emotion other than anger and coldness he’d felt since rescuing Cedric earlier that night.
More motion at the edge of the open circle of onlookers caught Quinten's eye. Cedric shifted along the periphery, not toward his friends, but heading directly toward Highbridge.
Unsure of what the other boy had planned. He could only watch as Cedric stopped next to the older man as if he was showing support, like Ronan had for Quinten. He inhaled deeply as if to speak, choosing instead to lash out in a strike so quick it could only have been Gift-assisted. The slight shifting of Cedric’s hand to thicken and widen the bones added credence to Quinten's assumption.
The satisfying thud of his friend’s fist connecting with Highbridge’s already swollen jaw was satisfying, only beaten by watching the unconscious man hit the floor like a thrown sack of flour.
Shocked exclamations rang out, and a few ladies fainted at the unexpected violence.
Looking at Quinten and Ronan with a grin. “Stars above. That felt great.” Cedric said with a flex of his hand.
*****
Mage’s Academy
Private Chamber
“I couldn’t have all three of them arrested just because you demand it, Elowen.” Argued the king, in a rare reversal of their roles, trying to talk some sense into the Archmage.
Seething, she began to pace the length of the room. “So, you send them to their rooms like children who refuse to eat their dinner?”
“It was the only option available. Do you think Duke Hastings would have stood by while we arrested his heir? Especially, after the Infirmary confirmed Lord Hastings healed and delivered an abused student to them this evening.”
“He nearly killed my son!” Elowen shrieked, her hair spilling free as she yanked at it in frustration.
“Your son got off lucky.” Queen Clarissa commented from where she stood near the chamber door. “That child, as you put it, took down your son with little issue. An established mage in his own right and considered by many to be one of our strongest battle mages, taken down by a first-year student.”
“Second-year.” The king and Elowen said in unison.
Shaking her head, Elowen hissed, “That’s not the point. It’s what he accused Isaac of doing that is the bigger issue.”
The king shrugged, saying, “He isn’t the only one making the accusation. The victim claims he did it against her will.” A click of his tongue brought the pacing Archmage’s eyes to his own before he continued. “He’s done it in the past, and you know it. This is just the first time someone was willing to ignore the fact he is your son and confronted him.”
“Bah,” scoffed the Archmage. “She should be happy and hopeful that she carries his child. At least then she’ll have a gifted babe of her own. If she’s lucky, it might even be a son.”
There was a marked end to that conversation as the king and queen stared at her in shock.
Elowen started to pace anew, stopping mid-step as she latched on to a different tactic. One presented to her by the queen on a silver platter.
Whirling to face the pair, the Archmage asked in a deceptively calm voice. Her raging emotions from moments ago, crushed in a viselike grip as she spoke. “If Ashford is already this willful—this powerful—what happens when he tires of following the orders of the man who killed his parents?”
She inched her way toward the king. Squinting up at him as if to exam him while he examined her words. “Have you considered it might be better to remove him now, before he grows stronger and gains more supporters? He already has a future Duke and a Baroness’s son willing to be arrested alongside him. Who’s to say he won’t try to achieve what his father was framed for?”
Elowen ignored the frustrated huff released by the queen. Keeping the focus of her whole being on the king as she watched his expression. The seeds of paranoia freshly planted in the fertile field of the man’s mind beginning to take root.
*****
Quinten, Cedric, and Ronan were escorted back to the dorms by a pair of instructors and a small contingent of the King’s Guard. They weren’t technically under arrest, but it had been made clear that they were not to leave the dormitory without the king’s expressed permission.
They sat in Ronan’s ground floor room. As a second year, his was larger than their own, but with the three of them, they were pushing its capacity.
“Alright, start from the beginning,” demanded Ronan. Standing in the middle of the room with his hands planted firmly on his hips, a scowl directed at each of them.
Cedric blew out a heavy breath and rolled over on Ronan’s bed, burying his face in the pillow. Leaving it to Quinten to explain. “Oliver and Celeste are engaged. I guess their fathers came to an agreement, and Oliver couldn’t wait to share the good news.”
Ronan winced. Reaching over to pat his friend’s leg in commiseration.
Turning over to stare at the ceiling, Cedric spoke. “I wasn’t really aware of much after Oliver announced their engagement. I remember the prick took all the joy he could, rubbing it in my face.” Raising both hands, he rubbed his face aggressively. the light bristling of hair scratching against his palms. “Celeste didn’t seem surprised. I can only assume she was aware their families had been in talks for a while. Marriage between Duchies isn’t something sealed with a gentleman’s agreement.”
No one spoke, and they let his words hang in the air on their own truth.
Sitting up, Cedric turned to Quinten. “Enough of that bullshit. You beat down an instructor, and called the Archmage’s son a rapist to her face. You have the biggest set of balls I’ve ever seen.”
Quinten gave him a pained grin and shook his head, his face falling. “I bet what I did will be nothing compared to what Lord Beaumont will do when he learns of what happened.”
It was Ronan’s turn to adopt a sad expression. Shaking his head with a sigh. “Lord Beaumont is dead. Taken by the sickness when it passed through. Their lands are within our Duchy. Lady Beaumont may petition my father to represent her in the trial, which he will.” Ronan assured them, raising his hands in a placating gesture before they could ask. “But it would be as her Duke and not an aggrieved party.”
“Well,” Cedric said, with a raised brow at Quinten. “If it comes down to a duel, I don’t think Instructor Highbridge is going to want anything to do with Q again. He had his ass handed to him tonight.”
Quinten wasn’t in much of a joking mood, not after all that had transpired. Knowing his friend was trying to force a lighthearted atmosphere for himself as much as Quinten and Ronan, had him putting on his best smile, strained though it may have been.
Knock, knock, knock
The three traded looks before Ronan shifted to open his door. Revealing Izzy and Helena standing on the other side, concern written clearly across their faces.
“Good! You’re both here.” Exclaimed Helena, taking in the room. “When we didn’t find either of you in your rooms, we were worried they’d taken you to the dungeons after all.”
“Not yet,” Cedric said, a little of the shadow returning to his gaze. “For now, we’re just bound to our rooms for being bad little boys.”
Izzy met Ronan’s eyes and smiled warmly. “You honored that young woman tonight, Ronan. Thank you for taking care of her.”
The young man waved away her compliment, his blush giving away how her words warmed him.
“What, no comment on my knockout punch—or the thrashing Q gave Highbridge?” Cedric asked sardonically.
“That’s what we went to your rooms for first. It’s not our fault you weren’t there.” replied Izzy, her tone dry. Turning to Quinten, she asked, “Can we go back to yours? There is something I need to discuss with you privately.”
Quinten nodded. Missing the pair of raised brows and the look exchanged between Cedric and Ronan.
Rising from his seat, Quinten exited first. Stopping briefly to give Ronan a hug, a quiet “thank you“ passing between them. Stepping into the hall, he heard the distinct sound of Helena dragging Cedric out after them.
Lost in thought, he barely noticed when they reached his door. Absentmindedly unlocking his room with the key and ushering Izzy in. He closed it behind them.
The press of her lips and the warmth of her body against his as he turned brought his thoughts to a screeching halt, snapping his mind back to the present. His heart raced, the only sound he could hear being the blood pounding in his ears. It took him an agonizingly long moment to stop the instinctual return of her kiss.
Pulling back, he blurted, “You’re engaged!”
The fire in her eyes told him how much of an idiot he was being.
“To an old man I’ve never even met. If I’m forced to marry someone I don’t want, fine, so be it. But I can choose who I want my first time to be with, and it’s not going to be some old man with a receding hairline and wrinkly-balls. Now, shut up and kiss me.”
O… fuck it, Quinten thought.
Lunging forward, he wrapped his hand around the nape of her neck. Burying his fingers in thick, dark curls. Pulling her to him. The smell of spices and jasmine filled his nose, the taste of scorched honey on his tongue.
Those were his last coherent thoughts before passing out some time later, sweaty, exhausted, and surprisingly content.