Just A Little Wicked: A Limited Edition Collection of Magical Paranormal and Urban Fantasy Tales by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Partners in Crime Book Services
Published: 2021-03-20T05:00:00+00:00

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After Arthur requested he remain a magician despite residing in Camelot, Merlin was given nearly everything he ever desired. A large, posh sitting room and bedchamber within the castle, sumptuously furnished, a title of Royal Magician, and power.

No longer was he considered the weak simpleton who befriended his superiors and acted like a little lapdog for them. No, he was feared by the other inhabitants of the castle, even Gwen, to an extent.

The control he now possessed was intoxicating. Including that over the fate of the Coven. There was precious little he cared for within its confines, and absolutely nothing that cared for him in return.

He was no one there, inconsequential, a drone meant to do busywork to care for the good of the Queen. It never struck him that perhaps he traded nondescript servitude for one tyrant for the same to yet another who was not so benign.

That was the thing about being given power after seventeen years of having none. It controlled you more than you controlled it. If left unchecked, it got to not just your head, but your heart and soul as well, like an infection.

And it felt incredible, even as it slowly killed you.

Merlin did not kill anyone during the thirty or so days he sat beside Arthur as his personal advisor. However, when the king requested he assist in the punishment of criminals, he did not shirk away.

To the man who stole gold from a local jeweller, Merlin turned his hands to gold, rendering them completely useless.

When a woman was brought in for bearing false witness against a neighbour, Merlin gave her an entire bottle of Liar’s Lament, a potion which caused great, wracking pain within the taker had they told any lies recently. The woman had to be taken away to the dungeons to finish out her punishment.

Another man was arrested for abusing his wife, and Merlin took great pleasure in using a formerly illegal curse to torture the man personally for hours while others looked on. And he did so with a smile.

Yes, people feared him, as they rightly should.

But there was more than fear and respect Merlin desired. He wished for friendship, camaraderie. Love. Things he never possessed before, things he wondered if he was destined to never know intimately.

One afternoon, he was paged to come to Arthur’s sitting room. He went posthaste. Despite his usefulness, never before had he been invited to the private chambers of the king. Aside from Guinevere, he believed no one ever had before.

Once there, he found the teenage king seated on a large, ornate sofa, legs crossed, a look of contemplation on his face.

“Sir?” Merlin said quietly, so as not to startle him.

Arthur glanced over at him and beckoned him inside. “Sit, please. Have a cuppa. I wish to chat.”

Something inside Merlin perked up, that little sleeping part of his brain, drunk on power, was more alert than it had been in well over a fortnight.

“Very well, sir. Thank you.” Merlin poured some tea and, while it smelt fine, feigned drinking it.

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