Page 67 of Too Many Beds
At the question, Arcanus's eyes lit with excitement. He grabbed Marek's hand and tugged him closer to his own bed. “It's not. And I'm thrilled you've asked. I can tell you all about it.” The wizard cleared his throat, dropping Marek's hand. “Sorry.Ifyou want to know. I never get to talk to others about what I do.”
Marek couldn't help but chuckle at Arcanus's enthusiasm. He felt much the same about his own woodworking. “Please, go ahead. Maybe I can learn something from you, even if I don't wield magic.”
“To create something like this,” Arcanus began, voice brimming with joy, “I had to study traditional carpentry first. My father insisted on it. Said I couldn't understand the true essence of crafting if I didn't know how to work with my hands.”
Marek frowned, his skepticism melting into curiosity. “You mean youactuallylearned carpentry? With tools and everything?”
Arcanus nodded eagerly. “Yes! It was grueling at first. My fingers bled from the splinters and my muscles ached from the sawing and planing. But over time, I appreciated the craft.” He paused, eyes growing distant as if recalling a memory. “There's a rhythm to it, a connection between wood and artisan.”
Marek folded his arms, still processing this revelation. “So, your magic—it's just an extension of that?”
“Exactly,” Arcanus said, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. “Magic doesn't do the work for me. It enhances what I've learned through traditional methods. Think of it like... adding color to a sketch. The sketch is still there, foundational to the work.”
Intrigued, Marek stepped closer to inspect the details in Arcanus's bed frame. “But how do you control it? How do you make sure it doesn't just run wild?”
Arcanus smiled, pleased by Marek's genuine interest. “That's where creativity comes in. Magic is raw energy; it needs direction and purpose. Without me guiding it, shaping it with my vision and skills, it's just potential.” He gestured at a section of the bed where the dragons seemed to come alive. “These wouldn't exist without my imagination giving them form.”
Marek rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “So, you're saying that without your craftsmanship and creativity, your magic would be useless?”
“Precisely,” Arcanus agreed. “It takes years of study and practice to master both aspects—traditional carpentry and magical enhancement.” His gaze softened as he looked at Marek's bed once more. “And that's why I respect what you do so much. Your work stands on its own merit, without any magical assistance.”
Marek felt a strange warmth spread through him at Arcanus's words. Before Marek could respond, Arcanus took a deep breath, his expression filled with resolve. “Marek, would you allow me to add a touch of magic to your bed? Just a small enhancement, to highlight the beauty of your craftsmanship. I want you to have the best chance to win.”
Marek hesitated, the offer tempting but confusing. “Why would you do that for me?”
Arcanus stepped closer, closing the distance between them. “Because I believe in your talent, and I want to see your work recognized. Besides, I can't bear the thought of you giving up on your dream.”
The sincerity in Arcanus's voice broke through Marek's defenses. He nodded slowly. “All right. What do we do?”
Arcanus gently took Marek's hand, guiding him to the bed. “Have a seat,” he whispered, his voice breathy.
Marek hesitated for a moment, but the warmth in Arcanus's eyes reassured him. He lowered himself onto the bed, his back straight, his hands resting on his knees. Arcanus stood in front of him, his eyes gleaming with a focused intensity. He reached out, taking one of Marek's hands in his own, their fingers intertwining. The wizard rested his other hand against the bed.
“This is the part where I need your help,” Arcanus murmured. He closed his eyes for a moment, then began to weave his magic. A soft, golden light flowed from his fingertips, mingling with the natural grain of the wood.
“Need my helphow?” Marek asked. “I can’t work magic!”
“You already did,” Arcanus corrected him. “You created this. I need the heart of your creativity to further infuse into your creation.”
“What?” Marek blinked. “I don’t understand.”
“There’s nothing to understand,” the wizard whispered. “Just hold your vision for the soul of this bed in your mind’s eye.”
The soul of this bed.It made no sense. Marek sighed but did as Arcanus asked. He imagined the bed as he wished it to be…
Carved oak leaves and vines that Marek had painstakingly created began to shimmer, their edges glowing with a soft, golden light. The tendrils of the vines seemed to stretch and twist, reaching out as if they were alive. The bed was becoming the artistic embodiment of Arlenia’s strength and beauty, just as Marek wished.
As the enchantment settled, Arcanus leaned in, his face close to Marek's. “There. Now it'strulyextraordinary,” he breathed.
Marek, his gaze fixed on Arcanus, felt the heat in his chest climb. The way Arcanus's emerald eyes held his, the way his breath tickled his cheek, was intoxicating. He couldn't deny the pull he felt, a raw need that had been simmering beneath the surface for days. He leaned in, his hand reaching up to cup Arcanus's cheek, to feel the warmth of his skin.
Their lips met in a kiss that was as tentative as it was urgent. The subtle tang of Arcanus’s magic lingered on Marek’s tongue. He deepened the kiss, seeking more of Arcanus's warmth, his scent, his touch.
He felt Arcanus stiffen for a moment, as if surprised, but then his hands found their way around Marek's waist, tugging him closer. The wizard’s fingers dug into his back, his breath hitching as he responded to the kiss. The press of Arcanus's body against his, the way he leaned into the kiss, filled Marek with a sense of dizzying excitement.
Marek couldn't help himself. The feeling was too strong, too overwhelming. He pulled Arcanus closer, his hand sliding around the back of his neck, pulling him down onto the bed. Arcanus landed with his body half atop Marek, their legs intertwined. The press of Arcanus's thigh against his, the unmistakable sensation of the wizard’s arousal against his own, sent a jolt through Marek.
The kiss deepened. Arcanus's lips parted slightly, allowing Marek deeper access, a soft moan escaping his throat.