Guinevere and Mair were the first to step out of Psychic Arts building. It was a dreary, windy morning on Weirhaven’s campus.

 

The School of Alchemy sat directly across from the School of Psychic Arts, separated by the green grass of the Perl Commons. The proximity of the two schools made Guinevere’s class schedule more manageable, especially when Professor Dryncaster’s classes ran late. Professor Pixton, despite being not much older than the very students she taught, did not tolerate tardiness.

 

The two girls walked in front of Alys. They had learned weeks ago that she always developed a bad mood towards the end of Oneirokinesis. She let out a large sigh as she stepped out into the wind.

 

“You two don’t realize how lucky you are. The School of Chronomancy is all the way on the other side of campus.”

 

Mair laughed. “It’s called crafting a good class schedule. No luck about it.”

 

“I appreciate your sympathy,” Alys snapped. “Well, I’d better be off. If you don’t see me at the Dawns Mabon tonight, it’s because the wind blew me away.”

 

“See you later!” Guinevere shouted over the wind. She looked over her shoulder to see Alys walking towards the Cloister, her right hand holding her hat so tightly it seemed like she was afraid her entire head would roll off her shoulders any minute.

 

“Speaking of the Dawns Mabon,” said Mair, skipping lightly through the grass. “Are you excited to see his lordship Trystan Martyn tonight?”

 

“There were be 100 other witches vying for his attention,” Guinevere groaned, holding her own hat down now. “I doubt he’ll even talk to me.”

 

“You two had quite the conversation at the Flying Goat. I almost thought you were going to make Alys and I leave without you.”

 

Guinevere did her best not to smile. “Oh please. He was very apologetic about what his friend did to Alys—that’s all. I’m sure he’s already forgotten about me.”

 

Mair’s face twisted into a rare frown. “Oh yes, his friend. For his sake, I hope I don’t get to drink as much redgwin as I plan to tonight.”

 

“I think all of us would benefit from you not drinking that much redgwin.”

 

The two girls walked up the steps to the doors of the School of Alchemy. The large bronze doors were flanked by two granite statues. On the left side, an old, haggard witch with a hunchback and a large mole on her nose is drinking a potion, her face contorting in desperation for every last drop of whatever concoction she’s pouring into her mouth. On the right, a much younger witch stands upright, flask held at her waist and resting upside down, not a drop left. She’s smiling and appears carefree, despite the still noticeable mole on her nose.

 

Not the most empowering message, Guinevere thought as she stepped through the door.

 

The School of Alchemy was a surprisingly dark building, even for Weirhaven. There were few windows, and, even on bright mornings, most of its corridors were lit by torches. The two turned to the left and walked down the long hallway to their workshop.

 

“Hey, I meant to tell you earlier,” said Mair, leaning over. “Great job in Oneirokinesis today. You’re a step ahead of everyone in agrypnos. How do you do it?”

 

“Thanks,” said Guinevere, blushing as they rounded a corner to their right. “I honestly don’t know what I do differently.”

 

Mair sighed. “You’ve got a trick you’re not telling me.”

 

“I don’t, I swear! Not anymore than you’ve got a special trick for Potions.”

 

“But I do have a trick!” Mair’s green eyes lit up. “I talk to the potions.”

 

“Of course you do. We all whisper incantations over our cauldrons.”

 

“No!” Mair’s brow wrinkled. “You have to talk to the cauldron like you’re speaking to a good friend.”

 

Guinevere rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say.”

 

The two girls peered into the open door of the workshop. Professor Pixton sat at her desk at the far end of the room. Her round spectacles were framed by her short blonde hair. Her thick bronze chain rested over sage green robes.

 

As Guinevere and Mair shuffled into the workshop, Professor Pixton looked up from her notes. “Good morning, students.” Guinevere couldn’t help but feel like the professor relished saying students now that she no longer was one.

 

Once they were inside the workshop, they realized that they were the first students to arrive. The two girls stepped over towards one of the stations closest to the back of the room. But before they could get there, Professor Pixton coughed loudly.

 

“There are plenty of stations available towards the front of the workshop. Please come forward. I don’t bite.”

 

Guinevere and Mair exchanged nervous glances before slowly walking towards the front of the room. They reluctantly sat at the station directly in front of Professor Pixton’s desk.

 

She smiled. “Thank you. Now I don’t feel so lonely.”

 

As more students trickled in, Guinevere and Mair sat on their stools and pulled out their Potions textbooks. At the center of their workstation sat a medium-sized cauldron, not fired yet. To the left and right sat a few ingredients in flasks and small dishes.

 

As the workshop began to fill up, Professor Pixton spoke up, “If you haven’t already, please break off into pairs and pick a cauldron. There are pitchers of cool water at your stations.

 

“Today we will be preparing the wakefulness elixir known as Evyrdae. This is not a particularly complex elixir in terms of ingredients. Rather, this potion will test your technique. You will begin by pouring the cool water into the cauldron. Before lighting your fires, please mix in the drops of starlight dew according to the instructions in your textbook.”

 

Mair poured the pitcher of water into the cauldron and picked up the tiny flask of starlight dew, holding it up to her eye. Guinevere knelt down beneath the station to access the neatly arranged firewood sitting directly below the cauldron. The firewood itself was kept in its own iron-lined pit. Guinevere held the tip of her wand to the wood and—trying her best to remember her Elemental Magic lessons—whispered, “Pyeros.”

 

Flames leaped from the tip of her wand and instantly began consuming the firewood. Satisfied, she stood up with a smile. But her smile disappeared when she saw Mair’s face.

 

“You should have waited for me to confirm I poured the starlight dew before lighting the fire,” she said.

 

Guinevere held both her hands up in defense. “Sorry. Won’t happen again.”

 

The pair waited for the brew to start simmering, watching the flames as they licked the bottom of the cauldron, slowly warming the mixture. As other pairs got to work, the workshop grew increasing humid and aromatic.

 

Guinevere looked around the room, checking the progress of the other students in the workshop. Her eyes, of course, quickly found the green braids of Betrys Lush towards the back. She was sitting on a stool, only half paying attention to the cauldron while her friend with long black hair, Eira Cambrie, closely monitored their brew. Of course she makes her partner do all the work.

 

When their brew began to gently simmer, Guinevere added a handful of black tea leaves, creating a swirling, aromatic infusion. The leaves slowly unfurled in the hot water, releasing their robust, earthy scent.

 

Next, Mair carefully measured the luminescent sable root. It had already been ground into a soft, bright blue powder. When she was confident she had the right amount, Mair tossed the ground root into the brew. The pair watched as the substance slowly dissolved, turning the liquid a deep, mesmerizing blue.

 

Their next step was to add the embergel. It was a dark brown liquid the consistency of jam. Mair took one of their ingredient spoons, scooped out a heaping portion, and then let it drop into the liquid. Here was where technique began to come into play. Guinevere reached into her satchel and pulled out her potion wand. Just as its name suggested, each student had a wand specifically for stirring potions and uttering incantations. Potions wands helped keep their regular wands dry and—more importantly—safe from the occasional explosion that was known to happen in these workshops.

 

As Guinevere stirred the concoction, it transformed into a rich, viscous mixture. The thickening was a delicate phase; too much stirring could ruin the consistency, while too little could leave the mixture heterogenous and uneven. Guinevere had watched Mair stir potions several times now, and felt like she was finally getting the hang of it. She let herself smile as Professor Pixton passed by their station, gave a slight nod, and continued on.

 

“Now, students, many of you are approaching the most difficult phase of this brew. Once you’ve added the embergel and the elixir has come together into a homogenous liquid, it’s time to add a pinch of dragonfire spice. And I do mean just a pinch. Any more and you’ll have to skip the Dawns Mabon because you’ll be cleaning up the workshop all night.

 

“Once you’ve added the dragonfire spice, your brew will start bubbling intensely. The rhythm of your stirring and the cadence of your incantation must be precise. If you and your partner find yourselves incapable of controlling the brew, please extinguish the fire under your cauldron immediately.”

 

Guinevere reached over, picked up the small dish with the bright red powder, and tried to hand it to Mair. The redhead smiled. “Oh no. I want you to have a go at it.”

 

“What?” Guinevere whispered. “You heard Professor Pixton. This is the hard part!”

 

“You’ll never learn if you don’t try!”

 

“You’re ridiculous,” Guinevere groaned, setting the dish of red powder on their workstation. She made sure her Potions textbook was turned to the right page and placed her left index finger on the incantation. She cast one last angry glance at Mair before using her right hand to take a small pinch of the powder.

 

Finally, with her hand slightly shaking, Guinevere added the dragonfire spice to the liquid. Upon contact with the brew, the cauldron instantly erupted in a frenzy of bubbles, frothing and churning as if alive. Guinevere got to work stirring counterclockwise while reading the incantation from the textbook, a task requiring immense concentration and coordination.

 

As Guinevere stirred and whispered, the liquid in the cauldron began to rise. While it was originally only halfway full, she guessed it was now about three fourths full and rising. She did her best to concentrate on the stirring and on the incantation, but she began stumbling over the words.

 

Behind her, she heard several voices yell out “Sybeneros!” in quick succession. People are already extinguishing their fires!

 

Struggling with the intensity of the task, Guinevere began to falter. Her incantation broke, and her stirring slowed, unable to keep pace with the bubbling elixir. She stepped back and cursed, frustration and disappointment etched on her face.

 

With a deep breath, Mair stepped in and took over. The bubbles were approaching the brim of the cauldron now. She quickly got to work stirring counterclockwise and reading the incantation from the Guinevere’s textbook. Focusing intently, her whispers grew more confident, her stirring steady and precise. The cauldron’s wild bubbling subsided under Mair’s control, settling into a gentle simmer. The liquid began to transition from a deep blue to a golden yellow.

 

Guinevere watched as a group of students gathered around their workstation. They had long since given up on controlling the elixir and had put out their fires. Guinevere turned around. There was another group around Betrys’s workstation. Only Mair and Eira could do it.

 

“Well, well, well. Ms. Ab Owain, Ms. Cambrie, color me impressed.” Professor Pixton grinned as she walked back to the front of the workshop. “You all could learn from these two. Calm and precision are key to mastering even moderately complex potions.”

 

Since Professor Pixton could remember how excited she used to be for the Dawns Mabon, she decided to let class out early, provided their cauldrons and workstations were cleaned thoroughly. As the two girls walked out of the workshop, Guinevere leaned over and whispered, “She makes it sound like she was a student decades ago. It’s only been a few years!”

 

Mair shrugged. “She’s probably just trying to seem older so she can get her silver chain.”

 

“Whatever. I need a long bath.”

 

“Yeah, you do. Your hair is a mess.”

 

“Thanks, Mair.”

 

As the two stepped out of the dimly lit School of Alchemy and out into Perl Commons, Guinevere quickly forgot about Potions class. She started dreaming about the Dawns Mabon, about dresses and dancing, and maybe, just maybe, about a certain Duke’s son…

 

***

 

Betrys, Eira, and Cadi stepped out of the Cloister and approached Branwen Hall. The night sky was red, lit by the Harvest Moon that hung half-formed above their heads.

 

Betrys had redone her braids after Potions class, worried that some of the bubbling elixir had made it into her hair. She now wore low cut black ball gown. Eira and Cadi wore black gowns themselves, electing not to use the special occasion to venture too far from their usual dress code.

 

In front of Branwen Hall stood a group of students, male and female, bathed in an orange glow. As Betrys grew closer to the crowd, she realized they were gathered around a large bonfire. To the left and right of their path sat two long tables covered with round gray stones. On each end of the tables were large buckets. Betrys peered into one.

 

“Ah, this is the Dawnfire. My mother told me about this.”

 

“The what fire?” Cadi asked.

 

“The Dawnfire.” Betrys repeated. She reached into one of the buckets and pulled out a piece of chalk. “You’re supposed to take one of these stones and write your name on it. Then you throw it into the bonfire.” Betrys picked up a perfectly round stone and began scribbling on it with the chalk. “Tomorrow morning you’re supposed to search through the ashes for your stone. If it’s missing, you won’t live to see the next Dawns Mabon.”

 

“Really?” Cadi looked up at Betrys with large, concerned eyes.

 

“No,” Eira interrupted in her monotone. “Not really. That’s just folklore.”

 

Betrys shot Eira a foul look. “Believe what you want. Let’s go. I need a drink.”

 

Betrys marched ahead towards the bonfire. Eira and Cadi rushed to scribble their names on their stones and follow her. Betrys tossed her stone into the fire in stride, not even looking to see where it landed. Eira tossed hers in and followed. Cadi strategically dropped her stone close to the edge of the fire, studied the location, and then ran after Betrys and Eira.

 

Within seconds of entering Branwen Hall, it was clear the building had been transformed for the Dawns Mabon. Eira’s eyes slightly widened, revealing her utter surprise. Even Betrys was impressed.

 

The normally mundane dining hall was now a realm of enchantment. The air was filled with the rich, earthy scent of autumn leaves, and the soft glow of enchanted pumpkins cast a warm and mysterious light. The ceiling, usually adorned with practical lighting fixtures, had been replaced with an illusion of a starlit night sky, twinkling with constellations that seemed to dance in harmony with the magical ambiance.

 

Long, oak dining tables were adorned with intricate tablecloths woven from the finest spider silk, glistening like dew-kissed cobwebs. Each table was crowned with centerpieces of dried herbs, wildflowers, and candles that flickered with an otherworldly flame. The room resonated with the haunting melodies of a spectral orchestra, filling the air with a symphony of magical notes.

 

The walls, once adorned with practical tapestries, now displayed murals that depicted the changing seasons in vivid, magical hues. As students moved through Branwen, they felt a subtle shift in the atmosphere, as if the very air was charged with the ancient magic of the fall equinox.

 

Perhaps even more noticeable than the change in décor was the presence of Druicraeft. Wizards of all shapes and sizes, clothed in dress robes ranging from understated to gaudy, roamed Branwen in hordes.

 

As the girls passed a group of wizards that already seemed drunk, Eira leaned over and whispered, “Hey, Betrys, are you worried about running into that Parry boy?”

 

“Bedwyr Parry?” Betrys laughed. “No, not at all. He thinks Mair Ab Owain did that shit to him. She’s the one that should be worried.”

 

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Eira said, still whispering. “The Duke’s son, Trystan Martyn, was still in the Flying Goat. What if he noticed that Mair never left the tavern?”

 

The trio made their way past the tables and approached one of the two bars on the other end of Branwen.

 

Betrys frowned. “From what I’ve heard, he was talking to Gwen Grey the entire night. He probably didn’t notice. Plus, I’ve got something special in store for his lordship.” Betrys reached into her neckline under her gown near her right breast. Then she pulled out a tiny flask and waved it in front of Eira’s face.

 

Eira shook her head. “Do I even want to know what’s in there?”

 

“Probably not.”

 

There was a small crowd in front of the bar. As they waited their turn to be served, Eira leaned in again.

 

“Be careful. Whatever you’re planning on doing, you’re doing to the Marquess of Ysros. If you get cau—”

 

“I won’t get caught.”

 

“How do you even know he’ll want to talk to you?”

 

“What?” Betrys performed an exaggerated curtsy. “You don’t think Trystan will want to speak with the daughter of the Eorl of Lush?”

 

Eira raised an eyebrow. “You hate your father. You never talk about the Eorldom with anyone.”

 

Betrys gave Eira a small pat on the rear, causing her to jump. “It’s the Dawns Mabon, Eira. There’s magic in the air. Tonight, I embrace nobility.”

 

***

 

Guinevere, Mair, and Alys sat at the end of one of the oak tables. Each had a glass of redgwin in their hands. Guinevere wore a gray ballgown that flowed elegantly around her, reminiscent of swirling fog. It was adorned with delicate silver embroidery that sparkled like dewdrops on spiderwebs.

 

Mair looked radiant in her green ballgown, which brought the lush vibrancy of the forest to life. The gown was a rich emerald hue and fashioned from fine silk. She wore a thin leather belt across her midsection which accentuated her hips.

 

Alys donned a regal dark blue ballgown. It was reminiscent of the starlit night, adorned with tiny, twinkling crystals that mimicked the constellations above. The deep blue velvet flowed like the midnight sky, and the gown was accented with silver crescent moons and stars.

 

Mair took a large gulp of her redgwin and sighed. “I want to talk to some boys!”

 

“Then what are you doing sitting here with us?” Guinevere grumbled. She was annoyed that she hadn’t seen Trystan yet.

 

“I don’t even need a Duke’s son,” Mair continued after another sip. “I’d take an Eorl’s son. Hell, I’d even take the son of a Count.”

 

Alys rolled her eyes. “How selfless.”

 

Guinevere took a large sip from her glass, drinking the last of her redgwin. “I need a refill. Anyone else?”

 

“I do!” Mair stood up.

 

“I’m okay,” said Alys. “I just saw Lunys and Nerys arrive. I’m going to go chat with them for a bit.”

 

“Bad strategy,” Mair slurred. “The Price girls are pretty. They’ll distract the boys.”

 

“Some of us care about things besides boys,” Alys snapped. She turned quickly and walked away, her flowing gown sparkling behind her.

 

“What’s her problem?” Mair asked.

 

“Who knows.”

 

Guinevere and Mair set out for one of the bars. Maybe more redgwin will make me feel better. Despite constantly reminding herself that she wasn’t highborn enough for Trystan Martyn, deep down she had still wanted to see him again. To talk to him about the Duchy of Ysros. To see him smile at her.

 

The two girls reached the bar just as a group of Druicraeft boys were leaving. Guinevere was able to get the bartender’s attention quickly. She held up two fingers. “Two glasses of redgwin, please.”

 

“Coming right up.”

 

As Guinevere waited for the glasses to be poured, she turned around and looked at the other bar on the opposite wall. Then her heart dropped.

 

She saw Trystan, his golden blonde hair catching the light perfectly. He wore crimson dress robes that were well suited for his patrician demeanor. There was gold trim that ran the whole length of his robes and reflected the sparkling light of the dining hall. And standing next to him—close to him—was Betrys Lush.

 

Guinevere felt her stomach turning. Trystan was leaning down and whispering into Betrys’s ear. She was giggling. Guinevere had never seen Betrys giggle like that.

 

Guinevere saw Bedwyr Parry approach Trystan. Their bar was full, and Trystan was so distracted by Betrys that he paid no attention to Bedwyr. Clearly frustrated, Bedwyr turned around and began walking to the bar that Guinevere and Mair were at.

 

But Guinevere paid Bedwyr no mind. She saw Betrys place her hand on Trystan’s arm. Guinevere could feel her heart pumping in her chest. Then she saw Betrys point towards a door at the end of the dining hall. She saw Trystan nod. They both sat their glasses on the bar and began walking towards the door.

 

“Two glasses of redgwin.” The bartender sat their glasses on the bar.

 

“Finally!” Mair exclaimed, grabbing her glass and instantly taking a sip.

 

Guinevere watched Trystan and Betrys walk together. Trystan already seemed to be drunk. He stumbled slightly before Betrys put her arm around his shoulder and stabilized him.

 

“Hey… I’m going to be right back, okay?”

 

“What? Oh, whatever. I’ll be here trying to find my prince charming.”

 

“Thanks. I’ll just be a minute.”

 

For a few seconds, Mair watched Guinevere walk away. Then she turned back to the bar. Guinevere’s full glass of redgwin still sat there, untouched. “Well, more for me,” she said to herself.

 

“You and I appear to be matching.”

 

The male voice surprised her. She turned to the right and saw a wizard standing next to her. He was tall with brown hair and was wearing a black masquerade mask over his eyes. His dress robes were almost the exact same shade as Mair’s gown.

 

“Yes,” Mair smiled. “We do. What’s with the mask?”

 

The wizard grinned. “Oh, this? I don’t know. I think things like this are more fun with a little mystery.”

 

“A little mystery and a lot of alcohol.” Mair drank the rest of her redgwin in a single gulp, pushed her empty glass forward, and picked up Guinevere’s.

 

“I think I’ve heard of you before,” said the masked wizard. “You’re Mair Ab Owain, right?”

 

“You’ve heard correct,” said Mair, taking a sip from Guinevere’s glass. She set it down and then thrust her index finger into his chest. “And I think you may be my prince charming.”

 

“Yes,” he grinned. “I think so.”

 

***

 

Guinevere watched Trystan and Betrys disappear through the door. She walked up to it, waited about ten seconds, then slowly pulled the door open. Through the door was a long, dimly lit corridor. She watched as the two walked down the hall, turned right, and disappeared.

 

Guinevere followed as quickly and quietly as she could. Betrys is up to something. I just know it.

 

When she got to the end of the hallway, she crouched and slowly stuck her head around the corner, trying to get a glimpse of them. She could see them still walking. They had slowed down now. Trystan looked incredibly drunk; he almost wasn’t even walking anymore. Betrys was practically holding him up. The two stopped in front of a wooden door. Then Betrys looked up and down the hall.

 

Guinevere quickly pulled her head back. Fuck. I hope she didn’t see me. She held her breath and listened. A few seconds later, Guinevere heard the squeal of old hinges. She opened the door. I think I’m safe. Guinevere waited a few more seconds before looking around the corner again. The corridor was now empty.

 

Guinevere stood up and quietly turned the corner, walking towards the door. When she stood outside of it, she softly put her ear to the door. She couldn’t hear their voices.

 

Guinevere stood back. She had a decision to make. Betrys has done something to him. I just know it! He barely got this drunk at the Flying Goat this week, and we were there for hours. There’s no way he’s gotten this drunk within 30 minutes.

 

Her decision was made. She had to protect Trystan from whatever evil plan Betrys had in store for him. Guinevere reached into her neckline and pulled out her wand. She reached out and grasped the door handle. She took a deep breath and slowly pulled the door open.

 

The room was dark. It took Guinevere’s eyes a moment to adjust. She still couldn’t hear their voices, or any sound for that matter. She stepped inside. As her eyes adjusted, she thought she could see Trystan laying on a table on the opposite end of the room. He was laying on his back and wasn’t moving.

 

“Trystan?” she whispered. Then she saw movement out of the corner of her eye.

 

“Stetheros!”

 

Guinevere froze mid step. She cursed herself. How did I not see this coming?

 

The shadowy figure stepped out in front of her. Then she heard the girl’s voice say, “Phainon.”

 

The room was now washed in light emanating from the wand of Betrys Lush. She grew nearer to Guinevere until their faces were only a few inches apart. She was smiling so wide that Guinevere could see every tooth in her mouth.

 

“Happy Dawns Mabon, Grey.”

 

***

 

“Hey… where are we… going… again…?”

 

Mair had her arm wrapped around the masked wizard. After they had each had an additional drink, he had recommended they visit a small enclosed courtyard just outside of Branwen Hall.

 

“My secret place. You’re going to love it.”

 

“Oh… okay…”

 

He supported Mair as she began to stumble. “I shouldn’t have… had so much… to… drink…”

 

“It’s okay,” said the masked wizard. “That’s what the Dawns Mabon is all about.”

 

The two exited out of a side door and began walking down a pebble path alongside the dining hall. The red sky cast an eerie aura over the evening. Eventually they came into a small courtyard enclosed by tall hedges. There was no one else around.

 

“This is what… you wanted to show… me?” Mair looked around with half-lidded eyes.

 

The masked wizard stood behind Mair as she examined the tall hedges. He reached into his robes and pulled out his wand, aiming it at the back of her head.

 

“I just wanted to get you alone. Somneron.”

 

Mair’s body instantly went limp. The masked wizard caught her before she hit the ground. He grinned. “Tonight, I get my revenge, Mair Ab Owain.”

 

He lowered her unconscious body to the ground and quickly threw off his mask. The brown eyes of Bedwyr Parry looked down hungrily at his prey.

 

He knelt down and placed his hands on Mair’s chest. He was surprised how large her tits were for such a petite girl. “I’ve got to see them,” he whispered to himself. He roughly reached into her gown and pulled out her breasts. He kneaded her pale tits, rubbing his fingers over her small pink nipples. He could feel himself salivating.

 

“No one fucks with Bedwyr Parry and gets away with it. No one.”

 

He reached down to the hem of her gown and began pushing it up towards her waist. Mair’s delicate pale legs slowly came into view. Bedwyr relished every second of his revenge. Finally, the hem of Mair’s green gown was up around her waist, the only cloth guarding her dignity was her linen chemise. Bedwyr made quick work of it, roughly pushing it up past her hips.

 

He grinned as her pink pussy came into view. A delicate layer of red hair crowned her cleft. Bedwyr could feel his heart pumping quickly.

 

“As much as I’d like to take your pussy, it seems like you have a lot of fun sticking things up people’s arses. I want to return the favor.”

 

With that, he unceremoniously rolled Mair onto her stomach. He took a handful of her tight, pale white ass, spreading her cheeks to get a good look at her pink asshole. After groping her ass for what felt like a minute, he began unbuttoning his trousers.

 

Behind him, Bedwyr heard a slight shuffle. “Get lost!” he yelled out. For a moment, the shuffling stopped. Satisfied, he began pulling his trousers down, freeing his throbbing cock.

 

Then he heard the shuffling again. Agitated, he turned around and prepared to curse whatever students were trying to take his secret spot. He was surprised when he saw a tall, middle-aged wizard standing in the enclosure. His shoulder-length black hair and goatee were a mix of black and gray.

 

Bedwyr quickly pulled up his pants and tried to stand between the wizard and the half-dressed Mair. “Oh, sorry, sir. I thought you were another student. I’m just helping my friend, here. She’s had a bit too much to drink.” Bedwyr made his best attempt at an innocent smile.

 

The wizard did not smile back. “Thank you, Mr. Parry, for doing the hard work for me.”

 

Bedwyr looked confused. “I don’t understand. How do you know my name?”

 

The wizard raised his wand. Bedwyr’s shock slowed him down; he tried to reach for his wand on the ground, but it was too late.

 

“Exaixon.”

 

Bedwyr’s brown eyes drooped instantly. His arms fell limply by his sides. His trousers, which were still unbuttoned, slowly fell down to his ankles.

 

Brython Beardwood smiled. “Sorry to cut your night short, Mr. Parry. But I have a date with Ms. Ab Owain. I’m sure you’ll understand.”

 

He walked around Bedwyr to get a better view of the unconscious Mair. Her pale white ass was still on full display.

 

“Don’t worry, Mr. Parry. You have won yourself an important role in my master plan.” Beardwood looked up at the crimson night sky and grinned. “The Harvest Moon thanks you.”