Page 101 of The Villains of Winter

It was the highest circus of them all.

Statues and portraits were erected in their honor, airports were named after them, schools admitted their legacy children, libraries were donated, international acclaim was given unto them. After all, if one must debase themselves on the altar of lies, let it be for power.

That was how James was raised.

His greatest performance with Elliott was that he was normal as anyone else, another upperclassmen in college. Elliott couldn’t handle anything different.

“Yeah. I might work with him in the future.” James pointed to the canvas. “What’s that?”

Elliott grinned, turning it over. “It’s us. Do you like it?”

Like wasn’t worthy enough for the pure mirth that rose within James. There were times James didn’t even remember he existed, until Elliott walked into a room, filling it with warmth.

There were moments he would forget his own name, until Elliott spoke it to him.

James performed around everyone, except him. His peers believed he was playing the acclaimed roles of Claudius or Alexikakos, but in truth, he was eternally playing the role of James Wilde.

The role of James Wilde was the young politician on the rise who was exactly like one of them; a regular college student with a rush of popularity.

By impossible magic, Elliott captured that experience between them. What it felt like to be seen. James always felt like Jamie with Elliott.

“You could’ve left me behind in Arkansas and lived a new life. You didn’t, and that means a hell of a lot to me.” Elliott beamed. “I thought I’d draw us together.”

In Elliott’s mind, Elliott was right.

James could’ve let Elliott go. He could’ve released him to the Montclair wolves, then married someone interesting, someone he’d always liked, all without a retreating glance to his past. Heather Tần had been on James’s mind since he was a freshman, she was only a year older than him, and she was exactly as ambitious as him. Even though she had no government incumbents in her lineage, she was exceptionally attractive; fiery dark eyes and steel grit. James could’ve welcomed children with her, waltzed in the kitchen with her on Saturday nights, taken over the country with her on Mondays, and one brilliant night in November, they would’ve celebrated his election to senatorship without a thought about the College.

However, James’s mind knew the reality of the matter.

He would have Elliott or nothing else.

Elliott belonged to him. Elliott’s soul belonged to him. Elliott’s heart belonged to him.

James would always protect what belonged to him. He smiled.

“There is no me that exists without you, Elliott Archway.”

​​ CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

“ELLIOTT, YOU NEED TO START chipping in for my medical bills at this point.” Roslyn wiped her eyes of tears. She didn’t try to pretend she was working, she threw her soaked tissues at him instead. “This is the second time you’ve almost given me a heart attack. It’s bad enough that you’re a Boston Red Sox fan. Now, you’re scaring the entire college by returning from the dead.”

She dabbed her green eyes with another batch of fresh tissues.

“I’m sorry.” Elliott smiled amiably, he didn’t tell her about the Claude Montclair ordeal. The Céline Montclair ordeal. For once, he felt better after getting everything off his chest. He felt lighter without having to bury it all inside of him. He purged his feelings in his letters.

“I told you to leave Banebury as soon as you graduated, not get yourself killed in front of everyone.” Roslyn returned to her desk decorated with bright sand and tiny beach balls. Bobbleheads of shirtless men on surfing boards were spaced between the paperwork she never did.

All Elliott could focus on was that one of the bobbleheads looked like Wulfram.

Elliott deflated a bit. “I couldn’t even die right. I’m hopeless.”

“Elliott, the worst thing about you is that you’re a Patriots fan and you cheer for the Red Sox. Other than that, you’re not hopeless, they are.”

Elliott felt a pinch better. “Thanks, Roz.”

“I’m glad that you survived, kid.” She searched for her baked treats. “Do s’mores work for you?”

“Always.” Elliott sat in the familiar chair next to her desk.