Page 64 of Too Many Beds

Marek ran his fingers over the smooth oak of his bed frame, feeling each grain and knot. The wood was like an old friend, one he had only to cajole into shape. He still had a long way to go, but he could do this. The room buzzed with activity, but Marek tuned it all out, focusing on the rhythm of his own work. He barely glanced at Arcanus's workstation, where the mage was already weaving spells around his creation.

A flash of light caught Marek's eye. Arcanus stood with his hands raised. The bed frame before him shimmered, the wood twisting into shapes that defied natural laws. Marek gritted his teeth and looked away, concentrating on his own work.

Marek focused on the headboard, a large piece of oak he'd already shaped into a basic rectangle. He picked up his chisel and began carving intricate patterns into the wood. He carved a series of intertwined oak leaves, detailed right down to their veins. They would form a flowing, symmetrical design that evoked the strength of Arlenia's forests.

He couldn't help but steal glances at Arcanus's workstation, where the mage was working with enthusiasm. A swirling golden light pulsed around Arcanus's wand as he carved designs into his headboard. It was impressive how quickly he did it, and it made Marek clench his jaw. He knew Arcanus wasn’t simply relying on magic; the mage's artistry was clear in the way he shaped the wood, creating a series of intertwined dragons. The scales of the dragons seemed to gleam like precious metals catching the light, and illusory flames danced from their nostrils, making the scene enchanting.

Magic. It was sounfair.

As the day ended and tools were set down for the night, Marek couldn't shake the feeling that no matter how hardhe worked, he was fighting a losing battle against something beyond mere skill—something that sparkled with impossible brilliance just a few feet away from him.

The magic use wasprofane. Not to be tolerated.

Marek was going to do something about that.

At the end of the second day, the artisans broke off into groups as before, leaving Arcanus and Marek alone. Marek had made it clear he despised Arcanus and his magic, so the mage didn't even attempt to invite him out for a meal and entertainment.

Which was a shame. Marek was handsome, and Arcanus wouldn't have minded feeling his hands on his body with the same intensity Marek used during his work.

Arcanus sat alone at a small table in the castle's dining hall, pushing around a piece of roasted duck with his fork. The murmurs and laughter of the other artisans echoed around him, but he found no solace in their camaraderie. The tension between him and Marek bothered him, stealing his appetite. With a sigh, he abandoned his meal and made his way back to his quarters.

The castle wing where the artisans were housed was quiet. Arcanus's modest room felt like a cage tonight. He lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to will himself into sleep. His mind, however, was a whirlpool of thoughts—memories of Marek's intense blue eyes and the feeling of being judged by every traditional artisan in the competition.

He sat up abruptly, deciding that a walk might clear his mind. He slipped on his boots and robe, then quietly opened the door to his room. The hallway stretched before him, lit byflickering sconces. As he stepped out, he noticed a silhouette moving further down the corridor. Tall and broad-shouldered—there was no mistaking it.Marek.

Arcanus hesitated for a moment before deciding to follow. He moved silently, keeping enough distance to avoid detection but close enough not to lose sight.

Marek walked with purpose, his steps echoing softly in the stone hallway. They passed through several turns and finally approached the grand doors of the competition hall. Marek paused for a moment before pushing them open just enough to slip inside.

Arcanus followed. He watched as Marek approached Arcanus's workstation. Hands on hips, the other man studied the bed. The wizard considered stepping out from the shadows and challenging Marek, demanding to know what he was doing. But the wan light revealed a stricken look on Marek's face, and Arcanus didn't feel that it was his place to intrude. So, he watched and waited until Marek finally turned and trudged out, leaving the unfinished beds behind.

The rhythmic scrape of his chisel against the oak was a comfort that helped Marek focus. He was working on the rails for the bed, shaping them to fit the frame and headboard. Marek had chosen a piece of walnut, its grain a beautiful swirl of dark brown and pale gold. He planned to carve a series of stylized vines, their tendrils twisting and turning, mirroring the design of the oak leaves on the headboard.

The work was demanding, but Marek found peace in it. Each stroke of the chisel felt rewarding. It was a reminder of why he did this, why he poured his heart and soul into his craft. Ashe carved, his mind wandered back to the previous night, when he'd stood before Arcanus's workstation. He'd been tempted to do something, to sabotage the wizard’s work, to even the playing field. But something had stopped him, something that felt like a whisper of caution, or perhaps a flicker of something else... something he couldn't quite name.

He had to admit, Arcanus wasgood. His magic was impressive, yes, but it was hisartistrythat truly captivated Marek. The way he used his magic to enhance the wood, to bring out its natural beauty, was a skill he couldn't deny. Marek, in his own way, was trying to achieve the same thing, using his years of experience and dedication to create something beautiful and lasting. But Arcanus's magic was proof of the gulf that separated them, a gulf that made Marek question everything he believed in.

He pushed those thoughts aside, focusing on the flowing lines of the walnut rail. The piece before him was a reminder that true craftsmanship, whether or not magic was involved, was about passion, dedication, and the pursuit of beauty. And that was something he wouldn't let anyone take away from him.

His mind drifted to the looming deadline. The competition was coming to a close, and the mattresses would arrive soon. Marek couldn't afford any more delays. His heart sank as he realized that he'd have to forgo the final touch that would really set it apart. He'd planned to gild the headboard, carefully applying a thin layer of gold leaf to the carved oak leaves. It would have been a bold statement, and a way to showcase his artistry in a new light. But time was a thief, and he had to settle for varnish alone.

At the end of the day, Arcanus stood back, smiling at the bed he had created. “Perfection,” he murmured, running a hand along the polished wood. It was his finest work—every curve, every enchantment, perfectly placed. The bed didn't justexist; it breathed a fierce elegance that sang of fairy tales and legends.

His gaze drifted to the other beds in the grand hall, each piece reflecting its creator's soul. They were all beautiful in their own right. But he kept returning to Marek's.

Marek's bed was sheer craftsmanship. There was no magic in Marek's creation, only raw talent and relentless effort.

A sigh escaped his lips. “Why must there be such a chasm between us?” His use of magic had always been a point of contention. But there was so much more he wished Marek could see—beyond the enchantments and spells.

As the artisans milled about, inspecting each other’s work and exchanging pleasantries, the sting of isolation filled Arcanus once more. He wanted to share this moment with someone who understood the heart behind his craft.

Marek's silhouette caught his eye as he walked by, deep blue eyes focused on some unseen point ahead. Arcanus took a step forward, hesitated, then stopped himself. What could he say that wouldn't appear self-serving or insincere? He glanced back at his own bed, then at Marek’s again. Both were masterpieces—different paths leading to the same peak. And in the end, wasn't that what mattered?

“Marek,” Arcanus ventured, taking another step closer. “This has been an excellent contest. And I'd be honored to celebrate with you.”

Marek's lips firmed into a thin line, eyes narrowing. It was a shame, as it ruined a perfectly handsome face. Marek, however, seemed unaware of this as he glared at Arcanus. “What, so you can lord your superiority over me?”

Arcanus blinked. “I… what? No.” He cleared his throat and threw every bit of sincerity he had into his next words. “I truly think the bed you've created is exceptional. And I'd very much like to celebrate with you.” The wizard paused, his face warming. “And these past few days have been lonely.”

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