Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/895192.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Merlin_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Leon/Morgana_(Merlin)
  Character:
      Leon_(Merlin), Morgana_(Merlin), Uther_Pendragon_(Merlin), Arthur
      Pendragon_(Merlin), Gwen_(Merlin)
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Canon
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-07-23 Chapters: 6/6 Words: 16138
****** Weapon of Choice ******
by eurydice72
Summary
     He saw nothing but the weapon in his hand and the opponent before
     him. He gave her no choice but to become one or the other.
Notes
     Written for the KMM prompt, "Uther wants to marry Morgana off for
     political gain. Leon is merely a knight, a dogsbody."
***** Dagger *****
                                    DAGGER
 def: a short, double-edged weapon with a pointed blade and a handle, designed
                        specifically for close combat.
   It offers versatility, allowing its user to both slash and thrust as the
                             circumstance demands.
"You hold that blade like a girl."
The young knight's gaze snapped up from his work, his whetstone frozen in his
other hand. "Pardon?"
He had the kindest eyes she'd ever seen. No matter where he was, no matter who
commanded his attention, those blue eyes stripped away pretense, beckoning a
body closer, closer. They mesmerized her, had done so from the very first
moment she saw him amongst the others, even though he should've been lost in
that scarlet sea, just another faceless guard with more brawn than brains. A
man such as this would never survive as a knight of Camelot, but it seemed
nobody had the nerve to tell him so.
"You heard me." She straightened her posture, refusing to quail under his
attention. For as many weeks as she'd watched him train, she still felt like a
child compared to him. He couldn't be that much older than her fourteen years,
though. Six, seven years at the outside. "Even Arthur could best you, and he's
just a boy." There. Placing Arthur in a different category should help the
knight see her as more of his equal.
"Prince Arthur is still in training."
"As are you, if memory serves."
His eyes narrowed. "Can I be of service, my lady?"
Even with her deliberate agitation, he refused to break his polite composure.
Short of stripping out of her gown and running through the training fields
without a stitch on, she'd tried everything she could to get him to notice her.
But Leon was too focused on winning Uther's favor, pushing himself harder than
any of the other young men striving to rise through the ranks. He saw nothing
but the weapon in his hand and the opponent before him. He gave her no choice
but to become one or the other.
She strolled farther into the armory, trailing her fingers along the sword
hilts she passed as she skirted the edge of the room. "I rather thought I might
be of some service to you," she mused. She deliberately kept her eyes away, her
chin up, to better bare her throat and upper chest. Her dress was a size too
small, and while she had to move slowly to keep from losing her breath, it
succeeded in making her breasts seem fuller. Whether he noticed or not, she had
no idea, else she'd shatter the nonchalance she strove for. "My father was an
expert swordsman. He taught me everything he knew."
His unexpected snort startled her smooth steps, but by the time she glanced in
his direction, Leon had already schooled his features. "I already train with
the best."
"The best have you dropping your blade the moment before you strike. That's why
Alaric won your match yesterday." She shrugged and turned back to the door.
"But it's no matter to me if you wish to die on your first real quest. Camelot
needs knights who can actually fight, not boys playing with their swords."
Her silken hem whispered across the stone floor, each step creating another
shiver to race through her. He needed to stop her. She'd made her first move,
and now it was his turn, didn't he understand that? If he let her walk out, she
wouldn't be able to try again, not if she wished to retain even a fraction of
her dignity. What more could she do, though? Nothing else seemed to get through
to him.
Please, Leon, don't be a fool.
"You watched the match?"
Her feet stopped, but her heart became fleet. Four simple words, perhaps not
those she would've chosen, but enough for her purpose, enough for hope to
kindle anew like the fires that rampaged through enemy hearts.
"I told you," she said without turning. "I enjoy swordplay. Camelot has some of
the finest knights the five kingdoms have ever known."
"Alaric boasted about the win all day."
"As well he should. It was a fair loss." Lying to soften the blow would have
been wiser, but she wouldn't get what she wanted if she shielded his ego.
"But you believe I could have won."
She turned with a small, triumphant smile. "I know you could have. You have a
longer reach and a stronger swing. Your weakness lies in form."
"Then why have none of the others pointed this out to me? Why hasn't the king?"
"You're one among many, and you haven't yet been called upon to do anything
more dangerous than nightly guard duty. They won't notice you until you give
them reason to."
His head cocked. Curiosity played in the depths of his eyes. "You did."
Maintaining the distance between them helped quell the butterflies that had
found a permanent home in her stomach. "Because I had reason."
At times like this, she craved the guidance of a mother or an older sister,
someone familiar with this battle between men and women who could tell her how
much was too much to admit, how much was too little. She had the feeling that
Uther's amusement at her flirtatious behavior with visiting nobles wasn't
entirely appropriate, but this was what she knew best. She knew men already
found her beautiful. What she didn't know was whether this one would--or could-
-see her for more than the king's over-indulged ward.
His response was an eternity in coming, time slipping away from her when every
second in battle counted. "I don't wish to be lost in the shadows."
"Of course not." A step forward. Each one mattered. "You're proud of what you
do, who you are."
"I've wanted to be a knight of Camelot my entire life."
The sudden ferocity in his tone sliced through her defenses. Her pace faltered,
her traitorous thighs quivering at the proof of passion he so rarely unleashed.
"I could help you be the greatest knight Uther has ever seen."
"If I accept your help, the others can't find out."
"I know." Though she didn't like it. For Leon, though, she'd settle for being
the secret for the time it took to gain his affection. "They wouldn't
understand. Their so-called honor blinds them."
Leon's eyes narrowed. "Do you question my honor, then?"
"Far from it. I applaud your wisdom in recognizing a strong ally." She came
within arm's reach, sidestepping the tip of his sword so nothing more came
between them. "We are allies now, are we not?"
For all his outer calm, he wasn't as unaware of her as he wanted her to
believe. His nostrils flared, and his lashes ducked for a single moment as his
gaze strayed elsewhere than what was best and proper for a ward of the king.
Not for Morgana, though. She'd thrown away thoughts of best and proper the
first time she saw Leon.
He nodded once. He even smiled.
"Allies."
                                     * * *
Sneaking through the castle in the dead of night when he was supposed to be
patrolling the parapets was not the smartest choice Leon had ever made.
Discovery risked ramifications of the highest order, especially if word were to
get back to the king. But Edward owed him for the time Leon covered his
delinquence when he twice fell asleep on his shift, and while Leon never
considered those kinds of favors for other knights as debts to be paid, in this
case, he had to make an exception. He needed to know, and this was the only way
for him to find out.
The risk was worth it, though he'd never admit as much to Morgana. Her ego
already rivaled Arthur's, consequences of being part of the royal family, he
assumed.
At her door, he hesitated, locked in indecision. Courtesy warred with common
sense, one commanding him to knock, the latter reminding him that she was
probably asleep and knocking would not only wake her and leave her irritable
but draw attention from anybody who might be near. Tamping down the urge to
obey his breeding, he carefully turned the door handle, mindful to stay as
silent as possible.
A single candle burned inside the room. Though it sat at the bedside, the glow
it cast over the sumptuous blankets revealed they'd been abandoned, tossed back
and disarrayed by an owner uncaring of appearances.
"Morgana?" he called out softly, venturing farther into her chambers.
He found her curled up in a chair by the window. Her gaze was averted, fixed on
whatever she saw in the night, and her arms wrapped tightly around her legs to
hug them to her body. Much of her nightgown was masked by the fall of her ebony
waves, slashing across the pearly gossamer like open wounds. He shook off the
image as he approached. For as much time as he spent with Morgana with a sword
in his hand, he never wanted to associate her with carnage.
"Morgana?" he repeated when he was nearer.
She tilted her head up at his voice, and he halted yet again. All color had
been drained away from her pure complexion. Even her lips were pinched white.
"Leon?" The way she spoke, his name sounded like fragile crystal, irreparably
shattered. "What are you doing here?"
He ignored her question and crouched at her side. "What's wrong?"
Thick lashes fanned across her cheeks. Her head swayed to the side as if too
heavy for her to hold up. "I don't sleep well."
He itched to reach out and touch her, but in the few months they'd been
training together, he had never once yielded on that familiar impulse. She was
so young, in spite of how hard she tried to convince him otherwise, and he
couldn't let himself forget that the king's fifteen-year-old ward was off-
limits, no matter how much he--or she--wished things were different.
"You should speak to Gaius," he said. "I'm sure he can help."
"He wouldn't understand."
"It's his job to understand," he pressed. "He could give you something that
would help, I'm sure of it."
"Nothing helps."
"Because you've exhausted all possibilities? Somehow, I doubt that. You and I
both know you don't like being seen as..." He was going to say weak, but she
hated that word. "...like this," he changed it to. "But you need something,
Morgana. Promise me you'll talk to him."
He couldn't say why it was so important to him for her to agree, but after a
moment, she nodded.
"Good." He attempted to straighten to give her space back, but a single glance
from her and he was locked at her side. "What happened today?"
She didn't ask what he referred to, for which he was grateful. Their routine
might still be young, but it had already taken strong enough root for its
disruption to throw off his entire day. When she hadn't shown for their pre-
breakfast training session, he'd spent the rest of his hours wondering why.
"Uther found out." Bitterness laced her tone. "That stupid maid he assigned to
me told him everything."
His breath caught. Discovery had been a real fear from the onset. At first,
he'd only cared what the other knights might say if they heard he was working
on his swordfighting with a girl, but the more time he spent with Morgana, the
more he worried about what the king would do instead. She was young and
impressionable, not to mention renowned already for her beauty. While Leon was
noble-born, he was still just a knight, unworthy of a match or any of her
attentions, whether they were platonic or not.
"What did he say?"
"He forbade me from continuing. He said it was unbecoming for a young lady to
be seen consorting with knights."
Uther's specific terminology drove Leon to his feet, and he backed away several
steps as if the distance would be enough to eradicate the king's impressions.
"We don't consort."
Something about the way he said it must have amused her. Her full mouth twisted
into a wry smile as her brow lifted. "What do you call it?"
"We train."
"So you see what you and I do as different as what you do with the other
knights?"
"No--yes--no!" When she posed questions like that, his mind didn't know where
to latch onto. She was a sly one, his Morgana, always finding ways to get to
him with words when the mere sight of her was enough to send any man to his
knees. In a few years time, she would be unparalleled within the five kingdoms,
and that thought alone filled Leon with a maelstrom he couldn't grasp.
Though she hadn't moved from her chair, she seemed taller in the space she
occupied, stronger and straighter. "You can't have it both ways," she said. "Is
the answer really that difficult?"
Yes, because she couldn't know how she left him every morning, how walking away
from her when her eyes shone and her skin was dewy with the sweat of their
labor left him aching for hours, his skin too tight for his heated flesh, the
world too bright and distracting when he didn't have the skirmishes with her to
focus on. It wasn't because he knew his attentions would be unwelcome. Far from
it. He'd known from that first visit in the armory that she flirted with him,
using every weapon at her disposal to goad him into responding. But he was not
a man to take advantage of a young girl's crush. His honor had to mean
something, else what was the point of being a knight at all?
His inability to answer her in a way that would satisfy both of them left the
air between them swollen and tense in his silence. Morgana sighed and rested
her chin on her knees, looking inexplicably both more innocent and seductive at
the same time.
"The time I spend with you are my favorite hours of the day," she said. "I love
sparring. I love the way the sword feels against my palm. I love feeling like
anything is possible, that I can't be beaten down no matter what is thrown at
me."
He snorted. "I do win occasionally, you know."
"I know. But a defeat at your hands doesn't feel like a defeat. It feels
like...another way to win."
Her cryptic words might have left an outsider shaking his head, unable to parse
what she might mean. But Leon understood, without having to beg further
explanation. He knew the value of a lesson learned at the hand of a worthy foe.
She had taught him much in the short time they'd spent together, and not just
about his form.
"Uther is right, though." Admitting such strained the limits of his control.
"Perhaps it's better this way."
When he turned to leave, Morgana bolted from her seat, appearing before him to
block the path. She was always doing that. Barring the way. Forcing him to
grind to a halt and consider how he would proceed without barreling over her.
"You don't believe that." Her eyes flashed. Some of the color was returning to
her cheeks. "You wouldn't have come in search of an explanation if you did."
Why couldn't he breathe? He had no problem standing this close to her with a
sword in her hand. But then, her wild scent didn't swirl through his head as
much as it did fuel his fight. "I was worried about you."
"You saw me at dinner. I know you did."
"Something could've been wrong."
"You're not foolish enough to delude yourself like that."
But he was. He was starting to believe he'd been deluding himself all along.
"Are you foolish enough to risk Uther's wrath for a few simple sword lessons?"
he countered. If he could only get her to see reason--
"Yes." She stared up at him, unblinking, defiant. "If they were with you, I
wouldn't hesitate for a moment."
And there it was, the inevitable truth, the unblemished reality of why she'd
pursued these lessons in the first place. Meeting the blaze in her eyes, he
couldn't deny her sincerity, nor argue that she was the one suffering delusions
if she thought for a second he might reciprocate the attraction. Simply being
in front of him was all it took for his body to respond to her. No sense was
immune. The smell of her, the touch, the vision of her dusky nipples peeking
through the translucent gown. Only one sense remained untested.
His mouth crashed to hers, his hands grappling to hold her, tug her tightly
against him, do anything to make her his. Nails scratched at his shoulders,
digging through his thin shirt to leave a stinging path in their wake. His
fingers got knotted in her hair when he tried to push it out of the way, but
rather than stop to free himself, he coiled the long strands around and around
his palm to provide a stronger anchor in case she was the one to try and break
it off.
She didn't. Her lips parted at the first touch from his. They might have been
pinched from the trauma of whatever night terrors had driven her to the chair,
but now they were ripe and ready to burst, a single cut the only thing
necessary to make it happen.
The breath he'd lost before laying a finger on her disappeared entirely,
replaced by Morgana's frantic pants, the hungry little cries she made in the
back of her throat every time their tongues touched. She arched closer, rubbing
almost awkwardly against his erection, but the added friction roused him more
than he was capable of controlling.
He tore away, using his grip in her hair to yank her head back when she tried
to chase him down. "Don't," he rasped. Sucking in air wasn't enough to satisfy
his failing lungs. He could barely see straight for the way she filled his
head. "Morgana, please."
"But you want this." She raked her hands down his chest, smiling when he
groaned every time a muscle twitched in response. "See?"
"I do." Admitting it was surprisingly easy, certainly easier than trying to
separate their bodies. "I'm not a fool, remember?"
"Then what's the problem?"
His thoughts swam, flailing as he sought his reasons. "This isn't why I came
here. I don't want to take advantage of you."
"You're not. I'm not a child."
"You deserve better than this...this rutting."
Leaning her head to the side tightened the strands woven around his fingers. It
cut almost painfully into his skin. He couldn't even imagine what it must be
doing to her. But the look in her eye was pure desire, the hungry glow of a
woman fully savoring the moment. She enjoyed how rough he was being, but
whether it was because of the violence or him, he couldn't tell.
"This is exactly what I want," Morgana said. "You. Here. I've waited a long
time for you to see me as who I am, Leon. Don't turn away from it now."
As if he could. They were too entangled, literally and otherwise, to make
severing ties with her a simple task. "I see you," he said softly. "All too
well."
Her eyes widened, as if she couldn't quite believe his concession. "Then stay."
"Not tonight." Tugging her forward, he bent and brushed his lips across her
forehead. "Give me time."
"For what?"
To better master his impulses? To prove himself stronger than he feared he
wasn't? Leon wasn't sure. "To make this memorable for both of us. When we're
not exhausted."
"But this is what we have. I can't meet you anymore. That girl will tell Uther
everything."
"So get a new maid."
"Nobody in this castle will deny Uther. He's the king."
"Someone outside of the castle, then." He refused to lose their time together.
He was a better fighter because of Morgana, which made him a better man. "I
know a girl who works for my father. She's loyal to a fault, and better yet,
she's a friend of mine. If I ask her to keep it a secret, she will."
Morgana pulled away to frown up at him. "I'm not sure I like the idea of
another girl who'll do anything for you like I would."
He chuckled. "Gwen's not like that. Trust me. And she'll be a good friend to
you if that's what you want. She's a kind soul."
She still seemed unsure, though the tiny line between her brows eased. "I could
use a real friend around here. Nobody really sees me."
Stretching his thumb, he caressed the strong line of her jaw, absorbing the
heat radiating from her silken skin. "I do." He smiled. "You gave me reason,
too, remember?"
Morgana's laughter rang throughout the room. "Throwing my own words back at me?
You'll have to do better than that."
He matched her smile. "It'll be my pleasure."
***** Poison *****
                                    POISON
   def: a harmful substance, meant to hurt living organisms at a base level.
 Its intentional use is often seen as a devious means of hurting an opponent.
Everyone watched her. Knights, servants, men, women, all were bewitched as
Morgana strode down the center of the room, head held high, chin lifted in
proud defiance. She'd chosen the violet gown that turned her eyes to sapphires,
while Gwen had curled and bound her hair up and back to showcase the slender
column of her neck. The playful smile she wore was the only adornment she
needed.
Morgana knew that. Leon knew that. But he wasn't the smile's recipient.
Arthur laughed at whatever joke Morgana had shared with him, in high spirits
after the jousting match that day. She had her arm coiled through his, fingers
splayed as if they needed to accommodate the muscle beneath them, and for once,
they seemed not to be even thinking about sniping at each other. For all
appearances, they could have been the king and queen, strolling amongst their
subjects, basking in the adoration as was their due. They were ideally matched,
light and dark, strong and beautiful, and the crowd applauded when they reached
the front table to take their seats with Uther.
Though he joined in the cheers, Leon seethed. It was bad enough he'd had to
throw the match so the young prince would win. What was the point when Arthur
was well on the way to the point where he'd win on his own anyway? But orders
were orders, and Leon understood the reasoning even if he didn't agree with it,
so he did what was asked of him.
This was his reward. Getting to watch Arthur bask and preen under smiles that
weren't his, with Morgana's delicate hands flitting and touching him at every
opportunity, with her musical laughter soaring over the buzz of the hall to
spoil Leon's appetite for the feast laid before them.
He barely ate. Food turned to sawdust on his tongue, until he had to wash it
down with wine, and more wine, and even more wine after that. It burned a hole
through his gullet, churning with the bile that had swelled there over the
course of the day. Through it all, he watched. Her. Him. Knowing there was
nothing he could do about it.
Wondering if there was anything he should.
When the musicians came out to play, he made his excuses to Bodwyn and slipped
out of the great hall. The chilly spring evening crisped everything it touched,
seeping through his mail to skitter along his flushed skin, leaving it icy in
its wake. His face ached, cheeks chapping even with the new beard he'd grown.
He gritted his jaw. For her, damn it. Another change in his life that Morgana
had wrought. Because she preferred the rough texture against her body on those
few opportunities they could still manage to see each other, and he didn't know
how to say no to her.
He climbed his way to the parapets, half-heartedly acknowledging the nods from
the guards he passed. Higher, that's what he wanted. Away from the earth and
the noise and the reminders of merriment he couldn't partake in. The upper
levels were deserted, all the servants focused on the revelry, all the knights
and nobles and ladies enjoying the fruits of Uther's indulgence. He leaned
heavily against the rear wall, head tilted back to gaze up at the prickled sky,
and forced his eyes to stay open when the vertigo hit.
Closing them returned the images of her in a rush. If he stared at nothing,
perhaps he could feel nothing.
His body was numb when he heard the distant creak of the door from the castle.
Time to go back in, but his muscles disobeyed his command, still locked in the
war between his flesh and soul. He finally shut his eyes. Let whoever walked by
think he was clearing his head of the party. They would ignore him and go on
their business, because in the end, he was just another faceless knight. He
might wear the red cloak with pride, but that didn't mean he was always
particularly proud of what it meant he had to do.
"Here you are."
Her light voice drifted to his ears, just like it had in the banquet hall. It
banished the cold that had overtaken him, and he straightened out of reflex,
ready to face her regardless of the tumult she had caused inside him.
While her breath plumed in front of her face, she'd not come out with a cloak
or cape, leaving her arms bare and exposed to the cutting night air. Pink
stained her cheeks, and her eyes glittered like unbroken frost over the fields,
but she regarded him with that damnable wry amusement she reserved for Arthur
most of the time.
"You left early," she commented.
"It's not my party."
"It's everyone's party. That was the point."
"Was it?"
Her smile faded--or was that his imagination? Did he see only what he wanted to
see? Was that the curse she'd created as she'd reached adulthood, blinding him
to the truth of her nature because he still saw the innocence of the girl who'd
confronted him in the armory? He didn't know. The wine made anything seem
possible.
Just hours ago, he would've said Morgana was the one who could make anything
seem possible.
"Something's wrong."
When she reached out to touch his forehead, his reflexes took over and knocked
her hand away. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Touch me."
The smile came back, if it had ever left at all. "Nobody's here to see. I
locked the door from this side so we wouldn't be disturbed."
That wasn't the point, though of course Morgana wouldn't understand that.
"There's nothing for them to witness," he said. "You should go back." A sneer
crept into his tone. "You'll be missed."
"By who? Uther's in his cups already."
"Don't forget Arthur."
"Arthur?" She laughed and stepped forward, driving him to retreat a matching
pace. "What do I care about Arthur?"
"A great deal, if your behavior is anything to judge by," he snapped.
"He won the day. I was required to join him for the feast. Now if you'd won--"
He would not let her go there. "And everything else was just a gift for him, is
that it? A little extra to say, job well done?"
"You're jealous."
"Half the room was jealous of Arthur tonight."
"But you're the one who left." Her advance forced him against the wall, so he
pulled himself up to his full height to better glare down at her. She didn't
quail, though if he was being honest she never did, and instead rested her palm
against his chest, directly over his heart. "Just as you're the one I came to
find. That means something."
"Does it?" He might not be able to feel her heat through the chain, but the
need to touch her still ran rampant, in spite of how he felt. He gripped her
arms and hauled her upward, forcing her to tiptoes. "What games are you
playing, Morgana? Do you think we're just toys for you to discard when you're
bored with us?"
"No game--"
She gasped when he shook her, lips parting, corners curling into another
damnable smirk. It made him want to shake her again, but that was what she
desired, provoking until he had no choice but to react. It was what she'd
always desired, and he was the sorry bastard who fell for it every time.
"You should go back to the feast," he said. "Where you're actually wanted."
Though he needed the words to cut, the glow in her eyes remained. "You want
me," she purred. She smoothed her hand down and down, never looking away. When
she reached his groin, she deftly slid beneath his tunic to squeeze his
erection. "Were you hard while you ate? Did you sit there, imagining what it
would be like to tear me away from Arthur's side?"
"Yes," he ground out, hating his weakness. Her flirtations were his punishment.
She'd said so more than once. For following through on his duty, for becoming a
more trusted member of the court, for being necessary in ways that took him
away from Camelot. Even Gwen had come to him once to explain how much Morgana
moped when he wasn't around, but Leon could do nothing about it short of
shirking responsibilities he'd striven to attain his entire life. To be with
Morgana more would mean being less of a knight. The exchange wasn't worth it.
Yet.
Because he feared that one day, if he allowed his connection with Morgana to
continue to deepen, he would be willing to sacrifice everything he was for her.
"I'm here now," she whispered. She stretched to touch his mouth with hers, the
kiss cold and fleeting. Only her breath was warm. That, and the hunger she
didn't bother trying to hide. "It would be a shame to waste the privacy."
Time alone they so rarely achieved anymore. As the weight of his position grew,
so did Morgana's. Their sparring sessions had ceased before she turned
eighteen. Whatever hours they could sneak away to share were spent naked and
sweat-soaked, entwined around each other as if that moment would be their last.
He missed her when she wasn't around. Her wicked sense of humor. The way she
looked at him and made him feel like more of a man. He couldn't blame her for
the same sense of loss.
Without letting her go, he whirled around, reversing their positions so her
back now bent slighly over the edge of the parapet. Her hands flew upward,
grabbing at his shoulders as her feet left the ground. He yanked at her skirts,
freeing her legs, then moved on to his own trousers when she coiled her calves
around his hips. She wore nothing beneath the gown. The dark curls over her
mound glistened with the dew of her arousal.
"Arthur can't have you." Thrusting his hand between her legs, he sank three
fingers into her wet channel, hooking them forward once they were buried to
stroke the inner wall. "I don't care if he is the heir to the throne."
She clenched around him, a small, needy cry escaping her tight control. "No,"
she agreed. "And he never will."
Her admission wasn't enough. He needed all of her, body, spirit, heart.
Circling at her clit with his thumb, he grinned when she squirmed, refusing to
strengthen the contact the way he knew she wanted. "He wouldn't know what to do
with you, even if he did. Who else has ever made you feel like I do, Morgana?"
Using her hold on his shoulders, she pulled herself up, grinding down against
the heel of his hand. Dark hair tumbled from its careful knots, unleashing the
woman who resided behind the mask. She nipped at his lower lip, then slid along
his jaw in a series of bites that made him shudder.
"No one," she answered when she reached his ear. She dragged her tongue along
his beard, filling his head with her moans. "It's only ever been you."
Leon yanked his fingers free, using the juices clinging to them to slick his
shaft. A pass over the tip coated his palm in pre-come, and he added that to
the lubrication, deliberately angling his cock to slap against her clit every
time he stroked down to the root.
"Now who's playing games?" Morgana panted.
She had a point. With a tilt of his hips, he ploughed into her pussy, barely
able to rein in the violence creeping beneath his skin.
He was too frustrated to manage finesse, and she was too eager to seem to care.
Driving into her ready flesh brought groans from both of them, and they turned
together at the same time to seal away the sounds with kisses made feral from
their need. It was a familiar dance. Behind tapestries, in hushed chambers,
anywhere they could find the time to be together. In all the nearly five years
since he'd first kissed her, not one person had ever discovered the truth about
them. Gwen had been told, but they had done that together, out of necessity.
Otherwise, their secret had been theirs alone to share.
Now, as he pounded into her, Leon wished it didn't have to be so. It wasn't the
first time he'd hoped for more. She sparked desires in him he wished would
remain dormant. Nothing good would come of it.
Being buried inside her hot, willing flesh was very close, though. He let loose
all his fury, biting at her neck, scraping his roughened cheeks along her
delicate skin. She would be raw and sore within hours, perhaps hiding away in
her chambers in the morning to deflect questions of what might have caused it.
Over the years, she had left her own marks, but Leon never covered those up.
When the other knights would rib him about them, he allowed the games, even
joining in with pleased ownership. Morgana's name remained a mystery to his
comrades, though. She was his to have, his to claim. His alone.
"More...Leon..."
Her pleas were rare. Morgana usually took what she wanted without having to
ask, sometimes tearing into Leon to find the release she craved. This was a
gift. It might even have been a peace offering for the way she'd treated him.
Whichever it was, he closed his eyes, kissed her again, and poured everything
he was into each stroke. On a night like tonight, the emotions were too
powerful to corral anyway. Better to let them go and pray Morgana was strong
enough to bear the weight of them.
In his heart, he knew she would.
She came with a whimper, arching away from the wall to slam her hips into his.
Her muscles contracted around him, making it harder to thrust through her
orgasm, but he powered each stroke even more, ready for his release to set him
free. He was the one to shout, unbridled for the first time that day, and
though she clung to his shoulders for balance, he was the one in need of it.
His world turned upside-down when it came to her. It happened every time, so
much so he wondered if perhaps he had it backwards the rest of his hours, that
he walked through his life in search of being righted and only found it when
Morgana was there beside him, around him, with him, shifting it to its proper
axis.
The first thing he became aware of as the adrenaline ebbed was the sound of
their harsh panting. He gulped for breath and rested his forehead against
Morgana's shoulder, waiting for everything to stop spinning. Her fingers
tangled in his damp hair, pulling slightly as she caressed his head. Lips
touched to his temple. Her smile left a brand when she withdrew.
"Silly man," she teased. "Though if this is what happens to you when you're all
jealous..."
"Don't." Somehow, he found the strength to lift his heavy hand and meet her
eyes. "Not now."
After a moment, she nodded. Solemnity replaced her mirth. "But you know, right?
Tell me you understand. You're the only one who ever has."
She made such claims all the time. He wanted to believe them. Occasionally, he
even did. "Yes," he said. Because he needed to trust in her right now just as
much as she needed to know he did.
Her kiss was a bird's distant cry. "Come back to my rooms with me. Spend the
night."
He closed his eyes. "I shouldn't."
"And I shouldn't love you like I do, but that doesn't mean I don't." Another
feathery brush, tickling his chin. "Let me make it up to you."
With a promise such as that, with her still quivering in his arms, he couldn't
refuse.
He didn't want to, either.
***** Mace *****
                                     MACE
         def: a blunt club, utilizing a heavy tip to deal strong blows
   A common weapon, it is simple, straightforward, and deadly when used with
                                 enough force.
As Uther went down the steps to greet the traveling party, Leon scanned the
courtyard for any sign of Morgana. According to Arthur, Uther wanted her
present to meet the visiting king and his son. Brennus's realm bordered Odin's,
and the rumors were already flying that Uther wished to court the aging king
into joining forces against Odin's encroaching threat. Leon had thought the
idea brilliant until he heard how insistent Uther was about the circumstances
of their arrival. Now, he was almost glad Morgana didn't seem as inclined to
humor Uther as she normally did.
She remained absent from the initial meeting with the Council, as well as the
evening meal. Gwen arrived with apologies, claiming Morgana was unwell, and
though Uther made a joke about delicate females, Leon recognized the tightening
at the corner of his mouth that noted his displeasure. Morgana would rue her
choice once Uther confronted her.
A confrontation that occurred as soon as the guests had retired for the night.
Though he asked nobody to accompany him, Uther's path was clear, his steps
heavy as he marched through the castle for Morgana's chambers. Leon's duties
were done for the day, so he trailed behind, keeping far enough back not to be
seen. Uther entered after a single knock. A moment later, Gwen came out, the
door shutting firmly behind her. She frowned at the barred entrance, but when
she turned to leave, Leon hurried around the corner he'd been watching from and
blocked her path.
"What's going on?" he asked.
Gwen rolled her eyes. "Another of their arguments. I wouldn't bother sticking
around if I were you. Morgana will be in a foul mood when he leaves."
"Was she really unwell?"
"What do you think?"
He glanced at the door. Already, the voices were rising inside, Uther's gruff
tones overshadowing Morgana's more strident ones. "She sounds like she was in a
foul mood before he even got here." She was usually much better at softening
Uther's moods, but only if she was in the mindset to do it beforehand. "What
happened?"
"Nothing. Well, just this prince business."
Mention of Prince Lionel snapped his attention back to Gwen, who was having
great difficulty meeting his eyes. "What business? Morgana's not involved in
the treaty." Her lack of a response unnerved him as much as his encroaching
fears. "You might as well tell me. I'll find out sooner or later anyway."
She sighed. "You won't like it. Morgana certainly doesn't."
"What?"
"Uther wants her to marry the prince. To ensure Brennus's cooperation."
The possibility had lurked in the corners of his thoughts ever since that
afternoon, but hearing it spoken aloud turned his stomach to lead. He had no
claims on Morgana--no public claims, at least--and dealt with her flirtations
poorly. She'd ceased the games with Arthur, even if she loved how ferocious
their coupling was when Leon came to her afterward. But that was a minor
victory for him. She still preened in the company of men, adoring being the
center of their attention, confident in her abilities to dazzle them. She might
not be a princess in name, but she was viewed as such anyway. He'd always known
he would some day lose her to another man. He'd only hoped some day wouldn't
happen when he was around to witness it.
"It's a strong strategic move," he said, struggling not to let his
disappointment show. "With Brennus's help, we stand a much better chance at
stopping Odin, once and for all."
The way Gwen stared at him, like she didn't even know who he was, made him wish
he'd never come to Morgana's room in the first place. "You sound like the
king," she said.
He arched a brow, trying for supercilious but fearing Gwen saw through it
without even trying. "There are worse men for me to aspire to be like. He's the
king for a reason."
"I always thought you were a better man than that." She brushed past him,
marching down the hall. "So did Morgana."
Chasing after her would satisfy neither of them, even if he could get his feet
to obey. The arguments emanating from Morgana's room, however, kept him glued
in place, his pulse racing every time Uther shouted at her. It happened so
rarely, each time was a shock to the system. Morgana's reactions were Uther's
fault, though. He'd spoiled her from the moment she'd come to live in the
castle. The only thing he had ever denied her were the training lessons with
Leon.
When the door opened, Leon ducked into an alcove before Uther could spot him.
He didn't risk peeking out, but from the quick, heavy steps echoing through the
corridor, Uther was just as agitated upon his departure as he had been when
he'd arrived.
Leon waited for silence to return. He should go. Gwen's warning was wise.
They'd made no arrangements to see each other for the duration of Brennus's
visit, either. Morgana would hardly be expecting him.
But expectation lied to your face, even when you begged for truth. Had that not
been the one lesson he had learned in his time in Camelot? From Morgana, from
the knights, from fate. He was at her door, knocking the secret pattern that
told her it was him, as soon as he felt it was safe. Not soon enough, if the
pounding of his heart was anything to go by.
She opened as his knuckles grazed across the wood on the last rap, though
perhaps tore the door free of its moorings was closer to the force of it. Her
cheeks were fiery flushed, the glitter in her eyes dangerous. Without a word,
she swept forward, throwing her arms around his neck in a possessive embrace
that might have crushed him at the start of their relationship.
"You always know when to come," she said, her breath hot in his ear.
She still clung to him when the door was at his back, her lips mapping his
neck, his jaw, nails sinking into sinew. Tremors ran beneath her skin, her
anxiety about Uther's edict trying to find some means to break free, but when
he held onto her more tightly, to convince her--him?--everything would be all
right, they only became more violent.
"Uther's an idiot," she hissed. "An alliance with Brennus doesn't guarantee
besting Odin at all."
It might not, but it certainly strengthened their forces. Leon didn't like the
arrangement, but it wasn't as if it was the first time two royal families had
married together to face a common enemy.
"Why didn't you come to supper?" he asked. The mundane often worked to calm
Morgana's tempers. She fixated on details to the exclusion of everything else,
a trait that had grown more intense as she grew older. He'd long ago learned
that the best way to break those spells was to shift her focus to the other
side of the problem.
As her arms loosened to allow space to look at him, Morgana slipped down his
body, soft flesh tangible even through their clothing. "And perpetuate Uther's
ridiculous offer?"
"Hiding makes you look afraid of it."
Her jaw hardened. "Joining them would've looked like I condoned it."
"So instead you make Uther come and confront you here." He nodded toward her
dim chambers. An urn lay shattered against the wall, a recent casualty or else
Gwen would have cleaned it up. One of them must have thrown it in frustration.
"You don't usually fall prey to Uther's manipulations like that."
Yanking herself away from his embrace, she whirled and paced around the room.
"I refuse to play this his way. I'm not going to marry Lionel, even if Uther
throws me into the dungeons."
"He'd just send Geoffrey there to conduct the ceremony," he tried with a smile.
His joke landed on deaf ears. "I don't even know this Lionel. And Arthur's
marriage should be the only one that counts. Why isn't Uther demanding that
Arthur marry Brennus's niece or cousin or something like that?"
"Arthur isn't ready for a union like that."
"And I am?"
"It makes political sense, Morgana. Odin gets stronger every day--"
"You agree with Uther?"
If he'd thought it difficult to face the disappointment in Gwen's gaze,
standing straight under Morgana's was a thousand times worse. "I didn't say
that."
"Really? Because it sounded like you approve of my marrying Lionel."
The line between approval and understanding was the thinnest of slices, one
sure to be fatal if he landed on the wrong side. Morgana would spot a lie as
soon as it fell from his tongue, though, leaving him no option but to say, "The
alliance is strong strategy. Camelot would be better for it."
"And me? Would I be better for it?"
"Any man would be honored to have you as a wife."
"That wasn't what I asked."
"I don't know this Lionel--"
"And neither do I!" She flew back at him, panic written behind the fury she
tried to mask it with. "I don't want to marry a man I don't love, let alone a
complete stranger."
"What other choice do you have?"
Morgana froze. This close, the heat poured off her, prickling even where they
didn't touch. "I thought I had you." Her lips barely moved as she formed the
words, her voice voided of the passion that had enflamed her just a moment
before.
"You do," he said automatically, then grimaced. As much as he needed the hope
for himself, he couldn't give it to Morgana and make this worse. "But it
doesn't matter. I can't marry you."
"Can't? Or won't?"
He backed off, trying to get his thoughts in order again. "Uther would never
allow it. He wouldn't even grant you permission to train with me."
"That was different," she scoffed. "He didn't want me ruining his image of the
perfect lady. But that's not me, Leon. You know that."
"That doesn't change the fact that I'm just a knight."
"And I'm not a princess."
"You are to Uther."
And wasn't that the whole point of it? Uther might respect him as a knight, but
Leon hadn't even been good enough to spend time with Morgana in a platonic
capacity. As a potential husband? He'd laugh himself silly, then order her to
marry Lionel anyway. Leon would be embarrassed in front of his fellow knights,
if not outright stripped of rank, and nothing would have been changed.
He knew the moment Morgana saw the course of his rationale, though there was no
doubting she'd seen it barreling for them when she'd stiffened against him.
"I always thought you were too kind to be a knight," she said. "But that wasn't
it at all. You're too much of a coward."
"Morgana--"
"Don't!" The air went brittle between them, as broken as the urn on the floor.
"I don't know why you bothered to come here if your only intention was to try
and convince me to behave like a good little girl. I'll tell you the same thing
I told Uther. I don't care about what would be politically strategic. My future
is mine to choose. Not his. And definitely not yours."
Though that hadn't been his intention at all, he'd never be able to convince
her otherwise now. She was too hurt and her walls impenetrable. He might rarely
find himself on this side of them, but he knew her well enough to know there'd
be no scaling them this evening.
Considering the changes about to be wrought in both of their lives, it might
not be possible to ever scale them.
All the way back to the door, he prayed she would stop him from going. This was
not how he wished things to end. He'd loved Morgana for too many years for it
to be this bitter. There was even a voice in a hidden corner of his heart that
begged her to keep fighting for them.
But she didn't.
***** Magic *****
                                     MAGIC
 def: the act of creating a desired effect through the harnessing of mystical
                             and/or natural forces
    Capable of being used for a wide variety of tasks, it works with unseen
                energies, often generated from within the user.
On the balcony, the winds whipped her cloak around her legs, stinging where it
slapped in spite of her heavy gown. A sea of red swirled in the courtyard
below, men at the ready before marching off through the gates. A blond head
lead the pack, proud and solemn. His aquiline profile revealed the grim set of
his jaw, but his eyes were locked forward, not in her direction at all, hidden
from view and any hope she might have at knowing what was going through his
head.
When she took a step forward, a strong hand clamped around her arm and held her
back. "Let me go," she protested, but Uther's grip was unbreakable.
"Haven't you done enough?"
Morgana blinked. "I've done nothing wrong."
"Oh?" Without letting go, he dragged her the few feet to the end of the balcony
and forced her focus elsewhere. "Look. That's all you. Because you allowed your
pride to get in the way of Camelot's best interests."
Bodies littered the countryside, most of them buried in scarlet that was more
than the Pendragon crest. Too many to count, too many to bury, too many to
name, but all hers to own. Corpses forsaken from battles lost. Good men driven
back to the earth from whence they came, with a smoldering Camelot left behind
to try and protect their remaining families.
"No," she whispered. "I didn't do this."
"Of course, you did." Uther stood at her back, pinning her to the stone wall,
his harsh breath at her ear. "Love will always destroy what you hold dearest,
Morgana. If I teach you nothing else, know that."
She turned her head away, trying to block out the images, but Uther grasped her
chin and yanked it back, tilting her gaze down at the same time. Time to shut
her eyes failed her. She saw what it was Uther wanted her to.
Leon swinging his sword at a charging enemy. His armor was dinged and bloody,
no longer the pristine shine when he'd set off from the courtyard with the
other knights. Someone had sliced his cheek open, matting his beard in dark
splotches where it dripped down his face. A war cry twisted his normally kind
features into a cruel mask she didn't even recognize.
But it was the man rising from the death behind him, the one with his blade
drawn, swinging already to drive through Leon's back, that tore the scream from
Morgana's throat...
                                     * * *
"Morgana! Sssshhhhh, don't, it was only a dream."
The arms that held her in place were still strong, but the heavy brocade and
sharp accoutrements of Uther's garb were gone, replaced by a slightly scratchy
wool and smooth, unblemished skin. When she struggled to get free, they
tightened around her, and the voice that had pulled her from her nightmare
returned, soothing into her ear where Uther had ravaged just moments earlier.
"It's all right," Leon murmured. "I'm here, I'm here. It was just a dream.
Everything's fine."
As she stared blindly around her, her scattered nerves tried to make sense of
it all. Leon was here? But Leon was never here, not for the night, not for the
dreams. She suffered through those alone, except for the odd occasion when they
started before Gwen was done for the day, with only Gaius's potions to help
suffocate them. The potions didn't work when the visions were especially
virulent. Like tonight. Like seeing Leon get cut down on the battlefield.
This wasn't real. She'd conjured him out of desperation. Her loneliness had
finally manifested into something powerful enough to wield, so here he was, a
shadow of the man she really loved.
"No, I'm real. And I'm here, Morgana. I'll always be here for you."
Her arm stopped its flailing, falling to rest on a solid thigh. "You can't be,"
she whispered. He'd answered her thoughts, hadn't he? That proved this was just
more torment to ruin her sleep.
"How could I stay away when I know how poorly you've been resting?" His broad
hand smoothed the hair from her face, warm lips caressing her temple. "I know
you don't want to see me--"
She bolted upright. Now, she saw him. A single candle flickering on a nearby
table illuminated the worry in his eyes, while casting the rest of him in
darkness, but it was Leon, most assuredly, dressed in a worn shirt, the sleeves
rolled back as if he meant to labor. Her lips moved, soundlessly at first,
unsure of what query to pose. She had too many, each fighting to be heard. He
didn't move when she lifted her trembling hand and touched his scruffy chin,
the short hairs offering comfort in their familiarity.
"You're actually here," she said with wonder. "How?"
The corner of his mouth lifted in a sad smile. "You shouted, so I came."
"Why you and not the guards?"
"I was closer. I don't think they heard you."
"Closer?"
Gently catching her wrist, he tipped his head the scant inches it took to kiss
her fingertips. "Gwen told me you haven't been sleeping well since Brennus's
arrival. I've been keeping vigil after she leaves for the night. I'm sorry. I
couldn't just turn my back, no matter how you might feel about me."
Nearly two weeks had transpired since Uther had charged into her room,
commanding her to marry Lionel. Two weeks since Leon had left her to face the
future she didn't want alone. Two weeks of plotting and planning how she might
get out of the impending marriage. Two weeks of barrenness.
Except she hadn't been as alone as she'd thought. For all of Leon's claims that
this union was best, he hadn't stayed away. He'd been here to pull her away
from the terrors of events she wished fervently would never come true. He'd
watched over her when she'd treated him abominably, refusing to even look in
his direction any time they were in the same room, sending back his notes
unread, his tokens unopened, when Gwen brought them to her.
"Don't apologize." Her hand drifted lower, a journey he allowed, to follow the
firm contour of his chest, tickle at the hair visible at the open neck. "But
please, don't go now that I'm awake. I need...I can't..."
"Ssshhhh..."
He granted her mercy by bundling her back in his arms, stretching out onto the
bed to spoon behind her. Captured like this, she should have panicked,
especially in the flush of her dream's memories, but his scent already pervaded
her sheets, his breath so warm and known along her cheek she could do nothing
but relax against him. Her eyes fluttered shut, but the moment they did, she
saw him being run through again, bloody and broken--breaking.
He was going to die because of her choice to fight Uther's arrangements. The
dreams said so.
"Did Gaius forget your tonic?" Leon asked quietly.
She shook her head. The sleeve beneath her cheek was damp. It took a moment to
realize so was her face. "It doesn't always work."
When he kissed the back of her neck, she shuddered from the sudden influx of
emotion it elicited.
"You never said."
"I didn't think it was important."
"Everything about you matters, Morgana."
How could he still be so kind after everything they'd fought over? "I wish I
could take back the last few weeks," she murmured.
"Except we can't. We can only look forward." His hand rubbed hypnotic circles
along her stomach, lessening the tension muscle by muscle. "Don't dwell.
Especially not on a few dreams when they're not even real."
"But they are."
"What did you dream about?"
She'd never told him. Nobody knew, though she'd hinted at the extent of her
nightmares to Gaius. When something happened in her nightmares, she did her
best to fix it before it broke, but most of the time, she failed miserably,
just like so many of her ventures. Few efforts paid off in the way that she
hoped, but those, too, eventually ended up in disappointment. Leon was a prime
example.
"I dreamed you were killed on the battlefield." The details were true, as much
as she dared to utter. He'd think her mad for believing in prophecy, or worse,
fear her. At least she didn't have to worry about him turning her over to
Uther. Even if she thought he had it in him--which she didn't--Leon would have
to confess how he knew such details. If he couldn't dare to have their
relationship made public all those years, there was no way he would do so now.
His embrace tightened. "Except I'm alive. And I'm here."
"You won't always."
"These are dangerous times. I have to do what is right to protect Camelot."
"No." Twisting to look at him over her shoulder, she met his somber gaze,
shocked a little at how sad he seemed that moment. "I meant, here with me. Like
this."
For long seconds, they just stayed like that, unspeaking, unmoving. She'd
always loved his thoughtfulness, how he didn't barrel heedlessly into words
like so many of the other knights--unless it was about anything in the armory,
in which case he babbled adorably--but right now, she needed a response,
something, anything to gauge his reaction more effectively because clearly her
ability to do so with any skill at all had disappeared the night of their
fight. It helped that he didn't let her go. That was a positive sign, she told
herself. He wouldn't run away again, though she wasn't so blind not to know
she'd been the one to push him out the door.
"Just because I'm not here, doesn't mean I don't think of you," he said. "And
even if you marry Lionel, you won't truly be rid of me. I'll be in your heart,
just as you'll always be in mine, and that's really the best we can hope for in
these times, isn't it?"
In comparison to her dreams? Yes, most definitely yes. She'd settle for him
living on inside of her, in the memories of all the hours they'd shared, if it
meant he stayed alive to fight another day. He would never give up being a
knight. It was too ingrained into his being to forsake his duty like that. But
if she married Lionel, her dreams would not come to pass, and Leon would never
have to face Odin's armies, and she could smile at the side of a man she didn't
love, secure in the knowledge she'd saved the one she did.
This was a vision she had the power to change.
"I would hope for more for you," she said softly. "That you find the glory you
deserve, with a woman at your side who knows what a treasure you really are."
"As long as I can fight for Camelot, I can live without the rest."
He could, too. He'd had the strength to walk away from everything they shared
for the future of the kingdom. The question was, could she?
"You should rest," Leon said when she didn't reply. "Close your eyes. I'll stay
as long as necessary."
Necessary for what? For her to sleep peacefully? For her to live happily? But
she settled back into the circle of his embrace, pillowing her cheek against
his arm again, and stared at the outline of the window on the far side of the
room.
"I wish it wasn't this hard."
His breath ruffled her hair the moment before he nuzzled into her neck. "So do
I."
"Do you think about turning back the clock? Going back to the way things were
before?"
"Occasionally. But then I realize we'd just come to this time again, and I'm
not sure I'd wish to relive it all a second time."
Because neither of them would be likely to change the outcome. Without
foreknowledge, they'd just act out the same parts, true to what they believed.
"But the future isn't ours, either. Was it worth it?"
"Yes," he answered without pause. "It was all worth it, Morgana. Every moment
we had together. All the way to now."
"You mean, all the way to tomorrow," she whispered.
"Why do you say that?"
"You promised to stay. Tonight, I want to pretend I didn't dream about losing
you. I want to forget where we are and what we have to do."
"I'm not sure I can." Before the pain from his confession could strike too
deep, though, he added, "But you haven't lost me, and I'm not going anywhere
tonight. There's nowhere else I'd rather be than right here."
If only he meant that beyond the sanctuary of these four walls. What she
wouldn't give for him to fight for her as hard as he fought for Camelot.
But this would have to do. And in the morning, she would go to Uther, kneel
before him, and bow to his wishes regarding the marriage ceremony. The alliance
with Brennus would stop them from going to war, and if that was what it took to
give Leon a rich, long life--even if it was without her in it--then that was
what she'd do.
They laid like that until she felt his breathing deepen, his arm settle more
heavily against her side as he slipped into sleep. Only then did she cover his
hand with hers, absorbing his heat, claiming him one last time.
"I love you," she whispered, safe in her new solitude. He'd carry her
confession away in the morning, a secret between her and his slumbering heart.
"For always."
***** Sword *****
                                     SWORD
 def: a long blade, edged on one or both sides, with a pointed end and a fixed
                                     hilt
  A popular weapon, it allows a variety of blows, from cutting to thrusting,
       while still allowing its wielder to utilize a shield if need be.
"Morgana!"
The hinges squeaked as the door was thrust open, the only announcement of
Gwen's arrival other than her sharp call. Morgana stiffened at the sound of it,
fingers tightening around the silk in her hands, while the woman from the
market grumbled about inconsiderate servants as she picked up the pins she'd
scattered at the surprise.
"What is it?" Morgana asked.
Gwen didn't even curtsey. In fact, she didn't seem to notice the other women at
all. Her panicked gaze locked with Morgana's. "You must come."
Her instincts urged her to drop what she was doing and obey Gwen's frantic
directive, but the merchant wasn't the only other person in the room. Lionel's
aunt lounged on a nearby chaise, sorting through various ribbon lengths to see
what would best match Morgana's choice.
For her guests' sake, Morgana attempted a smile that was part reassuring, part
condescension. "I'm in the middle of selecting the fabric for my wedding gown,
Gwen. Whatever it is can wait."
"No. It can't." She gnawed at the corner of her mouth as her eyes darted around
to the others, her internal debate between proper etiquette and whatever had
got her so bothered warring across her face. Panic won. "It's Sir Leon. He's
challenged the prince."
The others might have questioned which prince Gwen referred to, but Morgana
knew there could only be one. She dropped the silk into the basket and half-ran
for the open door.
In the hallway, she let Gwen take the lead through the castle and into the
courtyard. The knights were already assembled there, a barrage of bodies fitted
in mail and capes, blocking their way. Gwen shouldered through the crowd,
though more fell away as Morgana followed. They came up short against a solid
wall of men, Arthur's broad back the central anchor.
Gwen stepped to the side, giving Morgana freedom to grab Arthur's arm. "What's
going on?" Morgana demanded. She had to pull even harder to get Arthur to do
more than glance at her over his shoulder. She couldn't see past him, which was
probably his intention, but only frustrated her even more. "Damn it, Arthur! I
know there was a challenge! Tell me what happened!"
His mouth was drawn into a sharp line, his eyes uncharacteristically furious.
His anger wasn't directed at her, though; she'd been the source of enough of
his ire over the years to recognize its origins. Without a word, he angled his
body away from the line, giving her the room she needed to slip past.
When she did, however, she immediately wished she hadn't.
Leon stood at the center of the makeshift ring, his gauntlet on the stones
separating him from a hapless Lionel. His sword was already drawn, leveled at
Lionel's heart. One quick thrust, and Lionel would be dead. The prince was one
of a handful of Brennus's men who were not suited for duty. He wasn't even
armed. The scabbard he usually wore--more ceremonial than functional, Morgana
had learned--was nowhere to be seen. He looked, from all appearances, that he'd
been interrupted in the middle of a leisurely stroll in the country. Except for
the tight alarm pinching his already narrow features.
His dark eyes flickered toward her. "This is not the place for a lady," Lionel
said.
"Nor is it the place for a common brawl," she retorted. Arthur yielded to her
push when she squeezed past, though once on the interior of their battle lines,
she felt small and exposed in comparison to all the burly, armored men
surrounding her. She lifted her chin and marched right between them to best
ignore her nerves. "Is this really how you conduct yourself, Prince Lionel?
Should I expect the same displays once we're wed?"
The corner of his mouth tightened in his disgust. "Do I appear to be the
instigator here, my lady?" He gestured toward Leon, who had not moved a muscle
since Morgana had come through, not even to look down at her now that she stood
within inches of his blade. "The knights of Camelot are renowned through the
five kingdoms, but if this is the best they have to show for it, perhaps that
reputation has been purchased rather than earned."
If these were the sort of accusations he'd made before she'd arrived, it was no
wonder Arthur was so angry. Her own fury was rising at alarming levels. "Those
are dangerous accusations," she said. "I sincerely hope you have cause for such
words."
"Ask your knight," he spat.
What she wanted to do was drag Leon out of there, though the challenge had
already been made and without good reason for her actions, she'd just succeed
in sullying his honor. Slowly, she pivoted on her heel, keeping her bearing as
regal as possible, until she came face to face with Leon. Though she silently
willed him to look down at her so she could better understand what was going
on, his gaze remained locked over her head.
"Sir Leon." Her voice rang loud and clear, as impartial as she could make it,
though she trembled like a reed inside. "What reason do you have to challenge
Prince Lionel? He's a guest in Camelot. He's worthy of every courtesy we have
to offer."
Leon's nostrils flared once before he spoke. "My apologies, my lady, but you're
mistaken. He is not. Just as he isn't worthy of your hand."
Low murmurs rippled amongst the men on both sides. Her heart thudded painfully
against her breastbone, choking the breath from her throat, making her skin
flame hot. Leon hadn't even gone this far when they'd been alone. Something
awful must have pushed him to this point.
"Why is that?" The calm in her voice surprised her.
"He spoke ill of you, my lady. They were not the words of an intended, to say
the least."
"I'm certain this must be a simple misunderstanding."
"It's not, Morgana."
Confirmation from Arthur was the last thing she expected, and her composure
faltered as he stepped forward. "What do you mean?"
"I mean..." He tilted his head down, affording them more privacy. "Leon's
right. There were witnesses."
They might have had their squabbles over the years, but she knew in her heart
that Arthur would always protect her best interests, or what he perceived as
her best interests anyway. "Were you there?"
Grimly, he nodded.
"And what was said?"
"It was nothing," Lionel interrupted behind them.
"You called Lady Morgana a spoiled child who needed to learn her place," Leon
ground out. "You did so in front of your men. In front of knights. And when I
gave you the opportunity to withdraw your words, you joked that perhaps a
public flogging would teach her proper humility in your presence. I hardly call
that nothing."
Neither did Morgana, or any of the rest of Camelot's knights, if their fierce
glares were a good measure. Part of it was certainly true. She had behaved like
a spoiled child when first ordered to marry Lionel. But her behavior had been
exemplary since the night she'd dreamt of Leon's death. Nothing had been worth
jeopardizing Leon's future.
Lionel had gone too far, though. Complaining about her attitude in private
chambers was tolerable. Humiliating her in public, in front of men sworn to
protect her, was not.
"If my company isn't acceptable, perhaps we need to revisit our agreement," she
said, her tone arch. "I am sure King Uther would love to hear--"
"Morgana." Though Arthur touched her shoulder, the forced evenness of his voice
was enough to draw her back to him. "A challenge has been issued."
She knew that, but... "It hasn't been accepted." She ignored the temptation to
kick the gauntlet out of the way in case Lionel suffered from a last minute
attack of courage.
"There's still a matter of honor at stake. For both of them."
"I'm more than happy to allow our fathers to settle this between them," Lionel
said. "It's better for both kingdoms if we concede to their wishes."
Whipping around to face him, Morgana sneered, "And will it be better when
you're a puppet king, incapable of standing up for what he knows is right and
honorable?"
"Enough!" Arthur's grip tightened to pull her back. "Prince Lionel, a challenge
stands before you. Do you accept or not?"
Any fool could see he didn't want to. He wasn't a warrior. He was, however,
royalty, and honor, especially when besmirched by a woman, demanded
satisfaction.
"Not here," he said when he'd picked up the gauntlet. "I won't fight in the
streets like commoners."
Arthur ignored the slur with a brisk nod. "On the field, then. In two hours
time."
Morgana quivered in indignation as the knights dispersed. Lionel was the first
to retreat. Leon was the last.
When she tried to follow after him, Arthur held her back. "Don't. He doesn't
need the distraction."
"No," she agreed. "You're right."
I need him.
                                     * * *
Strapping on his armor was the most right thing Leon had done in days, though
it was a little odd that Arthur had sent Merlin to help. The boy wasn't as
nimble as Leon was, and it seemed to take twice as long as normal to get
everything in place. But when Merlin stood back and gave him a solid look over,
the nod of approval warmed Leon through. He understood then what the point had
been. A show of solidarity between knights. The silent vow that he stood behind
Leon, regardless of how tense the situation had been in the courtyard.
"Is there anything else you need?" Merlin asked.
The tent flap parted behind him, but the quick slash of sunlight was blocked by
Morgana's ducked entry. "I'll see to it, Merlin," she said, but her eyes were
on Leon, barely cognizant of Merlin's smug smile and swift exit past her.
His throat was dry. He'd kill for a drink of water. What came out was, "I'm
fine. But thank you."
She hadn't changed her gown, and her hair was still slightly disheveled from
her earlier flight when she'd stepped into the challenge. The fine strands were
sharp reminders of each session when they'd squared off, when it was her sword
he stared down the length of rather than that of a pompous prig of a prince.
"Why did you do it?" Genuine confusion darkened her eyes, the tiny line between
her brows there for him to smooth out if only he was near enough. "You had to
know that challenging him like that would endanger the wedding."
"I did," he conceded.
"Yet, you did it anyway."
"I had to."
"You could have let it go. It's not as if there wasn't a grain of truth in what
he had to say."
The same rage that had flared inside him when he'd overheard Lionel's insults
surged back at Morgana's calm claim. "What he said was wrong."
"I behaved abominably when he arrived."
"For good reason. Uther didn't even ask you what you wanted."
Her frown deepened. "Neither did you. In fact, you said the marriage was for
the better."
An acknowledgement that still rankled. He turned away, ostensibly to check the
sharpness of his sword but unwilling to betray the true depths of what he was
feeling. "I was wrong, too."
He barely felt the blade's edge as he ran his thumb up and down its length.
Every sense craned to know what she was doing, how she might possibly be
reacting. She didn't make a sound, not a breath, not a whisper. So many seconds
lapsed, he wondered if he'd completely lost the plot and she'd slipped out
without his awareness.
"You couldn't be." Her voice was softer than it had been, but closer, stippling
his skin in goosebumps. "Otherwise, I wouldn't have had those dreams."
He hated her terrors, but in this particular case, he was grateful for them as
well. If he hadn't gone to her that night, he might never have decided for
certain how badly he needed her in his life. She so rarely allowed herself to
be vulnerable in front of him, in front of anyone, and when he'd held her in
his arms, when she'd asked him about turning back the clock...he'd known. In
his marrow.
"They were just dreams, Morgana. They only hold the power you grant them."
"No." Her arms slipped around his waist, her cheek resting against his back. He
wished his mail wasn't in the way of feeling her. He'd missed the texture of
her skin along his, dreamt about her hair tumbling down to whip across both of
them when she rode him from atop. "There's something I've never told you about
my dreams, Leon. Something I've always been afraid to confess."
Though he couldn't see her, he smiled anyway. "I can't imagine you afraid of
much of anything."
"I am of this." Her deep breath rubbed her breasts in delicious paths. "I was
never sure how you'd react."
The hesitation in her voice bothered him. "You have nothing to fear from me.
Ever. I thought you knew that."
"I know that now. Which is why..." She took a deep breath. "My dreams. They're
not normal dreams. I...see the future in them."
The last few words were barely loud enough to reach his ears, but the weight of
them crashed into him with the force of a hundred men. Such confessions were
deadly. Nobody in their right minds would ever make them within the realm and
certainly not within Uther's reach. But the fact that she hadn't been able to
look him in the eye to utter them proved her sincerity. Morgana found hard
truths easiest to share when she wasn't under scrutiny. Teasing, blatant lies,
manipulations...those were easy to wear the face of. Honesty was a much harder
mask to don.
Though he wanted to convince her into believing it was all a misunderstanding
on her part, he couldn't. That would deny both her intelligence and the
veracity of her emotions. "Why tell me now?" A safer question to pose. "You've
had these dreams for years."
But the explanation became clearer even before she began to speak. All he had
to do was relive the night in her bed.
"The only reason I agreed to the union was because it seemed like the only way
to keep the dream from coming true. I've made a lot of mistakes when it comes
to you, to us, but I won't be the reason you die. I'd never forgive myself if
that happened."
"I'm not going to die out there," he tried to assure. "Lionel barely knows
which end of the sword to swing."
"It's not here I worried about." Haltingly, she described the scene that had
brought out the blood-curdling screams he'd responded to. "And then you came to
me," she finished, "and all I wanted was to run away and forget any of it ever
happened. I just wanted to be with you, the way I've always wanted to be with
you."
Gently prying her wrists apart, he held her still as he twisted in her arms,
unwilling to have her run when the air was finally almost clear between them.
"You think I don't want the same thing?"
Her lashes remained downcast a moment before she dared to meet his eyes with a
stubborn tilt to her chin. "You were more interested in fighting for Camelot
than for me."
"You're not the only one who was afraid. I thought I was doing what was best."
"What was easiest, you mean."
He nodded. "It shames me to admit it, but yes, you're right. But I've had to
fight for my place amongst the knights for years. I've had to prove myself time
and time again that I was worthy of bearing the Pendragon crest. Uther's
already made his feelings clear about us, and that was when he thought we were
just friends. I didn't know how he'd react if he knew I loved you. I didn't
feel like I had any rights to demand for more than the gifts I'd already been
given."
His explanation was meant to placate her, to show they both had made incorrect
assumptions and choices. The softening of her luscious mouth, the shock in her
widened gaze, had nothing to do with being pacified, he suspected, a
realization that became certainty as a slow smile lit her up.
"You love me?"
Out of everything he'd said, that was what she'd heard? "Of course, I do. You
know that."
"No, you've never told me."
Perhaps not in so many words, but he thought his actions over the years would
have convinced her of it without having the actual declaration. "How could I
not? You're strong, you're passionate. I'm a better man for having had the
privilege of spending time with you."
She cocked a brow. "You didn't say beautiful. Or charming. Or--"
"Because those go without saying," he laughed. Sliding his hands up her arms,
he cupped her face, threading his fingers into the thick fall of her hair.
"There is no other like you, Morgana. Not now, not ever. You could be the most
magnificent queen the five kingdoms has ever known."
"I don't want to be queen. I want to be yours."
He kissed her then because he couldn't not do it. It had been too long, and
though the caress wasn't deep, Morgana moaned and opened for more, unafraid as
always to show what Leon did to her. How could he have ever imagined letting
her go? She offered everything she was, every time they were together, filling
corners of his heart nobody else knew, nobody else cared about. Even now, with
the wounds of the past few weeks still healing between them, she'd laid herself
bare, and the knowledge she was ready to face Uther's wrath if Leon decided to
uphold the code and expose her sorcery sealed his decision to stand up for her
even more firmly.
"Sir Leon? It's time."
At Merlin's call, Leon abandoned her mouth to rain a waterfall of kisses along
her cheek, ending at her brow. "I have to go," he murmured.
She clutched at his wrists, her fingers a death grip refusing him the space to
release her. "I know."
"Will you watch for me?"
"I will hail you for all to hear. Lionel, Uther, everyone."
He tasted her smile as he kissed her again, lingering a second longer when she
bit at his lower lip. Letting go would have been impossible, but he had a task
to do, a right to assert.
Picking up his sword, he crossed the tent, then paused at the entrance. "So you
know, I'd planned on challenging Lionel before he ever said anything against
you."
Morgana beamed. These were words he didn't have to clarify for her to
understand. "Go show them what I've always known. That you are the finest
knight Camelot has to offer."
                                     * * *
The challenge lasted less than a minute. As Lionel lay on the cold ground, his
breath harsh puffs in front of his face, Leon held the tip of his sword to the
man's throat. The gathered crowd fell silent. Everyone waited, including
Morgana and Uther in their thrones.
Slowly, Leon lowered his blade and stepped back.
Morgana was the first to leap to her feet and applaud.
***** Hand-to-Hand *****
                                 Hand-to-Hand
   def: physical engagement of two or more persons without the inclusion of
                      weaponry other than the human body
The most basic of formats, hand-to-hand combat allows a wide variety of attacks
         and defenses, limited only by imagination and determination.
The wicks had burned nearly three inches when she finally heard the latch turn
on the door. Morgana flew across the room to yank it open and nearly stumbled
into Leon when he was faster than she.
"Falling at my feet already?" he teased. His hands slipped beneath her arms to
help her straighten, caressing the outer swell of her breasts through her
diaphanous gown once she was steady again. "Remind me to marry you more often."
"Where have you been?" Her nipples ached for more than his light touches, and
she arched toward him, hoping he'd take the hint. "You said you'd be up right
after me."
"That was before Uther cornered me on the stairs."
Ducking his head, he caught the peaked tip with his teeth, sucking hard at her
breast through her nightgown. Morgana gasped, her hand shooting to the back of
his neck to hold on as her thighs turned to jelly. Though her nails clawed into
his nape, he didn't let go. If anything, the suction increased, the fabric
scraping over her sensitized skin even more.
"And it took an hour?" she managed to get out. Squeezing her eyes shut helped
to keep control, as well as swallowing hard against the tightness in her
throat. "Though that would explain why you're acting like you've never touched
me before."
Leon lifted his head, leaving her nipple wet and cold with the abandonment. "I
haven't as your husband," he corrected. "And any minute I had to wait was a
minute too long."
"What did he want?"
"To remind me of the sacrifice he made for Camelot by allowing our union." He
grimaced. "Apparently, I wasn't very convincing when I told him, multiple
times, I already knew that."
Sliding her free hand down his shirtfront, Morgana slipped her fingers inside
his waistband and began backing up toward the bed. "So how did you end up
getting away?"
"Arthur saved me. He pretended someone needed Uther back at the feast, then
gave me his own warning about not failing you."
She laughed. "Did you tell him that would only happen if you didn't make it to
my bed tonight?"
"I thought it best not to push my luck."
The edge of the mattress nudged against her legs, forcing her to a halt. "Smart
man."
Hunger replaced the humor in his eyes. Though she was the one with the hold on
him, her limbs denied her commands, locking in place as he brushed his palm
over the wet patch on her nightgown. The fabric caught on the tip, it too
refusing to move, creating a raw burn over her skin when he plucked it away
with a single finger.
"It's taken us a lifetime to get here," he said. "And now I wish I could
prolong this moment so that we never lose this."
"We won't." A more fervent promise, she couldn't make. "We've gone through too
much to ever take it for granted."
His gaze caressed the exposed length of her neck, his lips parting the second
before he bowed his head to lick along the throbbing hollow at its base.
Morgana tilted her chin back, shivering as she fought to catch her breath.
Where his tongue first soothed, his beard chafed after, never allowing her the
peace to relax against him, keeping her poised on the precipice of what he'd do
next.
Inch by inch, he pulled her gown up, gathering it in his hands as he worshiped
her throat. When he reached her waist, she relinquished her hold on his
trousers, freeing one arm to slide out of its sleeve. The cooler air wrapped
around her bared body, and she shivered as if she were a virgin unaccustomed to
a grown man's touch.
Leon smiled against her skin. "If my lady is cold, I can always put this back
on."
"Don't you dare."
His cheek grazed along hers as he nuzzled a path to her ear. "Then you will
have to let me go at some point so I may finish."
He was right. The fabric bunched along her shoulder, but the only way to get it
the rest of the way off was for her to untangle her fingers from Leon's hair.
It meant concentrating and relaxing and willing her muscles to do the opposite
of what they were naturally inclined toward, but her hand fell away, dropping
to his shoulder so he could tug the nightgown over her head and off the rest of
the way.
As many times as she had stood naked in front of him, this felt different, more
exposed, fresh as a new moon rising over the trees. His face was already
flushed, but as he drank her in, he smiled and let out a hard, quick breath.
"Part of me keeps expecting to wake up," he said. "Did I really challenge a
prince for you?"
"You did more than that." She wouldn't be the only one to stand here without a
stitch on. Without waiting for his approval--he was hers now to have, to take,
to do with as she pleased--she worked at his clothing, pulling inelegantly at
ties and fastenings in her haste. "You challenged Uther."
Laughing, he helped by shrugging out of his shirt. "Clearly, you've been a
horrible influence on me."
She joined in his laughter with hapless abandon. "Clearly."
The sight of his battle-hewn body still thrilled her. More scars riddled his
chest and arms than the callow knight she'd first met had sported, but she
treasured every one. They were his trophies, the testament to his unshakeable
dedication. Most importantly, they were proof he had survived to return to her.
She would tolerate the bruises, the blood, because at the end of the day, she
would now be the one to lay claim to them first. He would not be her knight
without them.
He was already hard, the wet tip peeking through the foreskin to tease and
torment her. Fisting his length, she stroked down to better expose the
glistening head, then ran her tongue along the edge of her teeth. His groan
went straight to her pussy.
"Considering how badly I want this, this might have to wait until after we've
taken the edge off," she said.
"Ah, but I happen to love your edge." His knee pressed between her thighs, his
eyes locked on hers as she widened her legs to accommodate him. Reaching
around, he cupped her ass and dragged her the rest of the way forward, until
she had no choice but to straddle him. "Being married will never change that."
The coarse hairs along his thigh rubbed against her swollen lips, though
grinding against it smeared her arousal along the hard muscle and eased the
first sting. She pulled at his cock, testing how far she could take him before
his need won, but each stroke was countered with a subtle manipulation of his
fingers--a pinch along the lower swell of her buttock, a graze at the outer
edge of her opening. It became a battle to see who would break first, who would
beg for mercy.
Morgana lost. She tried to hold out, but his patience had grown throughout the
years. He rocked her body to his, over and over and over, until she could
barely breathe from the heights he took her to.
"More," was all she said, was all she could say.
Keeping her tight against him, Leon twisted to the side to fall back onto the
bed, her weight pinning him amongst the blankets. Her knees scrambled for
purchase, and together they were able to stretch out more comfortably, her on
top, his hands now roaming up and down her back.
She smiled. "It looks like I won after all."
He cocked a brow. "Who says this isn't my preferred way to have you?" A slight
adjustment of his position nudged the long length of his cock along her slit.
"It feels like we both win."
Not until he was inside her. For now, the slight pressure against her clit
tormented her more than anything else.
She peeled away from his chest until her hair tumbled over her shoulders,
shrouding them away from the rest of the room. Though it blocked out most of
the flickering candlelight, enough illumination slivered through to make Leon's
eyes gleam.
"Ride me, my lady," he murmured.
His command was her desire. When her hips rose, tilted, caught the tip of his
cock, his breath puffed hot across her cheeks, somehow quicker than hers when
it should've been the other way around. Another thing she loved about him. He
seemed so calm, so assured, while she felt like she was going to fly apart, but
the reality was they were more alike than appearances could ever reveal.
Sinking down his length, that fullness that came with being stretched, filled,
had her breath matching his, all the way to that moment when her clit ground
against the short hairs circling the root of his shaft.
His grip fluttered along her sides, unsure where to settle, touching everywhere
and anywhere to the point of madness. She stole a quick kiss, then a second,
using the reprieve to gather her strength to do as they both wanted. The light
grew brighter at the corner of her eyes, and she realized a moment too late
that he'd wound his fingers through her hair, parting the strands to hold it
like reins.
"If you insist on taking so long, you'll force me to ride you instead," he
taunted.
"You were the one who wanted to prolong the moment."
"That moment. Not this one. This one, I have no problem letting go to see the
next."
"See?" She squeezed around his cock, smiling at his unbidden moan. "I think you
have your senses turned around, my lord."
She gasped at the fresh sting in her scalp when he tightened his grasp. "Say it
again."
His meaning was easy.
Skimming her lips over his, Morgana clenched down around him again. "My lord."
With a groan, Leon yanked her down, slamming their mouths together as his body
jerked upwards. He drove deeper inside her, if that was at all possible, and
the pleasure/pain spiking through her flesh finally compelled her to move,
rising off his cock several inches before sinking back down. Long strokes were
impossible for now. Her skin stippled in hot and cold as he took more kisses
and rocked with each one of her shallow slides.
They maintained their short, hard rhythm for several minutes, as long as it
took before her lungs began to fight against her. Her hips stung from the way
they slapped together, and her scalp hurt from how hard Leon held onto her, but
Morgana wouldn't have had it any other way, not this first time. This was
perfect, the union of his flesh with hers a duel just as everything else in
their relationship had always been. They both needed to prove their worth, to
show their value. Marriage wouldn't change that. Better yet, each recognized
that part of the other and embraced it. Like it had been with that very first
meeting in the armory. Like it would always be until death finally separated
them.
She still feared her nightmares. When she'd confessed that not all of her
dreams were necessarily prophetic, Leon had decided the one that had terrified
her fell into that group. "You were upset about what had come between us," he'd
said. "And Uther wasn't happy with your stubbornness. It was probably just your
guilt finding a way to push you into making a decision that would ease your
mind."
His hypothesis was possible, but Morgana didn't ascribe to it completely. Odds
were, he would still die on a battlefield, whether it was fighting Odin or
another enemy. As the wife of a knight, she needed to accept that. Trying to
change the course of this prophecy, if indeed that was what it turned out to
be, could only really happen if he stepped down from his duty. And that was
something she would never, ever ask of him.
Gradually, their kisses slowed, while their thrusts lengthened. Leon gave her
room to draw back, but the distance added friction against her nipples, force
against her clit, sharpening everything inside and out to white-hot points.
Camelot disappeared. They were all that mattered. He was all she saw.
She came with a scream, wrenching away from his hold to arch back, her shudders
ratcheting out of control beneath her skin. Leon loosed her hair to grab onto
her hips, ploughing upward until his shouts joined hers, his tremors an echo of
her own. When they came back together in a collapse of limbs, their breath
rushed out of them, mingling and rising in their shared laughter.
"Looks like I was right," he said, smoothing his hand down her damp back.
"About what?"
"We both won."
With a playful slap at his shoulder, Morgana closed her eyes. Her cheek fit
perfectly against his collarbone, like everything else about him fit against
her. "We'll have a rematch. Just as soon as I can feel my legs again."
His low chuckled vibrated through both of them. "Whatever you wish, my lady."
This would be the night for them, this back and forth with words, with wars. He
would concede when she won, just as she would yield when he did. This was the
start of the future she'd always wanted, the endless challenge from the man she
adored.
This would be their life. The one where each made the other better, stronger.
The one they had together.
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