CHAPTER EIGHTEEN #2
Even through the mystical connection spanning the vast distance between Camelot and Annwyn, his presence filled my small chamber almost as if he were standing here in front of me.
His hands were folded before him in a gesture of patient attention.
The sight of him, calm and steady as an ancient oak weathering yet another storm, provided an anchor for my churning thoughts and hammering heart.
“Guinevere.” His voice held the faintest note of inquiry.
“I’m in trouble, Merlin."
"Why is that?"
"I may have been reckless,” I began, rushing through my words, my thoughts a tangled mess demanding untangling.
“Reckless?” His brow lifted slightly.
“I sparred with Kay. I trusted that he simply wanted to take me on as an opponent. But I'm fairly certain his intentions were much... more nefarious. While we were sparring, he nicked me."
"You were beyond reckless!" Corvin's voice sounded, and a second later, his face appeared in the watery reflection. "Kay is the last person who—"
"—yes, Corvin, I'm well aware," I hissed in response.
Merlin appeared in the water once more.
"He drew blood," I said.
Merlin didn't respond for the space of a few heartbeats, then: "Yes, and?"
I frowned. "Well, he... he nicked me! My hand! He was able to make me bleed, Merlin! And he wiped my blood on his tunic. I'm sure... I'm sure he did so with nefarious intentions in mind."
Understanding settled in Merlin's gaze, which was still as impenetrable as the sea. “And now you fear your deception could be unraveled?”
“Yes, or perhaps... well, perhaps he plans to use my blood to place some sort of spell on me?” I asked, my voice a strained whisper through the cool expanse of the basin's light.
"Kay is unable to produce spells," Corvin responded, though his reflection didn't appear in the water.
I swallowed hard. “What if this jeopardizes everything—my mission, my being here in Camelot? Who knows what Kay can do with the knowledge he can uncover from my blood?”
But Merlin's expression didn’t waver. “Kay’s magic involves detecting weaknesses, child. He is not an alchemist nor a blood seer, and he certainly cannot perform blood magic."
"But—"
"—he won’t be able to decipher your truth through whatever blood he took from you, and he will not be able to weave any spells with your blood.”
My shoulders were tight, my mind a whirl of doubt. “But then why nick me at all?"
Merlin cocked his head to the side. "Perhaps it was an accident?"
"No," I insisted right away, shaking my head.
"It wasn't an accident," Corvin echoed, and I could only nod.
"It was choreographed," I said. "He wanted my blood, and he intended to get it." I took a breath. "And why go to such lengths if—”
"Is it still safe for her to remain?" Corvin asked Merlin. It was the same question I wanted to know.
“Perhaps he believes he can decipher something from your blood,” Merlin cut in smoothly, but his voice was still too calm. "But he cannot. Kay's mode of magic does not work accordingly." He paused. "There is nothing to worry about."
"Merlin," Corvin started, doubt fueling the word.
“Is there someone in Camelot who could read my blood?” I persisted.
“Not without advanced alchemy magic that very few possess, and none in Camelot possess,” Merlin replied, unwavering.
"But you could do it?" I asked him.
"I could, yes."
"Then couldn't it follow that Mordred could too?" Corvin asked. "Since he was your pupil?"
Merlin paused for a moment, then shook his head.
"Mordred lacks this capability, as do the others, and the relationship between Kay and Mordred is a distrustful one. Kay would never feel comfortable enough to approach Mordred with such a request, and Mordred would never associate with Kay. No one in Camelot cares for Kay. They never have, and they never will.”
"That is true," Corvin replied, but there was something in his expression that was still concerned.
"So... you don't believe I have any reason to be concerned? You believe I'm safe to remain here—to stay the course?"
“Precisely," Merlin answered. "You're meant to worry more about your mission and less about the shadows cast by others’ suspicions,” he instructed gently. "Remember who you are."
It sounded good in theory, but I still wasn't fully convinced. It just didn't make sense to me that Kay would go to such lengths to obtain my blood if he had no intention of doing anything with it. And yet, Merlin knew Camelot because he'd spent so much time here. And that meant he knew Kay.
"Is everything else going well?" Merlin asked.
I nodded dumbly, my thoughts still wholly encompassed by this newest disaster.
The weight of Kay's suspicions pressed against my chest, making it difficult to draw a full breath.
Every reassurance Merlin had offered felt fragile against the gnawing certainty that something was fundamentally wrong with this situation—that Kay's machinations ran deeper than either of us understood.
Merlin's image began to dim and waver at the edges, the magical connection requiring too much energy to maintain across the vast distance between Camelot and Annwyn.
The familiar blue-white glow that had filled the water started to fade, and within moments, his presence dissolved entirely, leaving only my own reflection staring back at me with wide, troubled eyes.
The sudden absence of his and Corvin's presence made the chamber feel heavy in its quiet.
I was alone once more in this gilded cage of stone and secrets, with only the weight of my deception for company.
The silence stretched on, broken only by the distant sounds of the castle settling into evening—the clank of armor from guards making their rounds, the muffled conversations of servants in the corridors below, the whisper of wind through the arrow slits.
"Hoot."
And the owl.
I turned around to face him, where he was perched on the windowsill.
He'd been watching the entire exchange with those bright, intelligent eyes, tilting his head in that particular way birds do when they're trying to understand something beyond their comprehension.
He remained perfectly still, an unjudging witness to my mounting panic and the secrets that threatened to crush me beneath their weight.
“Is he correct?” I asked softly, throwing the words into the quiet space, seeking conviction.
"Hoot. Hoot."
I crossed the room, sitting beside the owl, close enough that I felt our camaraderie but far enough that my nearness wouldn't concern him.
All the while, I couldn't help but feel like there was more to this situation than Merlin knew.
-ARTHUR-
I glanced down at her, this beauty who had pulled the sword from the stone.
And though I recognized her as my enemy, I couldn't keep my gaze from traveling deliberately past her face to linger on her breasts.
"I do not want to remain here," she whispered, her wide eyes begging me to release her.
"And yet, your nipples are hard little peaks that are just begging for me to touch them." My voice held no mockery, only raw hunger that echoed the feelings within me.
She appeared bashful, dropping her face so I wouldn't see the blush stealing over her cheeks.
"Aren't they?" I demanded.
"I—I don't know, sire."
We must claim her. We must take what she can only give once. We must own her. Fill her belly with our seed. The dragon stirred within me, and it was all I could do to force it down again._
She flinched as my hand moved with startling speed, grasping the thin fabric of her kirtle and tearing it with a single violent motion. The cool night air rushed against her exposed skin as her breasts spilled free, pale as moonlight in the darkness.
"Yes," I murmured, my voice dropping to a husky growl that sent gooseflesh racing all over her skin. "Hard as a pebble, just as I thought."
"Please, sire." She attempted to cover herself with the ripped remains of the fabric. I pushed the pieces out of her hands and turned her so I could see all of her glorious flesh in the moonlight.
"Tell me, little temptress," I said, my fingers hovering just above her nipples. "Do you wish for me to touch you?"
Her mouth opened, but no sound emerged.
"Answer me." My other hand reached for her hair, holding her head back so she had no choice but to look up at me. "Do you wish for me to touch you?"
Take her, the dragon yelled. Fuck her. Put our child in her belly.
She bit her lip, clearly unable to form words.
My grip on her hair tightened, pulling her head back further. "I want to hear you say the words," I insisted, my eyes burning into hers. "Tell me you want me to touch you."
"I—" Her voice broke, barely audible even to my own ears.
"Louder. Tell me what you want me to do to you."
I could not say why it was imperative that she admit her desirous feelings toward me—perhaps because I did not want to believe myself the only one consumed by this forbidden entanglement, this illicit dance between predator and prey.
Was I alone in this obsession that clawed at my insides day and night, or did she feel the same desperate, maddening hunger?
The way her body responded to my touch suggested I wasn't suffering this torment in solitude, that perhaps she too lay awake at night, haunted by possibilities and plagued by wants she dared not name.
The words finally tumbled from her lips. "I want you to touch me, sire."
My lips curved into a triumphant smile. "Good girl."
Finally, my fingers descended to brush against one exposed nipple. When I pinched it hard between my fingers, she gasped, her back arching slightly toward me. Heat pooled low in my groin, and I could feel my prick getting hard, ready to claim what he already considered his.
"You still haven't told me your name." My voice was lower now, almost conversational, but no less dangerous. "Your real name."