My eyes traced the line of him without permission. He was the kind of beautiful that was entirely unselfconscious, built not for admiration but for function, and somehow that made him even more stunning.
And then, before I could stop it, I thought of Lance’s body.
The comparison arrived uninvited and unwelcome, the way those things always do. I thought of Lance’s broad and strong frame, how big he was, the blacksmith’s geometry of him, that scar along his jaw that caught the light like a seam of silver. Theway he’d looked at me before he knew what I was, before I’d ruined everything.
My chest pulled tight.
I reached for my own scattered clothing and pulled the braies up my legs, moving through the feeling the way you move through cold water. Quickly. Without stopping.
I’d always wanted Corvin. But I still wanted Lance. And Arthur? I didn’t know what to think of Arthur.
All of those things were true, and they sat inside me at the same time, side by side by side, neither one canceling the other out. All I did know was that I loved Corvin, and I always had. And more recently, I’d learned to love Lance. Was it possible to love two men at the same time? I supposed it was. Perhaps the heart wasn’t built like a room with only one door.
But love wasn’t the point.
The point was that Lance would never look at me the way he had before. Whatever we’d been, whatever fragile, complicated thing had existed in the margins of deception and proximity, I’d burned it down. And even though I believed my mission was justified, the sacrifice had been whatever had blossomed between the two of us.
He’d told me I was dead to him, and he’d meant it. And he’d keep on meaning it.
I tied the laces of my tunic without even realizing I’d picked it up and dropped it over my head.
Wanting Lance was dangerous. And it was useless. It was a wound that now needed to heal over, if that was even possible. But when I looked at Corvin as he turned to face me, a feeling of warmth overcame me. And whatever love had existed between Lance and me, whatever love that was now dead (at least on his end), I felt like I could put it where it needed to be. Because whatever I had with Corvin was its own beautiful dream. Well,for as long as it lasted with us both imprisoned and under Arthur’s thumbs.
“Guin?” I looked up at Corvin and realized he was now dressed once more. “I’m sorry for... how this went. For what it’s worth.”
I smiled up at him. “How about we make a deal? That when we’re both freed from this miserable place, we’ll find the first tavern out of town, and you can make it up to me with your face between my legs for at least two days straight?”
There was an expression of shock in his eyes, no doubt at my choice of words, but that shock was quickly replaced by a deep chuckle, which then died on his lips, probably once he grabbed onto the fact that there was no getting out of here.
He was just about to respond when the door at the end of the corridor opened, and a guard filled the frame. He was short, stocky, and expressionless. The King’s red and gold caught the torchlight as he made his way down the walkway until he reached Corvin’s cell. Very soon, another guard walked through the far door, probably to ensure Corvin didn’t try to fight the first one.
The guard didn’t look at me as he unlocked the door and opened it.
“You.” He pointed at me. “You’re to be returned to your own cell.”
Corvin didn’t move immediately. He turned to look at me first, just for a second, his beautiful amber eyes steady and unreadable. He gave me a small and sad smile, which was really just an upturn of his lips. I had a feeling I was giving him the exact same expression as I nodded at the guard and walked towards the door.
-ARTHUR-
The Round Table had been my idea.
Equal seats. An equal voice. A king who would listen instead of simply ruling from his seat. Once, I’d believed in that. But that’s what young men do before the rest of life convinces them of the hefty price of belief.
The table itself was beautiful, an eight-foot-wide expanse of pale oak with grains swirling tightly to form rings like that of a target. The eight chairs around the table were the same in all respects, except for position.
The dragon had been quiet since the small hours of the night before, after I’d nearly lost the battle against it and had to leave Corvin’s cell before I lost complete control.
I didn’t know why the dragon was quieter now, but it had settled into a low vibration in the base of my chest, something that had burned down from white-hot to merely dangerous. I’d spent the night at my desk, maps spread under candlelight, running numbers on supply lines and garrison rotations I already knew by heart. My hands had simply needed something to do, and my mind had needed something that wasn’t her.
And the two of them. Together.
Even now, the thought made something tighten in my chest, something I was fairly sure wasn’t the dragon. I didn’t know what I’d been thinking: forcing Corvin to fuck her. I’d said it was in the name of proving my dominion over the dragon, but now with the realization that I hadn’t proven anything, I was at a loss.
By the time the light had started bleeding under my door, signifying the coming of morning, I’d accepted the night for what it was: a loss. My body hadn’t slept because my thoughtshad circled back to the same point every hour with the reliability of a mill wheel: what had happened in that cell and what I was going to do about it.
Now, I sat in my positionally distinguished chair and tapped my fingers against the hard wood of the table. I’d laid everything out, and now we were discussing the recent rise in borderland issues. Mordred had just given a full overview of the supply convoy losses we’d suffered and the pattern of pinprick strikes that were flaring up all over the north. We’d lost three convoys in a month. There had been minimal casualties but maximum disruption to grain distribution in the eastern villages. Mordred wasn’t certain if this was an act of aggression from Merlin or from the Northern Rebellion. Or perhaps they were two faces of the same coin.
It was clean intelligence. It was correct intelligence. And it demanded discussion.
