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“How is this the way the queue is moving on Christmas Eve?" Prince Arthur complained to Leon as they waited behind a dozen people, with who knows how many more behind them, at the busiest bookshop in the city. "Honestly, don't they know people have to get out of here? It’s obvious we’re all last-minute shopping and have somewhere to be!”
Leon gave Arthur one of his “quiet down, be discreet” looks, but Arthur was too irritated at this point to heed it. He knew he’d regret his tantrum, but the day had already been long and absolutely abysmal.
He hated to admit, even to himself, how awful it was. After all, he’d gone through hell to win this little victory against his father, the royal staff, and even Morgana, to be allowed to go out and do his own Christmas shopping for once, to feel like just one of the millions of people that celebrated the holidays, gliding through holly-trimmed department stores, humming along to Christmas tunes, picking up something cinnamon-scented in the air, basking in the reds and greens of holiday lights strung on trees and in windows. He’d always dreamed of being part of this happy stream of people. (He was a sentimental sop at heart, though he liked to pretend otherwise.)
It wasn’t as if he imagined he’d end the day caroling with the Cratchets or anything, but he thought if he could just get out of the palace inconspicuously, he could transform himself, at least temporarily, from sequestered prince into an everyday merry holiday shopper with a few presents to buy.
If only he’d known how miserable it was to actually be one of these poor sods who absolutely must buy something right now , or else be empty-handed on Christmas, having to put up with hoards of people, all too warm in their winter gear, grabbing at what is left on racks and shelves already picked clean of anything worth buying by people smart enough to avoid being part of this surly mayhem. Even the peppermint latte that he’d got in hopes of escaping into an indulgent Christmas beverage had been a failure. Not only did it burn his mouth—and surely people knew lattes weren’t meant to be boiling—but it tasted more like burnt coffee topped with toothpaste and shards of glass than a luxurious holiday treat.
With every attempt to seize what he’d thought of as the quintessential holiday experience, Arthur’s frustrations had only grown, and he wished he hadn’t argued quite so vehemently with his father for the right to be here suffering, aggravated and uncomfortable, like everyone else.
This bookstore was the latest in a series of smaller shops where Arthur was attempting to find a gift for Morgana, after the large department stores had proven to be both time-sucking and sold out of everything worthwhile. He’d actually had the amazing good fortune—finally—of discovering the perfect gift for her (a gorgeous, handcrafted wedding planner), and dammit if he wasn’t going to purchase it, if he could ever make it to the front of the queue.
Arthur stared at the ginger-haired girl behind the counter as she in turn stared at the till. She was biting her lower lip, obviously flustered, and trying to avoid eye contact with the customer she was supposed to be helping. Occasionally, she would look over her shoulder, as if trying to get the attention of a coworker who might know how to work the till and save her from this predicament, but she never so much as called anyone's name. The futility of it was excruciating to witness.
“Can’t you call someone who knows what they’re doing?” Arthur finally shouted. “We haven’t got all day!”
Leon grabbed his arm (through layers of jumper and puffer coat sleeves) to shut him up, but before Arthur could rebuff his bodyguard-cum-friend’s gesture, his attention was grabbed by the voice of the man behind him, saying to his companion, “The nerve of this guy. It’s not her fault she’s new and everyone else is busy.”
“That was seriously rude,” his friend said, her voice decisive without being mean. Arthur felt the threat of a tiny pang of guilt in his chest, but then he remembered how hot and tired and frustrated he was. If only he didn’t need this stupid gift for Morgana, who would be merciless if he returned empty-handed, he would just leave.
“Why don’t we just—” Leon started to say, probably reading his mind, but Arthur cut him off.
“No. I will not give in to this day and my father and everything else. I am buying this present if it’s the last thing I do. I’m just beginning to fear that it really might be.”
Leon laughed. “It has been a while since this queue moved.”
They waited in silence for another few minutes, Arthur fidgety, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, occasionally huffing out an irritated sigh. He was reaching his absolute limit, and there seemed to be no reason for it, other than that this girl didn’t know how to do her job.
“How is this acceptable to anyone?” he asked, looking at the other customers waiting to pay. Then, to the clerk, he added, “Why don’t you just let us ring ourselves out! I’m sure we could manage better than you are!”
“Hey, that’s enough!” The man behind Arthur said. “You can’t just go around abusing people because you’re not happy with spending an extra ten minutes somewhere.”
Arthur turned to face the man who dared challenge him in this way, and publicly. He was met with a tall, lean bloke with devastating cheekbones, deep blue eyes, and pillowy lips.
He shook off his brief reverie of inventorying and returned to the argument.
“Excuse me, I’m not abusing anyone. I don’t think it’s too much to ask that there be competent help working on the busiest shopping day of the year.”
“First of all, it’s not the busiest; yesterday was. Second, maybe she’d have an easier time of it if people like you weren’t screaming about her wasting time, while you’re the one who waited until 6 o’clock on Christmas Eve to do your bloody shopping.”
“Oh, that is rich. You have no idea of all the nonsense I have to put up with every day—”
“Arth—mate,” Leon said, “Let’s just leave it—”
“No, Leon. I told you I’m not leaving anything.”
“It’s just that you’re starting to make—”
“I’m not ‘making a scene.’ I’m simply explaining to this nosy man that I am in the right here.”
“ I know, but I really think—”
“In the right?” the man cut in, mocking. “I don’t think you’d find another person here who thought so. Anyone?” He looked around for support, but people seemed far less interested in answering than he’d probably expected.
Leon pulled gently on Arthur’s shoulder, trying to get him to step back and behind him into some arbitrary kind of safe space. “Look, uh—” Leon said, gesturing for a name.
“Merlin.”
“Merlin. We’re terribly sorry about this. You’re absolutely right. We didn’t mean to trouble you or anyone else.”
Arthur just stared, his jaw open in awe at the betrayal. He knew Leon was only trying to keep him from revealing his identity, but no one had recognized him the whole day. Arthur needed a friend’s backup right now more than a royal guard.
“Oh my god,” the woman said, almost inaudibly.
“That’s kind of you,” the man—Merlin—said to Leon, “but your friend is a real arse. He should apologise to the assistant, not me.”
“Yes, I’ll make sure—”
“Oh, my God, Merlin,” the man’s friend said again, louder.
“What? You’re as appalled as I am, Gwen. I know you are.”
“No, Merlin. Don’t you know who that is?” She gestured towards Arthur without any subtlety.
Leon cut in, trying to put an end to what was becoming exactly the kind of situation he was here to prevent. “We’re genuinely sorry to bother you. Have a good day.” He turned himself and then Arthur around.
“Traitor!” Arthur gritted through his teeth to Leon.
“See?” The woman—Gwen—said. “That’s Prince Arthur!” She was using the same urgent whisper Arthur just had.
“What? That’s ridiculous. It’s just some random posh arsehole, not a royal one.”
“No, it’s—”
“Gwen, I hardly think the Pendragons deign to shop with the peasants on Christmas Eve. Besides, I’m sure they’re hosting a party for the Queen of Monaco or something tonight.”
It was true that there was to be a ball at the palace that evening, with a great many foreign dignitaries in attendance, the nonexistent “Queen of Monaco” notwithstanding.
Arthur let out a sigh of relief, realizing how close he’d come to totally ruining the day. The last thing he needed was for everyone packed in the little shop to discover that not only was their prince among them, but that he was being rather ornery about the whole thing, too. He’d been having a day, and he was sure his aggravation was entirely justified, despite what the nimwit with the cheekbones had said, but he certainly knew it wasn’t exactly the royal persona he should convey.
“Merlin, it’s him! And look what he’s buying!”
Shit. Why was he buying a wedding planner, and why did this Gwen have to have some kind of eagle eye for royalty? No one else had recognized him the whole day.
He whirled around before Leon could stop him. “Look,” he said. “Who I am and what I’m buying are none of anyone’s business.”
“Oh my god,” Merlin said. “You’re right. And he’s even worse than we thought.”
“Merlin!” She chided.
“What do you mean ‘worse than you thought’? I’m beloved of millions, I’ll have you know.”
“Sire—”
“It’s fine, Leon. I’m not going to let Merlin here paint a bad picture of me when he’s the one who butts in on other people’s conversations.”
“It was hardly a conversation. You were yelling at the clerk.”
“And what’s that to you?”
“What’s it to me? It should be something to you! I don’t happen to like seeing self-centred prats treating other people like dirt, but apparently you make special trips down from your castle on Christmas just to get some extra bullying in.”
“Merlin!” Gwen said, again. Leon had been trying to urge Arthur away from the argument as well, but he was like a pillar of righteous determination, or at least he had been until Merlin’s little speech, which was not without some effect, as it left Arthur without an immediate reply.
“Why are you even here anyway?” Merlin continued. “Don’t we pay for you to have a staff of thousands or something? Send them out to do your shopping.”
“Thousands, yeah,” Arthur mocked, glad of the new fodder to argue about, “but they’re too busy entertaining the ‘Queen of Monaco’.”
“I knew it!” Merlin said, snapping his fingers in front of Arthur’s chest, then looking at Gwen for validation.
Arthur swiped Merlin’s hand away. “You fool. There is no Queen of Monaco. Read a book.”
“Huh!” Merlin scoffed. “I read plenty. I just don’t limit myself to monarchy trivia.”
“Let’s see, then.” Arthur said, taking the book Merlin was presumably intending to buy out of his hand. “Eat. Pray. Love.? Well, that is embarrassing.”
“It’s a gift, you twat.”
“My condolences to the recipient.”
“Arthur!”
“Why are you even here?!” Merlin repeated more loudly.
“For the bloody Christmas spirit! Obviously!”
They both paused, and Leon and Gwen seemed to freeze in response.
But then, something wonderful happened. A valve seemed to pop, and Arthur found himself looking into Merlin’s eyes as they grew bigger and bigger. Both men burst out into bellows of laughter then, joyous, belly-clutching, tears-in-your-eyes kind of laughter. They were howling, and holding each other up, almost, as they cackled. Arthur felt like the whole day’s worth of aggravations were pouring out of him through some sort of alchemical magic this man Merlin seemed to wield. It was the happiest Arthur felt in as long as he could remember, and he felt like kissing the man in thanks, though he wouldn’t, obviously.
As their laughter calmed down, he could feel Leon shift next to him, probably out of some mixture of confusion and relief that Arthur was done fighting with strangers.
“You know, you’re not half bad,” Arthur said to Merlin, squeezing his shoulder gently before letting his hand fall. “Let me buy you that book.”
Merlin’s grin was wide, but he still had teasing in his eyes. “With my own tax money? I don’t think so.”
“Suit yourself,” Arthur said, smiling back. “I’d just as soon not have the papers tomorrow talking about my imminent inner journey.”
“No, instead they’ll be announcing your wedding.”
Arthur looked quizzical, then inhaled sharply as he realized what he was holding. The flash of a phone’s camera brought his attention to the crowd around him, and he instinctively, idiotically held the planner up to hide his face. Shit.
Already, a voice in the crowd was saying, oh my god! Prince Arthur is here!, and was being answered by reallys and no ways and people abandoning the queue to get closer to him—to them, really—as he stood face to face with Merlin, the oversized planner forming an inadequate barrier between themselves and the crowd.
Merlin’s eyes were filled with mirth and surprise, but also something a little like concern, or possibly even regret.
“We have to go, sire.” Leon said, leaning in close. Then he whispered commands into his wrist, and scanned the shop for the best possible exit. Gwen seemed to be doing the same, and she put a hand on Leon’s arm and tilted her head towards the least obvious, less public, side door. Leon nodded.
“Wait,” Arthur said, realizing that if Leon had his way, Arthur would fail, after all this, in his mission. “I want to pay properly.”
“But—”
“It’s fine, Leon.”
He let the planner fall, holding it more comfortably against his ribs as he searched his pockets for his wallet. He approached the till as best he could, saying hellos, shaking hands, and smiling at the other customers as they made way for him, whether in shock or deference, he couldn’t say.
He noticed that Merlin did not follow him, and he was sorry for the loss of company, and for how much it mattered to him. He would think about the man for the rest of the night, he knew, remember the laugh they’d shared, and the seriously striking features he had.
The lonely walk, in a room packed with people, reminded him how solitary he ultimately was. He wasn’t like these other shoppers, and he wouldn’t be, no matter how long he stood in the queue, and no matter how long he now wanted to. The recognition of his difference, that everyone else was letting him cut the queue, just because of who he was, saddened him. They seemed glad to do it, even.
The ginger girl at the till, however, looked more mortified than ever as he approached, and he felt the sear of shame at having berated her earlier. She was just a person struggling through the day like everyone else—like everyone not him, who was only here as some sort of failed holiday experiment.
“I’ll just—” she started saying, backing away, likely to find a coworker to take her place. Surely someone would want to come now.
“Please,” Arthur said, holding out a placating hand. “Please accept my apology for my truly horrid behaviour. I have no excuse for myself.”
She looked at him, her eyes large and disbelieving. “It’s . . . it’s fine, sir. Erm, sire.”
“Arthur,” he said. “And you’re?”
“Sefa.”
“Sefa. I really am terribly sorry. You didn’t deserve that at all. If you’d let me, I’d like to pay for this and—” he thought about calling Merlin over, insisting on paying for the book he was buying, if only to get him near him again, to thank him for saving him from the worst of himself, but he knew it’d be a mistake, and not just because Merlin would dislike the gesture. It would be because this day wasn’t meant to be about Merlin. It was about everyone. He added, “—and for what everyone else in the queue is buying.”
The crowd gasped in shock, then murmured, happily but perhaps disbelieving.
Sefa looked at the two dozen or so customers and then back at Arthur. “That’s very kind of you, sire. It’ll take me a while to get it all totaled, though.” The implied and we know you hate waiting was loud and clear.
Arthur winced. “Will this cover it?” he asked, putting a sizable stack of 100-pound notes on the counter.
Sefa eyed the money. “I should think so,” she said. “Should we send what’s left to the palace or something?”
“Keep it for yourself. You’ve more than earned it,” Arthur said, nodding. “And Merry Christmas.”
A collective aawww was heard among the crowd, and then a chorus of thank yous. I always said he was the nice one, he heard someone say, and he smiled awkwardly, aware of just how nice he hadn’t been that day.
He was glad to see that Merlin and Gwen were still with Leon. They actually looked quite natural together, all standing close like a group of friends, rather than like his bodyguard and two relative strangers. He felt that melancholy-happiness starting up in him again, and he knew this vision of the three of them smiling at him, each with a different inflection (Gwen, pleased; Leon, proud; and Merlin . . . surprised?), would feature in his fantasies of Christmases future. He wasn’t ready to let it go, though. He decided to ride this wave of grand gestures he’d started.
“Come on,” he said, placing a hand gently on each of Merlin and Gwen’s shoulders as he followed Leon out the side door. They didn’t resist, and he felt a small bit of hope at their quiescence.
Once outside, Merlin turned and asked him, “Are we being kidnapped?” There was a spark of gleeful mischief in his eyes.
“Merlin!” Gwen scolded. Then, to Leon, “We’re not, are we? Not that we’d object too much, I don’t think. If it’s a friendly sort of kidnapping.” Leon huffed a laugh and opened the door of a large car waiting at the curb, gesturing for Gwen to get in first, then looking at Arthur, realizing he may have offended him by giving the lady priority.
Instead, Arthur was delighted by the chivalry and smiled his approval. “You’re good?” he asked Leon. Leon gave a quick nod.
“Are we really doing this? Why are we doing this?” Merlin asked, climbing into the limo behind Gwen and ahead of Arthur.
“Well, we can drop you off wherever you’re going,” Arthur said. “I thought you might like to get away from a crowd of people wanting to grill you about your quarrel with the prince. It might delay your holiday plans.”
Merlin looked askance at Arthur. “How thoughtful,” he said.
Leon settled in next to Gwen, and the car started moving. The slight jolt of motion somehow started Arthur’s mind worrying. Where were they going? And what did he think could come of this? What if this just got weird instead of lovely?
“So, this is exciting,” Merlin said, more to Gwen than anyone. She laughed and said, “Better than, maybe.”
“Maybe,” Merlin said, and bit at his lip. He turned to Arthur. “That was nice of you, buying everyone’s books.”
Arthur searched Merlin’s face for a trace of sarcasm, but he only found earnestness, which was actually more disconcerting. “You sure? I used your money.”
Merlin laughed. “You used everyone’s money.”
“True.”
“So really they paid for it themselves. Maybe it wasn’t so nice of you.”
Now Arthur laughed, relieved that the barbs weren’t gone, just better natured.
“Still,” Merlin said. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
“Really? Because we could use some more booze for our party tonight.”
“Oh, you’re having a Christmas party?”
“No, we’re having an ‘I fought with the future King of England and won’ party.”
Arthur felt wrong-footed again, but Gwen luckily piped up. “Well, it may morph into that, but the friends on their way to our flat believe it to be a Christmas party. You know, you both should come!”
Merlin’s eyebrows shot up, and then made several movements as he stared at Gwen, conveying a series of thoughts. Arthur wished he could hear the telepathic argument going on between them as their expressions changed. He definitely was not going to answer until he knew where Merlin stood on the invite. (Leon would never answer for Arthur, of course.)
Merlin settled back into the leather seat, the mental discussion obviously concluded. “Granted,” he said, “it’ll be much fancier than the kinds of parties you’re used to.” He met Arthur’s eyes and added, “But you should come.”
Arthur felt his chest relax and yet tighten at the same time. “Yeah?” he asked. Merlin’s smile and proximity, his eyes were becoming more addictive by the moment. He wanted to go the party, and he wanted to hear Merlin again, urging him to go.
“Yeah.” Then he held up the book Arthur had in fact bought for him. “We can get drunk and have a group reading of Eat. Pray. Love.”
“Sounds awful,” Arthur said. “Leon, tell Geraint to stop at an off-licence on the way to . . . where are we going?”
Gwen gave the address then clapped her hands. “This is going to be fantastic,” she said.
Arthur hoped so. He hoped they had a beautiful, imperfect tree with mismatched decorations and a warm and cozy flat. He hoped it would feel like a home, Merlin and Gwen’s home, and that maybe, just maybe, he would get the merry Christmas he’d been longing for after all.
When they pulled up to the off-licence, it was agreed Arthur ought not go in, but Leon should.
“I’ll go with you,” Gwen said, flashing Merlin a smile, “although you really don’t have to buy us anything.”
“Nonsense. And Leon—buy double what she tells you to,” Arthur instructed.
“Get more prosecco!” Merlin called, then shrugged when Arthur looked at him quizzically. “It's good,” he said.
“I know,” Arthur said. “Morgana drinks it like water.”
“Lady Morgana?” Merlin asked almost laughing.
“Yes, that would be her,” Arthur said, blushing a little. He hated that his family was so known.
“You have any sisters?”
“No,” Merlin said. “Or any half-sisters,” he huffed. “If I did, though, I’d have the decency to enjoy some prosecco with them.”
“Mmm,” Arthur agreed.
They sat there quietly, the low humming of the car’s idling engine the only sound.
“You sure you don’t have somewhere else you should be?” Merlin asked.
“What? Erm . . . no. Well, probably, but I just . . . I’d really rather go with you, if that's alright.” He let his eyes wander up over Merlin’s features, from the length of his neck coming up out of a deep red scarf that complimented his dark coat and hair, to his lips, red with biting and smiling and temptation, to his eyes, a deeply beautiful blue edging the large black pupils in the low light coming in from the streetlamps.
Merlin was letting him look, and he wished he really knew why. Was it because he was a stupid prince who had swept this man into his too-large car and insisted on crashing his party? He knew he was good looking enough, and he certainly knew people liked to have a story to tell about that night they hung out with Prince Arthur, but this didn’t feel like that. But Arthur wanted it too much to trust that it wasn’t.
Merlin’s eyes flicked down to Arthur’s lips, then back up to meet his gaze. “I’m not sure why,” he said, his voice low. “Will they . . . will anyone be worried? Is the British army going to storm my flat and throw me and Gwen in the Tower of London?”
“We’re in my car. I hardly think they’ll blame you for that.”
“Not sure logic will come into it."
They were still looking at each other, sitting close. It felt like their bodies were having a different conversation—or Arthur’s was, anyway—to the one actually going on.
Arthur leaned forward just slightly, just enough to test the movement for reaction, and Merlin’s eyes grew larger. He leaned away from Arthur instead of towards him, and Arthur felt a rush of disappointment and embarrassment flooding his chest as the door opened, and he heard Gwen saying, “This is really an unhealthy amount of alcohol, but Leon insisted.”
Leon got in after her, hefting several bags filled with bottles. Gwen had been carrying one in each hand as well.
“That should keep Gwaine busy for a while,” Merlin said.
Gwaine. Was Merlin mentioning a boyfriend to warn Arthur off?
“Who’s Gwaine?” he pained himself asking.
“He’s a royal pain in the arse,” Gwen said.
Arthur’s raised brow prompted a further, “I mean, he’s not royal. Obviously. And not that royals are pains, I mean, not that I would know, but it’s just a saying, you know.”
“Yes,” Arthur said. He was about to abandon the whole plan, tell them he realised he really should be at the banquet at the palace after all, when Leon chimed in, seeming to have become quite chummy with Gwen during their little shopping trip.
“Oh, Gwen’s been telling me about everyone who’ll be there. It’s sort of protocol,” he explained to Merlin, who just nodded a little absently, looking between Leon and Arthur. “Gwaine is the lush of the group, apparently.”
“Glad we could keep him stocked,” Arthur said. He sounded sour, and Leon looked at him, his smile falling instantly.
“Well, it’s not really for him, right? We can tell him to keep his paws off our stash. Your stash. Whatever,” Merlin said. He was looking at Arthur.
“Yours,” Arthur said.
“Well, you’re not buying it and then not drinking it."
Arthur found he couldn’t bring himself to disagree.
**
He was glad he didn’t. When they walked into the flat, they were met with warm, glowing lights of a tree and a few friendly people already there. Arthur tensed at the thought of what they might be like, how they might treat him, how he might ruin their party, but he saw only pleasant smiles and was offered a glass of wine right away from someone—Gwen’s brother, he learned. “Good to meet you,” the man said. “I’m Elyan.”
“Arthur. And this is my friend Leon.”
Elyan shook both their hands and they made their way into the flat. There were a few more people to meet—Elena, Mithian, and Lancelot—and they all seemed rather lovely. No one stared at him or asked inane questions, and he wondered what Gwen had told them to expect. Did they know who he was? He thought maybe not.
Arthur had had two glasses of wine and a rather nice assortment of appetizers—some more recognizable than others, but all sort of charming—when Gwaine showed up. He was a bit larger than life, which seemed odd to Arthur, who was always saddled with that kind of presentation himself, but Gwaine seemed to relish it. He even picked Merlin up—bodily—by way of greeting, eliciting a howling laugh from Merlin, who had also had a few drinks.
He was beautiful, spinning, half over Gwaine’s shoulder, happy as anyone could be, and Arthur was glad he could see it, even if it was clear now that the laugh they’d shared at the book shop was just one of many in Merlin's typical day. He wouldn’t have noticed one more bout in the stream of joyful cavorting that was, apparently, his life.
Arthur took another sip of his wine. He searched out Leon, thinking they might make their exit now. Arthur had glimpsed a genuine Christmas with caring, thoughtful, people, had even been part of it, in some small way, and he didn’t want to prolong the night and draw out all the ways he was a bystander to other people’s joy.
Leon was bent low, though, in a conversation with Gwen that seemed to warrant them both smiling rather stupidly at each other. He wasn’t ready to interrupt that.
He looked to where Merlin was, figuring he’d find him with Gwaine, but instead, he was across the room, watching Arthur. Gwaine, meanwhile, was involved in some kind of complicated drinking ritual with Elena near the sink, and he didn’t seem particularly concerned with Merlin.
Merlin walked over to Arthur, tilting his head in query. “You alright?” he asked. “I’m sorry it’s not much.”
“No, no. It’s perfect,” Arthur said. “Really.”
“I take it perfect means bad, in royal terms?”
Arthur smiled, chided. “I’m sorry. It’s just a difficult holiday.”
“How so?” Merlin leaned against the wall next to Arthur and sipped his wine. He looked ready to listen, happy to, even.
Arthur thought about it. It might’ve been the wine, or the lights, or the actually-not-bad Christmas music playing, or, more likely, the alluring depth of Merlin’s eyes, but Arthur wanted to tell him all his maudlin foolishness.
“Do you want to go talk somewhere?” Merlin asked.
“What—no, no. You’re having a party.”
“I didn’t mean Aruba. Just down the hall.” He gestured with his stemless wine glass to the short corridor behind them.
“Yeah, okay.”
“Great. Let me just grab another bottle or two of this wine. It’s too good to leave with these tossers.”
Merlin was only gone for a minute, and he came back with two bottles and half a wheel of cheese.
“Come on,” he said, and led the way into a small room off the corridor that Arthur assumed was Merlin’s. There was a single bed and a mess of books on shelves and in stacks on the floor next to a small desk. There was also a wardrobe and chest of drawers, leaving little room to walk.
Merlin pushed aside a laptop and put the wine and wrapped cheese on the desk.
“Your room?” Arthur asked, feeling a little awkward.
“Yeah. Sorry. There isn’t really anywhere else, other than Gwen’s room, which is neater, but still probably not a good option.”
“No, it’s fine. It’s nice,” he said.
Merlin may have guffawed, and Arthur wondered how insulting he’d just been.
“No, I mean . . . It’s normal. I mean . . . ”
“Arthur—it’s fine. It’s sort of rubbish, but it’s also fine.” Arthur wasn’t sure if he meant the comment or the room, but he let it go.
“Where should I sit?” Arthur asked.
Merlin looked at the bed against the wall, then smiled half-sheepishly.
Arthur rolled his eyes, finished his wine, refilled his glass and Merlin’s, and sat down, his back against the wall, feet hanging off the side of the bed. Merlin plopped down next to him so they were sitting shoulder-to shoulder, facing the dresser piled with clothes.
“Don’t you tidy up before you have people over?”
“What? I did.”
“I’d hate to see what untidy looks like,” Arthur said, taking another sip.
Merlin glanced at him, confiding, “It’s not that different, actually.”
They smiled at each other, then drank in silence for a while. It was warm and comfortable, even a little too warm, in a promising way.
“Thanks for inviting us tonight, by the way. It was really nice of you.”
“Oh, it’s nothing.”
“It is. I appreciate it.”
“You sure? You were about to tell me why you don’t even like Christmas.”
Arthur sighed, and let his fingertip circle the rim of his glass. “I don’t hate Christmas. I think I could love it, even, but just not the way my father arranges it. It’s not particularly festive, despite what it might seem.”
“A lot of work to do, have you?” Merlin smiled softly.
“Shut up,” Arthur said, without heat. “I know it’s not like work that everyone else does, and I know we’re ridiculously privileged and I shouldn’t complain about anything—”
“No, Arthur. I was kidding. I’m sorry. It can’t be easy to be part of the royal family, especially as the very eligible prince that’s all over the media all the time.”
Arthur frowned, wanting to get back to a better, if more private, topic. “This was different though. You invited me here, a stranger who had been an absolute git.”
“You were, but you also apologised. And you said you were really after some Christmas spirit. When you didn’t scoff at Gwen’s suggestion to come here, I realised that maybe you’d meant it.” He looked at Arthur, then back down at his own glass. He reached for the wine bottle and topped up their drinks again.
“I had been a little lacking in that department.”
“And now?”
“Getting better,” Arthur said. He looked at Merlin, bolder now with more wine and the shelter of Merlin’s room. He let a finger slip over one of Merlin’s where his hand rested on the bed between them, and Merlin’s lips quirked slightly at the touch.
“In the car,” he said. “Were you thinking of maybe kissing me?”
Arthur felt something small tug in his chest. “Maybe,” he said, voice low.
Merlin closed the space between them and made a gentle press of his lips against Arthur’s. He pulled away before Arthur could respond, really.
“Was that okay?” Merlin asked.
Arthur nodded with a slight huff of relief. “I take it you’re not with Gwaine?”
Merlin laughed. “No, I don’t make a habit of cheating on boyfriends, if that’s what you think.”
“Well, you never know. I might be on your list or something.”
“My list?”
“You know, the approved opportunities list.”
“Well, someone thinks highly of himself,” Merlin teased.
Arthur felt his face redden. “I just wanted to be sure. Gwaine greets people with physical assault. I wouldn’t look forward to fighting him.”
“Fighting him? I hardly think it would come to that.”
“I do.”
With the way Merlin looked in the low light of the room, the softness of his eyes, the long stretch of his lean body, the fascination Arthur felt for him growing by the second, Arthur could imagine a great many things he might do for this man. “You seem like you could be worth a black eye or two.”
“What?” Merlin said, so low he was almost mouthing the word.
Arthur leaned in now, his left hand coming up to cup Merlin’s jaw. He opened Merlin’s lips with his own and licked a Malbec-sweet swipe into his mouth. Merlin melted into it, like he was made for this kiss, and he hummed his pleasure as Arthur’s hand slid up and into Merlin’s hair.
They broke apart and looked into each other’s eyes for a moment, questions being posed, perhaps, but answered well enough. They put their glasses down—draining them first—then came back together with purpose. Merlin leaned his body into Arthur’s, pressing him into the corner where two walls met. He pushed on Arthur’s chest, and Arthur held Merlin close, with almost too much pressure in his slowly roaming hands, but he didn’t care. It was the headiest thing he’d felt in ages, kissing this gorgeous, unexpected man, in his very cozy bedroom, with the sounds of music and people laughing and talking trailing quietly from down the hall and through the closed door.
They kissed for a while, their hands greedy but not leaving their backs and hair and faces. It was as if they agreed that the kissing was perfect as it was, that adding anything else would take away from the fullness of the moment.
They were interrupted by voices calling, “Merlin! It’s time for presents! Get your arse out here!”
Merlin broke the kiss, punctuating it with a final peck, then looked at Arthur in his arms. “I guess we should go get some Christmas loot. It helps with the spirit, you know.”
Arthur smiled. “I’m feeling pretty spirited already.”
Merlin stood up and held his hand out. “Come on,” he said, just as he had to lead Arthur in here. He didn’t want to leave, but he could feel that this wasn’t the end, especially when, upon standing up, Merlin drew him into another open-mouthed kiss, this time pressing the length of his body against Arthur.
Arthur pulled away, then. “Oh, god, okay. Just give me a minute,” he said, running his hands through his hair and straightening his jumper and jeans.
“We’ll come back in here, if you want. I promise,” Merlin said.
“We better. Don’t think I didn’t notice that cheese you’ve yet to offer me.”
Merlin laughed. He grabbed their glasses from the desk, handed Arthur his, and lead them out of the room.
In the living room, they discovered everyone strewn on couches and in chairs comfortably, Elena’s legs draped over Gwaine’s lap, and Gwen and Leon seated on stools that had been dragged over from the kitchen. Elyan and Mithian were on the larger couch, and Lancelot was just sitting down with them when Merlin and Arthur entered.
Upon seeing them, Leon stood up, ready to do whatever Arthur wished, he knew, but Arthur just nodded and let Merlin lead him to the only empty chair. Luckily, it had rather wide arms, so that once Arthur sat down, Merlin perched on the armrest, leaning into Arthur, making him feel protected, which Arthur knew was about as foolish as many other things he’d been feeling that evening.
“All right then,” Merlin said. “Who’s starting?”
“Lancelot, since he went last last year,” Gwen said.
Lancelot stood up and walked over to the tree. It was a squat but very full tree, and Arthur loved it, bedecked with various balls and ornaments and a great many colored lights. The reds and greens and yellows warmed Arthur, as much as the wine did, and Merlin pressed against his side.
Lancelot found the gift with his name on it and returned to his seat to open it. He unwrapped the small package to reveal a keychain in the shape of the globe, small enough to be functional, but large enough for him to mark. He opened the note affixed to it and read, “Lancelot—to map your travels and your way home.”
Lancelot looked moved by the quite beautiful gift and the sentiment that came with it. Arthur didn’t know the man, or these people, but the thoughtfulness and message didn’t elude him. “Thank you,” Lancelot said, to all of them. “I’m going to put a big heart around London, since all your names won’t fit on this.”
“Aww,” Elena answered.
“All right, enough of that,” Gwaine said. “Give the next one.”
A while later, after Mithian had opened her gift—a t-shirt that said Geologists Do It in the Dirt —Arthur noticed Leon not laughing, but staring at his phone in concern.
He knew this would happen eventually. His father would notice he wasn’t at the ball, and he’d have him summoned. Arthur’s heart sank a little, but not too much, since he saw Merlin looking at Leon, too, and invested in the verdict of what was to happen.
Leon looked up at Arthur.
“What is it?” Arthur asked.
“It’s . . . ” Leon looked around the room. “It’s a news thing.”
Several people took out their phones to see if they had alerts, though Arthur expected none did.
“Specifically?” he asked.
“Specifically, people are talking about the bookstore.”
“The bookstore?” Lancelot asked, at the same time as Arthur said, “Oh, no.”
Merlin got up and walked into his room without a word, leaving Arthur to wonder just how much Merlin didn’t want to be associated with any of it.
“Apparently, Arthur’s been quite generous with his gift-giving,” Mithian said. “He seems to have paid for everyone’s books today at Albion’s.”
“It’s trending on Twitter,” Gwen said. “Hashtag PABMB: Prince Arthur Bought My Book. Everyone’s tweeting what books they got—that you bought them.”
Arthur looked around the room, marveling that none of these people had given any hint of knowing or caring who he was, apart from someone Gwen and Merlin welcomed into their home on Christmas.
He wasn’t sure how they’d managed it, but he was grateful beyond words for the acceptance and presumed normality of it all. He was just a new acquaintance, hanging out in their living room, even while they were all reading the latest gossip about him—not for any salacious reason, but because Leon had cared, and because it related to Merlin and Gwen, and because it was interesting in its own right. He was interested himself, actually, in how the story was being spun. “Prince Arthur Buys Books for Everyone” was a far better headline than what they could be reporting: “Prat Prince Berates Clerk on Christmas”; “Grinch Arthur Ruins Christmas”; “Prince of Wankers Also an Arse.”
There also could be this, though—the image Merlin walked back into the room and showed him a picture on his phone of the two of them at the shop, gazing at each other, Arthur holding a wedding planner up for them to unsuccessfully hide behind. There was another picture of them leaving together, and one, grainy from a long zoom, of Merlin smiling at Arthur over his shoulder as they left. His eyes were so bright, even crinkled with his smile and in the low quality of the image, that Arthur’s breath caught. That flash of happiness, of fondness, of anticipation, was directed at him. He was glad someone, however selfish their motives, had caught that expression on Merlin’s face, or Arthur never would have believed his own memory of it.
He realised he was smiling when he looked back up at Merlin, but he wasn’t sharing the sentiment. He looked worried.
“I’m sorry,” Arthur said. “I’m sure you don’t want this.”
“I’m not worried about me so much as the conclusions they’re jumping to about you and that planner. Who is it for, anyway?”
Arthur sighed. “I suppose it’ll be out soon enough. My sister is getting engaged tomorrow.”
“To Sir Percival? God, they make a gorgeous couple,” Elena said.
“I guess the planner won’t be much of a surprise anymore,” Gwaine pointed out.
“Or the proposal, for that matter,” said Arthur, sighing.
“Unless Morgana thinks, like the Mail does, that you were buying it with your secret boyfriend, Merlin, here,” Mithian offered.
“Oh, god,” Arthur rubbed his hands over his face. “I’ve really mucked up everything today.”
“I don’t know,” Merlin said, his voice lighter than Arthur expected. “I got a free book out of it.”
“Actually, Merlin,” Gwen corrected, “That one was never put through. Technically, I think you stole it.”
“What? But I was kidnapped! I couldn’t pay!”
“Kidnapped and taken to your own party? Doesn’t sound very credible,” Arthur said, placing a hand on Merlin’s lower back, soothed by the teasing turn of the conversation.
“I suppose not,” Merlin conceded, leaning into Arthur’s touch. “So what do you want to do?”
“I think you should keep opening gifts. We can have you booked for petty theft after.”
“Very funny."
“All right, who’s next?” Lancelot cut in.
As the last gift was given—a new scarf, to Merlin, who seemed to have a fetish for them, from what Arthur could gather—Arthur felt sorry that the night was coming to an end.
Merlin must’ve noticed his shift in mood, as he said softly, playing with the hair at the back of Arthur’s neck, “Sorry we don’t have gifts for you and Leon.”
“Actually, there is a gift for Arthur,” Gwen said, retrieving a present from under the tree.
Merlin beamed at Gwen, but looked a little nervous, too. He clearly didn’t know what was in the gift, and it made Arthur uncomfortable, but grateful, too. Gwen was clearly both thoughtful and resourceful.
“Wow, you didn’t have to do this,” he said. “Does Leon get one, too?”
“Indeed he does,” she said, handing another gift to Leon, more shyly.
Leon unwrapped his first, at Arthur’s urging. It was a hair tie and a barret, which Leon immediately put in his hair, to everyone’s exaggerated approval. Gwen laughed delightedly, perhaps as much at Leon as with him, and they made a lovely tableau with Leon’s smile plainly visible, now that his curly fringe was clipped back.
Gwen turned to Arthur, as did everyone else. He put his wine glass down and shot a quick glance up at Merlin, who seemed as curious as Arthur about the gift. He also seemed tinged with the same sense of melancholy that Arthur was feeling, but perhaps Arthur was just projecting. It had been his favourite, most heartwarming Christmas ever, and it would soon be over.
First, he had a gift to open, a souvenir of the night that he would cherish, no matter what it was.
When he opened it, he saw it was a jewelry box, the small, black, velvety kind that might hold a ring. When he opened it, he found it contained not jewelry, but a piece of paper. He unfolded it and discovered a phone number. Merlin’s, he hoped.
“Gwen!” Merlin said, having been watching closely over Arthur’s shoulder.
Gwen giggled. “I’m sorry, Merlin! I just wanted to be sure he got it—I mean, if you both wanted him to. Do you?”
Merlin looked at Arthur, his neck and cheeks reddening. “Well, yeah, but, it’s not like this can really—”
“I love it, Gwen. I think it’s fair to say it’ll be the best gift I get this year,” Arthur said. He took out his mobile and created a new contact for Merlin. He reversed his camera and took a shot of him, smiling and blushing and beautiful, his dark, wavy hair still mussed from Arthur’s hands in it. The glow of the holiday lights made the picture look like a firelit Christmas card. And being with Merlin all evening had felt like that—like he had been brought into a fantasy world where people were brilliant and warm and witty, but also real, more real than anything his carefully orchestrated royal life had ever allotted him.
He saved the image and number and sent Merlin a quick text.
Merlin’s phone pinged in his hand, and he looked down at the screen. A broad smile spread over his face (rather contagiously, Arthur could feel), as he read Arthur’s message: What are you doing NYE?
Merlin bit his lip, still smiling, and looked at Arthur through long lashes. In seconds, Arthur received a short text that said simply,This.
Merlin leaned in and kissed him softly on the mouth, his fingertips grazing gently at Arthur’s jaw, having much more of an effect than the slightness of the pressure would suggest.
“Merry Christmas, Arthur,” Merlin whispered.
And it was. For the first time in his life—the first of many, he hoped—it really, truly was.