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“What sort o’ disgustin’ slop is this, eh? It’s hardly fit for a pig!”
Merlin quickly ducked his head, though he didn’t quite manage to escape the clip for his ear. “I’m sorry,” he murmured submissively, already filling the next bowl with a trembling hand. “It’s all I could manage with what I had.”
He dared to glance up, but the man who had smacked him was already gone, replaced by another. This one looked equally unhappy with the food, though he only glowered at Merlin as he accepted his portion, then turned away to sit by the fire.
It had been the last of Master Kanen’s men, and Merlin dared to let out a small sigh of relief, though his heart sank when he glanced down at the cauldron again. Disgusting slop or not, there was hardly anything left, maybe half a scoop. Merlin would go hungry again tonight.
Not that he wasn’t used to it. Slaves only ever got the scraps – if there were any.
Merlin picked up the cauldron and a spoon, then settled down a couple of paces away from the men to scrape out the rest of the stew, only half-listening to the talk by the fire.
“… in Camelot. They’ll be servin’ much better at the feast!” said one of them.
“Ye think we’re allowed at the banquet?” another replied dubiously.
“We’re knights now, remember? O’ course, we’ll be there!”
“Not knights,” a third retorted. “Royal guards.”
“Hells if I kno’ the difference…”
“The difference is that it’s Sir Kanen now, but regular ol’ Kendall fo’ you!”
“Oh, shut yer gob and eat!”
Merlin ducked his head over the cauldron to hide his disgusted expression. He still couldn’t believe King Cenred had made someone like Master Kanen a knight. But Escetir’s King was recruiting. Preparing himself for war, as far as Merlin had understood, and any man counted, especially one who was already skilled with a blade.
Master Kanen’s men might be daft twits, but they knew how to fight and kill well enough. Merlin knew this better than anyone else. After all, he had seen both his own mother and his best friend die at their axes when they had raided Ealdor.
Sometimes, Merlin wished he had died that day as well. But he hadn’t. He had been captured and enslaved instead and now, he was here, serving stew to the same men who had cut his mother’s throat.
With his own portion gone, Merlin waited patiently for the men to finish theirs, then got up to collect the bowls and spoons in the cauldron, silently accepting their pokes and cuffs as he made his round. They knew better than to leave more than a faint bruise on him.
Master Kanen was possessive.
There was a little stream near their camp, and Merlin walked off into the dim forest to wash the dishes. Unsurprisingly, the water was cold—spring had yet to tip into summer—but Merlin used the opportunity to freshen up a bit, cleaning his hands, soiled from cooking, as well as his neck and face, dusty and grimy from travelling.
It wouldn’t do to show up in Master Kanen’s tent dirty. The Master didn’t like it when Merlin soiled his bed furs.
When he returned to the fire, one of the men looked up and sneered at him. “Boss wants ya,” he snapped. “King’s tent.”
Merlin bowed his head in response, his stomach squeezing. He didn’t want to go anywhere near King Cenred’s tent. He abhorred the King. He made Merlin’s skin creep, even worse than the Master did, and that was saying something.
But Merlin had long learned not to keep his Master waiting. After a quick detour for the wagon to stow away the cooking utensils, he walked towards the King’s tent, easily distinguishable from the rest due its sheer size.
The guards manning the flap hardly gave him a second look as he approached, well-used to the sight of him by now. For some reason or the other, Master Kanen had quickly become one of the King’s most trusted knights, and Merlin usually was with the Master.
He slipped quietly into the tent to find Master Kanen sitting with the King and three other knights, talking. King Cenred had brought along some basic furniture on this trip, and they were all resting on comfortable-looking folding chairs, sipping from silver goblets. The King’s manservant was there, too, topping up their drinks with a wineskin. He threw Merlin a pitying look when he approached the Master’s chair and quickly sank onto his knees at his feet.
Nobody seemed to take active notice of his arrival, but Master Kanen reached out just a moment later to rest a hand on Merlin’s bowed head. He started petting Merlin’s hair.
A year ago, Merlin would have slapped his hand away, or tried to bite it. A year ago, Merlin wouldn’t have cowered quietly at the Master’s feet like a lapdog. A year ago, he wouldn’t have thought of Master Kanen as Master at all.
But things were different now. Merlin was no longer the cocky, mouthy village lad, secure in the knowledge he could take anyone apart with less than one blow. He was a slave, weak and skinny, his magic long silenced by the iron collar around his neck. He could not defend himself, nor did he have the means to flee. He had tried both, and failed miserably. Merlin had learned it was better to kneel quietly, to bow and cower, to accept and endure. This way, at least, there was less pain and a little food in his stomach.
As he rested at the Master’s feet, he let his mind drift, not bothering to listen to what the King and his knights had to say. He was tired from the journey, from walking behind the horses and wagons for hours. Undoubtedly, it was the usual talk, about the wars they were planning.
Merlin wasn’t exactly sure what they were doing, travelling to Camelot of all places. He knew for a fact that King Cenred hated Camelot’s King Arthur and wanted his lands for himself. But what did it matter to him? He was a slave, and he went where the Master went. No point in thinking too much about it.
He only started paying attention again when the Master’s hand suddenly curled painfully into his scalp.
“No, Your Majesty,” Master Kanen said firmly. “Not him. He’s mine.”
Merlin stiffened under the Master’s harsh grasp, snapping back to reality.
“Now, now, Sir Kanen,” the King replied, and Merlin shivered at his low, gravelly voice. “You’re my loyal knight, are you not? When the King commands, a vassal obeys.”
“He’s my property,” Master Kanen argued. “You wouldn’t take a horse from one of your knights, or a hound. Why should I give him up?”
Merlin’s blood turned to ice. Give him up? To King Cenred? Merlin could hardly imagine a more terrible fate. Before he knew it, he had started trembling, still caught in the Master’s clasp.
“It wouldn’t be permanent,” King Cenred replied. It sounded like he was trying for a placating tone, but there was an edge of warning there, too. “I’m talking about lending him out. You’ll have him back soon enough.”
The Master yanked at Merlin’s hair, forcing him to look up. He was furious, glaring at Merlin like he was personally to blame for the King’s request. With a sneer, he tugged at Merlin’s hair again, forcing him to turn his head towards King Cenred. Immediately, Merlin dropped his gaze, afraid to offend by meeting his eyes.
“Look at him, sire,” Master Kanen said. “He’s an ugly peasant, farm-bred through and through. He’s hardly fit for a king.”
Merlin’s stomach twisted sharply as a wave of nausea welled up in him. He had heard right, then. King Cenred wanted Merlin for himself. Borrow him, for his own pleasure. Merlin imagined the King’s hands on his body, his breath against his face, his long hair brushing against his skin, and only just suppressed the urge to gag.
For the first time in months, Merlin actually considered making another attempt at escape. He would rather be beaten to a pulp than be given to King Cenred.
“All the better,” replied the King. “Arthur’s hardly deserving of the best. It’ll only add to his humiliation when he realises that he’s been fucking a cheap whore all along. For now, we’ll make him believe he’s been gifted an exquisite pleasure slave.”
“Exquisite? Him?” Master Kanen sounded incredulous. “Nobody’s going to believe that for a second, Your Majesty. This one’s got terrible manners. He wouldn’t know what to do, or how to act, and—”
“Enough,” the King cut him off. “You will lend me the slave, and that’s my final say on the matter!” He lowered his voice dangerously. “You might be a knight now, Sir Kanen, but I can strip you of your title just as quickly as I’ve bestowed it upon you.”
There was a long, loaded pause.
“Fine,” the Master hissed at last. “As you wish, sire.” By then, his fingers were digging so harshly into Merlin’s scalp that tears had sprung up.
That was only fitting, though, because Merlin very much felt like crying. He had been wrong – he wouldn’t be given to King Cenred at all. He would be given to King Arthur.
Arthur Pendragon, the King of Camelot, whose father had so cruelly slain every sorcerer in the land, then ventured beyond his own borders to kill even more. Merlin knew all about King Uther’s cruel reign, had been taught all his life to avoid red capes, to go and hide if he ever saw even a glimpse of a golden drake on a cloak or banner.
And Merlin was supposed to serve him? King Arthur, Uther’s son? He, a sorcerer, bound though he was?
Never mind his lowly origin or ill-bred manners. If King Arthur found out he had been gifted a magical slave, Merlin would die a cruel death!
It was fear—raw, naked fear—that had him forget his months of training and speak up on his own accord. “Please, Master,” he begged, his head still caught in an iron grip. “Please, don’t do this, I—”
“Quiet,” Master Kanen snapped. He abruptly let go of Merlin’s hair, only to slap him across the face.
Merlin fell silent at once, quickly bowing his head until he was all but cowering at the Master’s feet, his cheek burning from the blow.
Somewhere above, King Cenred let out a disapproving tsk. “Stop that! Don’t roughen him up any further tonight. We can’t very well present him to Arthur with a bruised face.” He paused, audibly shifting in his chair. “Find him some better clothes. Something flattering. Make adjustments, if you must. I want him to look like a prize.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” replied the manservant.
“And lay off him until he’s been returned to you,” the King continued, clearly addressing the Master again. “No more slaps or kicks.”
“Yes, sire,” Master Kanen ground out.
“Don’t fuck him in the arse, either,” the King added crudely. “He needs to be tight tomorrow, lest Arthur gets suspicious.”
Master Kanen obeyed his King. He didn’t fuck Merlin’s arse that night. But he took Merlin’s mouth, fast and brutal, making him choke and gag.
“You’re mine,” he growled as he finally spilled his hot release down Merlin’s throat. “You’re mine, and don’t you forget it, slave!”
As if Merlin ever could.
Arthur stared out into the courtyard, his brow furrowed. Sunset was fast approaching and still, there was no sign of King Cenred’s party.
It had been a dry week. The roads should be in good condition, easy to travel on. But then, the King of Escetir had written that he would bring thirty men. Add a wagon or two to that, filled with tents and other supplies, and they would be slowed down considerably.
Arthur sighed and turned away from the window, letting his eyes roam over his chambers. They were messy again, had been ever since he had got rid of his last manservant. Why Morgana had thought someone like George would be a good fit for Arthur, he had no idea.
But then, she might have simply been running out of people trained for the job. The gods knew Arthur had rejected enough of them in the past year.
He sighed again when the thought hit him: one year. Yes, the anniversary of his father’s death was almost upon them, wasn’t it? It had been nearly twelve months since that wicked witch had come to Camelot, disguised as a noblewoman, and Uther had jumped into the path of her cursed knife, saving his son’s life.
It had been a heroic way to go, perhaps better than slowly succumbing to some disease or dementia, but it had left Camelot in the hands of Arthur, who had not even been of age back then, and hardly felt ready to be King.
But King he was. A weak king, young and inexperienced, as his uncle kept reminding him.
And a weak king needed allies. Allies like Cenred.
Arthur grimaced and walked over to his desk, sinking into the chair to look over the draft for the treaty again. It was a simple enough document, a basic agreement that borders would be respected and disagreements handled with parchment and quill rather than the sword. The same sort of treaty Arthur had negotiated with Mercia and Gawant already, ensuring that no wars would be imminent.
Agravaine was convinced they could not win if anyone attacked Camelot. Arthur had his doubts about that assessment, knew of the quality of their knights, whom he trained himself. But his uncle was an experienced lord, and his only family at that. Arthur knew he would do well to heed his advice, no matter what Morgana kept telling him.
As if on cue, a knock echoed through his chambers and a moment later, Agravaine appeared, dipping his head as he came to stand before Arthur’s desk.
“Uncle,” Arthur greeted him. “Any word from the city walls?”
“Indeed, sire,” Agravaine replied. “Cenred’s party will be in the courtyard within the hour.”
“Finally,” murmured Arthur and put down the treaty.
Agravaine studied the parchment, eyes narrowing as he read it upside down. “Looking over the draft again?” he asked, with the barest hint of disapproval.
Arthur nodded and gestured at the chair across from him. Agravaine had to remove a dirty tunic from its back before he could sit, wrinkling his nose as he did, though he didn’t comment on the state of Arthur’s rooms.
“We have been over this many times,” Agravaine said, when he had settled down. “Peace must be ensured.”
Arthur sighed. “I know. But some of these stipulations…”
“Entirely necessary. We are in the weaker position. Allowances have to be made.”
“Of course,” said Arthur, though he didn’t fully agree. They were offering a lot for peace, and it wasn’t even the laughably low bridge tolls or free access to their well-maintained trade routes that bothered him, but the military concessions. Uther would have never let Cenred establish three new garrisons right along the Camelot-Escetir border. But Agravaine thought it was a reasonable demand, and so, Arthur had decided to go along with that as well.
“If I may offer some additional advice, Your Majesty?” Agravaine added.
“You don’t need to ask permission to speak freely, uncle, you know that,” Arthur replied with a wave of his hand. “I always value your council.”
Agravaine smiled. “Thank you, Arthur.” He paused. “Cenred’s visit… it is of utmost importance that we keep the King happy, you understand?”
Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Happy how?”
“We should make sure not to offend him,” Agravaine elaborated. “He’s known to be easily affronted and provoked. I would hate to risk the peace treaty because of some careless diplomatic faux-pas.”
“You’re telling me to indulge his whims,” Arthur subsumed with a frown. “Doesn’t that make us look weak?”
“We are weak,” Agravaine replied, with an apologetic look. “You are young and untried, Arthur. The worst combination for a king.”
Privately, Arthur wondered how on earth he was supposed to prove himself a tried king when all they did was hide behind treaties. Perhaps a show of strength was just what they needed. A war, won quickly and with honour, would let their enemies know that Camelot was still a force to be reckoned with.
But Agravaine thought they weren’t prepared, and he had seen enough wars in his lifetime to know better than Arthur. Perhaps it was Arthur’s youth speaking. He knew his flaws, knew he was hot-headed and did not always think things through. A year ago, he was still sneaking out of the castle at night to drink ale with Kay and Bors at the tavern, and had amused himself by bullying the squires. Arthur liked to think he had outgrown the worst of his immaturity since then, but maybe his thirst for combat was a symptom of a mind that had yet to outgrow the wild urges of juvenility.
And so, he replied, “I’m sure you’re right, uncle.”
Agravaine nodded approvingly. “Well then,” he said and got up from the chair. “We should all be out in the courtyard when King Cenred arrives.” He looked Arthur over and raised an eyebrow. “You will be welcoming the Escetirians in… that?”
Arthur looked down at himself. He was wearing riding breeches and a simple, red tunic. “No,” he said. “Of course not.” He looked up at his uncle. “Send someone in, will you? To help me get dressed?”
“You really should hold on to one of those manservants for a change,” Agravaine tutted, but dutifully bowed his head. “Sire.” He left.
A few minutes later, a baby-faced servant boy appeared, whose fingers trembled wildly as he laced up Arthur’s embroidered silk tunic and buckled up his best calfskin boots. He needed what felt like a full minute, too, to clasp Arthur’s red cape at the front, and by the time he was finally done and Arthur had made for the grand stairs, the rest of his court had already gathered there.
“There you are,” Morgana murmured with an eyeroll when he took his place between her and his uncle. “What took you so long?”
Arthur made a face at her, but didn’t end up replying, as just then, King Cenred and his entourage rode into the courtyard. Arthur had only seen the King of Escetir once or twice in his life, but remembered him well. His long hair, tight leather armour as well as the twin swords tied to his back would have given him away even without the snake crest adorning his cloak. Cenred had an image, and he maintained it well.
“Your Majesty,” he called out when he brought his black stallion to a halt before the stairs. He dipped his head in greeting as he smirked.
“Your Majesty,” Arthur returned with a nod.
Cenred looked around the quickly darkening courtyard, which had been decorated with spring flowers and banners. “Quite the warm welcome,” he drawled, as he slipped off the saddle and handed off his reins.
By then, Arthur had stepped off the stairs to meet him on equal ground and exchange a firm arm shake. “A special occasion,” Arthur returned diplomatically.
“Yes,” Cenred replied and smiled, teeth flashing. “Very special indeed.”
Arthur let his eyes wander over Cenred’s party. As proclaimed, he had brought what looked to be thirty men, knights as well as regular foot soldiers, all clad in the Escetir-typical fashions of turbans and knee-length gambesons. A crude show of strength, or merely a precaution against bandits on the road?
“You and your men must be tired from the journey,” Arthur said. “Come inside. A feast has been prepared.”
“Marvellous,” replied Cenred and followed.
In the banquet hall, Arthur took a closer look at Cenred’s men, now settled on the benches on the left side of the room. He had only recognised half of the names of the Escetirian knights, their faces vaguely familiar from past tournaments, and a couple of the unfamiliar ones looked like raw brutes. Arthur wondered if Cenred had recently ennobled them and, if so, why he thought such a move necessary if he was willing to make peace.
But perhaps, Arthur was merely being paranoid. Agravaine hinted that he was, on occasions, though Arthur didn’t think anybody could blame him, after his father had been so insidiously slain by a witch in disguise.
At least, Cenred seemed to be enjoying himself. He praised the food and the wine as well as Morgana’s beauty, and seemed to be appreciating the music as well. After dessert, he stood and gave a short but well-worded speech about the importance of peace.
“And thus,” he ended his address, “to celebrate this milestone, and as a sign of good-will, I have brought you, dear Arthur, a gift.”
Arthur sat up in his chair. He didn’t have to feign interest. He was genuinely curious to see what Cenred might have brought along to mark the occasion.
“For your pleasure,” the Kind drawled meaningfully and gestured at the opening doors.
Two Escetirian guards entered. They were flanking a young man, who was just as tall as them, but much lither. His head was bowed so low that Arthur could not make out his face. His unruly hair was uncovered, though, free of turban and veil. His other clothes, too, were quite distinct from the garb of Escetir’s knights and soldiers. He was barefoot, and wearing a tunic made of a thin, sheer fabric, cut so low in the front that it showed off the dark hair and pale skin of his slim chest. His breeches were hardly that, but rather akin to tight hose, showing off his long, lean legs as well as the bulge of his crotch.
Shocked at the revealing outfit, Arthur’s eyes widened, only to grow even bigger when he spotted the band of iron around the man’s neck. Instantly, he stiffened, his mouth growing dry. This was the gift Cenred had chosen for him?
It was a slave! Cenred had brought him a slave. And from the outfit the man was wearing, not a skilled musician or educated scribe, but rather an expert in more pleasurable pursuits.
As if to confirm Arthur’s suspicion, the slave went to his knees before the head table, practically prostrating himself before them, and thus showing off just how tightly his trousers were fitted. They clung to his arse, their cut clearly chosen to accentuate the pert shape of his buttocks.
“This is Merlin,” said King Cenred, smiling widely. “A well-bred specimen, I assure you, and one in possession of all the skills a young king such as yourself might wish for. He’s an exquisitely trained performer of the sensual arts.”
Arthur valiantly fought the flush threatening to creep across his cheeks. “A bed slave,” he translated.
Two seats down, Morgana let out a small, scandalised noise.
“Indeed,” Cenred confirmed, still standing, and cocked his head a little. “Do you like him?”
Arthur opened his mouth to tell him that slavery was not practised in Camelot, intent on refusing the gift outright, but Agravaine leaned in just that moment to whisper in his ears, “Slavery is a long-held tradition in Escetir. Perfectly legal. It would be rude to refuse this undoubtedly very expensive and perfectly appropriate gift.”
Perfectly appropriate? Arthur took a deep breath, his stomach churning a little as his eyes flitted between the slave, still cowering on the floor, and King Cenred, who was looking at him expectantly. How was this appropriate in any way? Did anybody actually expect him to accept this gift? Surely, there were limits to diplomacy!
“What a generous present,” Arthur spoke up, stalling.
Morgana let out another noise, even more scandalised than the one before.
Cenred frowned. “Is there a problem?”
Arthur swallowed. He looked at the slave again, who seemed to be trembling on the floor, looking more like a scared boy than an exquisitely trained performer of the sensual arts. But then, he had just been hauled to a foreign country to be given away like an object. Perhaps even a well-bred specimen would tremble at that.
“Arthur,” Agravaine whispered, more urgently now. “It would not do to offend.”
He was right, of course. Already, Cenred seemed to be growing irritated, an inauspicious beginning to their upcoming negotiations.
Fighting a tight feeling in his throat, Arthur gave his uncle a curt nod. Then, he forced a smile onto this face and said to Cenred, “No, no problem. I thank you kindly for this thoughtful gift. It is… well-received.”
“Arthur, no!” Morgana exclaimed, not bothering to hide her disapproval. “You can’t!”
Fortunately, Cenred only chuckled at her, unfazed at her reaction. “Women,” he said indulgently and threw Arthur a meaningful look before addressing Morgana, “Do not fret, my lady, though your reaction does your maiden innocence credit. Be assured, there is nothing scandalous about this. A young man like your King has his needs, and they are best met by a professional.”
Morgana glowered at Cenred, somehow growing pale and red at once, and looking very much like she was seconds away from jumping to her feet and punching him.
Quickly, Arthur stood. “Have the slave brought to my chambers,” he ordered at nobody in particular. “Have a servant help him get settled and watch over him until my arrival.”
“Arthur, don’t!” Morgana protested again, turning her angry eyes on him, but was drowned out by Cenred’s delighted laugh.
“Splendid,” he said and finally sat back down, leaning in with a meaningful look. “You should make use of your gift tonight, Arthur.”
Arthur tried his hardest not to let his distaste at the thought show. He only gave a faint nod, then watched as two servants pulled the slave off the floor and led him away. Arthur only caught a glimpse of a pale face before he was gone.
“Well done,” Agravaine whispered into his ear. “You made the right decision.”
“You disgust me!” Morgana hissed at him a few moments later and left the banquet without a goodbye for their guests, a frowning Guinevere in tow.
Arthur couldn’t even blame her.
He was feeling rather disgusted himself.
Merlin was kneeling on the cold, hard floor, his head bowed.
The servant that had brought him to these rooms—King Arthur’s chambers, apparently—had not known where exactly Merlin should wait and so, he had chosen the spot that seemed most appropriate for a slave: the darkest, coldest corner of the room, near the entrance to the chambers and far away from the flickering fire.
Merlin would have dearly liked to warm up by the hearth, thinly dressed as he was, but it was better to err on the side of caution. Master Kanen had drilled into him that a slave should never presume. Merlin would rather he knelt for hours in discomfort for nothing, than to be struck down for a careless mistake.
The servant was still in the rooms with him, hovering nearby. He had cleaned up a little for a while, picking up some dirty laundry off the floor and straightening the bed, but otherwise seemed just as much at a loss as Merlin for what to do.
When the door to the chambers finally opened, Merlin flinched, bowing his head even lower, afraid to make the wrong impression on the King. But out of the corner of his eyes, he saw red robes and simple, flat shoes; an outfit he knew, from the brief glimpse he had gotten of him, did not belong to King Arthur.
“You can go.” It was an old voice that addressed the servant.
The servant obeyed wordlessly, meaning that whoever had entered these chambers, it was someone who wielded some sort of authority.
Merlin checked over his posture—small and submissive, just like the Master liked it—then stilled, surreptitiously watching the robes come closer until they halted right before him.
“Hello,” said the man.
Merlin stayed quiet, unsure if he was allowed to reply.
The man let out a little sigh. “You may speak,” he said. “And stand, too. I’d prefer it, actually.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Merlin murmured and obeyed as quickly as he could, unwilling to anger the man.
“Oh, I’m not a lord, my boy,” the man replied. Merlin found that he liked his voice. He sounded kind. As if to prove it, the man added, “You may call me Gaius. I’m the physician here. And look at me when we’re talking, lad, why don’t you?”
Carefully, Merlin did as he was told and found Gaius had a wrinkled face and long, white hair.
“There you are,” Gaius said, a hint of amusement in his tone.
Merlin looked on warily.
“I’m here to check you over,” Gaius continued more seriously. “To see if you are injured, or sick.”
Merlin shook his head. “I’m fine.”
Gaius’s left eyebrow arched up. “Really? Because to me, you look rather terribly pale and shaky.”
Merlin ducked his head, out of instinct perhaps, feeling like he had been caught in a lie. “I’m a little cold,” he admitted.
“Let’s go over to the fire, then,” Gaius proposed. He laid a gentle hand on Merlin’s shoulder, probably to guide him. It was a kind touch and still, Merlin flinched, feeling on edge. “Sorry,” said the physician and immediately let go.
Merlin was grateful for his consideration.
On bare feet, he approached the fireplace across the room, letting out the faintest of sighs when he came to stand by the hearth. The heat of the fire prickled on his skin, quite contrarily sending goosebumps all along his arms.
“So, you’re not injured?” Gaius prodded again. “Hurt in any way? Feeling sick?”
Merlin glanced at him, then shook his head.
Gaius studied him for a long moment. “Merlin, was it?” he asked.
Merlin nodded.
“Where are you from, Merlin?”
“Escetir.”
“The capital?”
Merlin shook his head. “A small village,” he replied, growing warier by the second. It sounded a lot like an interrogation, and Master Kanen had told him to talk as little as possible. Use your mouth to suck the King’s cock, nothing else, he had told him. You will receive further orders from me when the time is right.
Merlin had no idea what further orders that might be. It was clear King Cenred had temporarily gifted him to King Arthur for some purpose, but what purpose that was besides providing him pleasure, Merlin did not know.
Gaius was still studying him. “And the name of the village?” he asked.
Merlin hesitated; he was afraid Master Kanen might find out about his talkativeness.
“Well?” Gaius pushed, leaning in.
Merlin opened his mouth to reply, but just then, the doors opened again, and in strode King Arthur. It was unmistakably him—red cape, blond hair, golden crown—and Merlin dropped to the floor as if struck by lightning, making himself small as his knees slammed into the ground. He bowed low, cowering right by Gaius’s feet.
Immediately, he started trembling. Had he even been allowed to speak to Gaius? Perhaps King Arthur preferred him silent, like Master Kanen. Certainly, he must have expected Merlin to wait quietly on his knees, not to stand by the fire conversing with the physician as if they were equals.
“Gaius.” Merlin cringed, recognising King Arthur’s voice from the banquet hall. He sounded young, like a man not long grown into adulthood, and most definitely surprised to see the physician in his chambers. Did that mean trouble?
“Sire,” Gaius replied. He, at least, didn’t sound scared or even intimidated, which was a small relief. “I was just checking on young Merlin here.”
“Is he sick?” someone else asked, and belatedly, Merlin realised another man must have followed the King. His voice, he did not recognise.
“He appears healthy enough, my lord,” Gaius reported. “Malnourished, perhaps, but not ill, and sound of mind. He says he’s not been injured, either.”
“Why would he have been?” drawled the lord. “He’s a precious gift, given from one king to another. Of course he’s in pristine condition.”
“Pristine, my lord?” Gaius replied dubiously.
“We’ll fatten him up a little, if that’s what worries you,” said the lord dismissively.
“If he’s fine, you can go, Gaius,” said the King. His voice was more distant now, like he’d walked off. Merlin knew from the glimpses he had snuck that there was a side chamber off the main room, containing at least a bed and a desk, which must have been where King Arthur had gone. From the sounds of it, the nameless lord followed his liege a moment later.
“As you wish, sire,” Gaius called after them. He shifted where he stood, then said quietly, clearly for Merlin’s benefit, “We’ll talk again soon. And don’t you worry, Arthur’s a good man. He won’t hurt you. I doubt he’ll even touch you.”
With that, he walked off, leaving Merlin to cower by the hearth. He had been given no orders to stand and follow the King, but that was all right. This way, he could stay by the fire. The stones before the hearth were pleasantly warm and soon, Merlin no longer felt cold. He even dared to relax a little.
He tensed again, however, when voices floated towards him. The King and the lord seemed to be arguing, though Merlin could only make out fragments of their conversation. The fire was crackling too loudly next to him, well-fed by good, dry wood.
“… honestly expect… a slave!”
“… offence? The treaty…”
“… bed slave!”
“… prude? You cannot…”
Clearly, they were arguing about Merlin. He wondered what that might mean for him. In his experience, not being noticed was the most preferable situation a slave could find himself in, so most likely, it did not bode well.
Finally, he heard more footfalls, but fortunately, they did not approach. A moment later, the sounds of a door opening and closing echoed through the room and then, there was silence.
Merlin let out a breath he hadn’t known he had been holding, then strained his ears. Most likely, it was the lord that had left, meaning he was now alone with King Arthur. Surely, he would soon be addressed. Ordered to stand and then, into the bed, to—
“You.”
Merlin flinched. The King had approached on incredibly quiet feet. Judging from his voice, he was standing only a couple of paces away. Out of instinct, Merlin bowed lower, and promptly smacked his forehead against the raised hearthstone. He winced, reaching up to rub at it, then halted, not sure how the King would react to him fidgeting about. Master Kanen preferred him still, unless he was working, or being used.
“What was your name again?” the King asked.
“Merlin, Master.”
The King let out a noise Merlin had no idea how to interpret. “It’s sire, or Your Majesty,” he corrected.
“Yes, sire,” Merlin replied meekly. “Sorry, sire.”
King Arthur sighed and Merlin wondered if he had, somehow, managed to displease him with those four words. “Get up,” the King commanded.
Merlin obeyed instantly, moving to stand. When he had straightened, he clasped his hands before him, careful to keep his head slightly bowed. Like this, he could only just make out the clasp of the King’s red cape, shimmering golden in the flickering light of the fire.
The King let out another sigh. “Pour me some wine, will you?” he said. “I’ll be at my desk.”
With that, he walked off, leaving Merlin to tackle his task. Merlin glanced up as soon as he thought it safe, then quickly looked around. When he didn’t immediately spot any wine, his heart started picking up speed. His first order from his new Master, temporary though the arrangement seemed to be, and he didn’t know how follow it!
He took a step forward, his hands growing clammy until at last, he spotted a sideboard with some goblets on it. There was a silver jug there, too, and to Merlin’s relief, he found that it did, in fact, contain wine. He picked up a cup, opting for the most ornate one, wildly guessing that a king would want to drink from that, then filled it. But his hand was shaking and he misjudged the angle, filling the goblet so much it nearly overflowed.
Just in time, he tipped the jug back, but was left with a chalice he could hardly carry without spilling. Again, panic set in. If he spilled the wine, he would get punished. Should he pour some back into the jug? But how to do that without spilling? He couldn’t very well drink from it, either, and there wasn’t enough wine left in the jug to pour a second one.
No, no, he was stuck! He would simply have to be careful carrying it.
Slowly, very slowly, Merlin lifted the goblet and made his way over to the side chamber, his eyes on the wine. He made it almost all the way to the desk without spilling – which was when the King must have noticed him, for he snapped, “Finally! What took you so long?”
It wasn’t a particularly harsh rebuke, but the King sounded annoyed, and Merlin’s nerves were taut. He flinched, and the wine promptly sloshed over and onto the floor.
Merlin froze.
“You idiot!” the King barked. “What sort of incompetent slave are you?”
Merlin flinched again, spilling more of the wine.
“You complete—oh, give that here!” The King’s hand appeared in his vision. Naturally, Merlin flinched a third time, expecting a blow, which sent more of the wine across the edge of the chalice and right onto the King’s sleeve. The King cursed, but still grabbed the goblet, taking it away to set it down on the desk next to him.
Knowing he had just sealed his fate, Merlin did the only thing he knew to do in this sort of situation – he dropped to the floor where he stood, the spilled wine immediately soaking into the flimsy clothes he was wearing. “Please forgive me, Master,” he begged, then remembered his earlier orders. “Sire! I meant sire! Please, I’m sorry!”
“Hells!” King Arthur exclaimed, then abruptly fell silent. There was a long pause, filled with nothing but the King’s loud breathing and the sound of Merlin’s rushed pulse in his ears. At last, the King commanded, “Get up!”
It was said less harshly than before, but Merlin wasn’t fooled. Master Kanen often went dangerously calm when he was angry. Shaking all over, Merlin raised himself up, head bowed low, bracing himself for a slap, or worse.
But all that came was another order: “Lords, just—just find a rag and clean that up, will you?”
Startled by the unexpected leniency, Merlin didn’t immediately make a move to comply. Master Kanen would have definitely slapped him for that, but the King only added an impatient, “Check the antechamber. It’s behind the curtain over there.”
Merlin turned on the spot and hurried off to find a rag. The antechamber—another, much smaller side room that he hadn’t noticed before—did indeed contain a pail and some rags. Merlin picked them up and all but ran back to the desk, where the King had settled down with his drink.
Merlin went to his knees again and started mopping up the spilled wine. When he was done, he remained on the floor. “I’m sorry, sire,” he spoke up timidly, when there was nothing but silence.
“It’s fine,” replied King Arthur, sounding much calmer than before. “I shouldn’t have shouted at you.”
Surprised at this much consideration, Merlin glanced up through his fringe and found that the King was watching him. Quickly, he looked back at his lap, where he was still holding onto the rag.
“You can sleep in the antechamber tonight,” King Arthur added after a moment. “There’s a bed there. I don’t know if it’s made up, but I’m sure you can manage.”
Merlin’s head snapped up. “In the antechamber?” he repeated incredulously, then added hastily, “Sire?” Belatedly, he realised he was looking the King in the eye, and hurriedly dropped his gaze to somewhere around his jaw, though he couldn’t help but notice again just how young King Arthur was. He couldn’t be much older than Merlin.
“That’s what I said,” replied the King. He made a waving motion with his hand. “Go. I don’t have any further need of you tonight.”
“Yes, sire.” Merlin got to his feet, picking up the pail as he did, then bowed low before turning around. He walked off feeling dazed.
There was indeed a bed in the antechamber. It was made up, but upon further inspection, the sheets and blankets were dusty. Merlin lay down carefully, anyway, dressed as he was, and pulled the blanket over him, breathing in its musky smell.
He lay awake for what had to be over an hour, hearing the King move about outside, fully expecting to be called back at any moment. Because surely, this wasn’t happening. Merlin couldn’t remember the last time he had gone to sleep without Master Kanen’s cock in his mouth or arse first. There was no way he had been sent to sleep, untouched, unpunished, not after how much he had messed up.
But the anticipated call never came and then, the chambers outside went dark, until only the faint flickering of the fireplace was left, painting odd shadows on the wall.
At last, Merlin fell asleep with the knowledge that Gaius had been right: King Arthur hadn’t touched him at all.
“Arthur! Stop!”
Arthur slowed down in the hallway, knowing he would not be able to escape Morgana’s anger forever. He turned to watch her approach. She looked furious, emerald dress flattering as she hurried towards him. Just behind her trailed Guinevere, as usual. Unlike Arthur, Morgana knew how to hold onto a personal servant.
“Good morning to you, too, Lady Morgana,” he said drily.
“Where is that poor man?” Morgana demanded, glaring daggers at him as she came to stand in front of him. “Still in your bed?”
Arthur grimaced. “Morgana, really—”
“A pleasure slave!” Morgana cut him off, eyes ablaze. “He brings you a pleasure slave, and you accept?”
Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s not that simple,” he said.
“Of course it is,” Morgana retorted. “Slavery is vile and cruel and inhumane. Not even Uther practiced it, which should really tell you something.” She had not meant the comment to be an endorsement of the late King, Arthur knew, but he found there was truth to it all the same. His father had never condoned slavery.
Not for the first time, doubt nibbled away at Arthur’s stomach. When he had followed Agravaine’s advice and accepted the slave, he had thought it was the diplomatic thing to do, the right choice given their circumstances, but Morgana wasn’t wrong. Slavery was despicable, Arthur was entirely convinced of this.
“Look,” he spoke up, keeping his voice quiet. “I haven’t touched a hair on him. I made him serve me some wine, then told him to sleep in the antechamber.”
Morgana narrowed her eyes and carefully looked him over. Arthur met her gaze evenly, trying to convey that he was speaking the truth, which seemed to work – Morgana’s shoulders relaxed as she let out a huff. “Well, you still accepted the gift,” she said haughtily. “You must free him at once.”
“Are you mad? I can’t free him!” Arthur replied, and instantly regretted it.
“You want to keep him enslaved?” Morgana hissed, venom returning with full force as she took a menacing step forward.
Arthur raised both hands in a soothing gesture, looking left and right to make sure no Escetirian was nearby to overhear. “I can’t free him. Not now,” he told her quietly. “Not with Cenred still here. He might see it as an insult.”
Morgana sneered. “Who cares? Cenred’s a horrible, disgusting man. I would insult him all day, if I could.”
“Cenred is a king with a large army,” Arthur retorted, starting to get irritated. As much as he understood Morgana’s self-righteous fury, there was more at stake here than the fate of a single slave. “An army that has the potential to kill and destroy. Do you want to bring his wrath upon Camelot? Have him raze towns and villages, and enslave our citizens? Because he very well might, in case of a war.”
This had Morgana step back, her mouth clicking shut.
“Exactly,” said Arthur. “Now, please accept that for the sake of diplomacy, there was no way to refuse the gift without giving offence. For now, the slave will stay a slave, and he will stay in my chambers. Once the peace treaty is signed and Cenred on his way, we will see what to do about him.”
Morgana looked him over sharply. Then, she gave a quick nod. “Fine,” she said. “As long as you treat him well.”
With that, she walked off, leaving Guinevere to drop into a hurried curtsy before she followed her.
Arthur looked after them, then grimaced when he realised this conversation had likely made him late for the first round of negotiations. Sure enough, when he entered the council chambers, everyone else was already there, including Cenred.
“Arthur!” he exclaimed with a pointed look. “At last! I was wondering if you had forgotten about us...”
“Good morning,” Arthur replied and settled down across the other King, at the head of the long council table. His uncle was already sitting by his right. Agravaine gave him a look that held enough rebuke to tell Arthur that being late to negotiating a peace treaty was a bad thing indeed. “I apologise for my tardiness. I was held up.”
“Aha!” Cenred replied, and a smug smirk stretched across his face. “Hard leaving the bed, is it, given the right company?”
Arthur did not know how to respond to that in a dignified manner, and so, he cleared his throat, letting his gaze drop onto the treaty draft before him. “Again, I apologise,” he said. “Why don’t we start by reading the first draft aloud?”
The meeting took two hours, filled with diplomatic nonsense as well as what Arthur thought were preposterous demands, though his uncle kept assuring him they were all within the realms of normality for peace negotiations. At last, when the meeting had come to an end, Arthur got up, ready to work out the kinks in his back and neck with his knights on the training fields.
But of course, Cenred stepped right into his path. “So,” he said, meaningfully raising his eyebrows. “Did you enjoy your gift, Arthur?”
Arthur couldn’t quite meet his gaze. “He’s adequate,” he said vaguely.
“Adequate, was he?” Cenred replied slowly, his smirk dropping. He studied Arthur for a moment, then his face darkened. “You didn’t use him, did you?”
Arthur cleared his throat. “I, ah, haven't had the chance yet, I’m afraid.”
Cenred narrowed his eyes. “I see,” he replied cooly. “Is the gift not to your liking, then, Your Majesty?”
Sensing he had offended the man, Arthur replied quickly, “No! No! Of course not. He’s quite, ah, adequate.” He winced at the word. “More than adequate, I’m sure. I just—well. Didn’t have the chance, as I said.”
“Of course,” Cenred replied, his voice oozing with doubt. “I understand.” His eyes were dark and dangerous.
Part of Arthur wanted to draw himself up tall at that, stand his ground, tell Cenred that this was Camelot, where slavery was frowned upon, and that his gift was not a gift at all, but a crime against humanity. But just then, he caught his uncle’s gaze across the room, who gave him a warning look and a small shake of the head. We cannot afford to offend King Cenred, his voice seemed to echo through Arthur’s mind. We’d risk a war.
Arthur sagged. “I will make sure to let you know, as soon as I’ve, um, sampled his skills,” he replied, feeling heat creep into his cheeks.
Cenred brightened at that. “Yes, please do tell,” he drawled. “I’m looking forward to hearing your opinion.” With that, he stalked off, leaving Agravaine to approach Arthur.
“That looked like a tense conversation, sire,” he said.
“It was,” Arthur admitted. “I didn’t—well, use the slave, I suppose, and he realised.”
“I see.” Agravaine frowned at him. “Far be it for me to tell you what to do, sire—”
Arthur interrupted him with a snort. “Please,” he said. “You do that all the time.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “And I value your advice, as you know. So, speak your mind, uncle, please.”
“I know you have your principles,” Agravaine said slowly. “And I understand them. But sometimes, principles need to be broken for the greater good. Clearly, King Cenred expects you to make use of his gift. More than that, he can tell when you have not. So, for diplomacy’s sake, you must either become a far better liar, or…” He trailed off with a meaningful look.
Arthur scowled. “Right,” he snapped. “Thanks.” Without another word, he turned and stormed off, leaving his uncle behind in the council chamber.
Was he actually serious? Had his uncle really just advised him to use the slave? To force himself onto—no. That was—no!
The slave—Merlin, he remembered; Arthur really should be using his name—clearly was terrified of him. There was no way Arthur would touch him. Whatever training Merlin had received, it was clear it wasn’t enough, if the disaster with the wine last night was anything to go by.
Arthur could only imagine what it would be like, bedding Merlin as he trembled beneath him! His whole skin crawled at the very idea!
He was still fuming when he had returned to his chambers. Inside, he looked around, and for a moment, he thought the slave was gone, had run off and thus solved the problem. But no, Merlin was simply kneeling again. He had chosen some cold, dark corner, where he blended in so seamlessly with the surroundings that it was eerie.
His head was bowed, as usual, but his whole body tense. Clearly, he was aware of Arthur’s arrival. Arthur looked him over for a moment, realising he was still wearing the sheer tunic and far-too-snug trousers, stained with yesterday’s wine.
Arthur stopped a few paces away. “Merlin.”
The slave ducked his head even further. Gods, but Arthur hated the cowering. “Yes, sire?”
“Have you been kneeling there all morning?”
Arthur hadn’t known it was possible for Merlin to get any more tense, but he did, stiffening all over. “I apologise, Your Majesty,” he said to the floor. “I didn’t know—I’m sorry. Was there something I should have done in your absence?”
Arthur grimaced. Merlin’s voice was about as bad as his posture – small, meek, though his voice had turned out to be surprisingly low and smooth. Pleasant-sounding, with a distinct Escetir lilt to it.
“Not kneel in one spot for hours,” Arthur replied, cringing a little when he heard how harsh that came out.
Promptly, Merlin flinched, then scrambled to his feet. “I’m sorry, sire.”
Great, and now he sounded terrified. Arthur was doing a marvellous job with this, wasn’t he?
“It’s fine,” he replied, trying to tone down on his annoyance. He was annoyed, with Merlin even, but not for the reasons the slave thought. Arthur simply didn’t want to deal with him, wished he had never been brought here. He wasn’t stupid enough not to know that Merlin was just following his training.
Arthur looked him over again, saw him swaying a little, and suddenly wondered if the slave had eaten. Flushing, Arthur realised he had most definitely not fed him the night before and this morning. When he had left, Merlin had still been asleep in the antechamber.
“Go and fetch some lunch,” Arthur ordered. “The kitchens are downstairs. Just ask any servant for directions if you get lost.”
“Yes, sire,” Merlin responded at once, and made for the door. Lords, he was disgustingly obedient! Looking after him, Arthur realised Merlin was still barefoot and his trousers really were absolutely indecent, leaving nothing to the imagination.
Quickly, Arthur looked away. He really should get the man some proper clothes.
With a sigh, he looked around, taking in the state of the room. He really should get somebody in here, too; there was dust and dirt everywhere. Better yet, he should ask Morgana to find him another manservant, someone he could actually stand to be around for an extended amount of time.
With Uther dead, Arthur had put Morgana in charge of the household. It was the duty of a queen, usually, but Arthur was yet unmarried and Morgana the first lady of the court. Agravaine had said it would make sense to lessen his workload.
With another sigh, Arthur went to sit down at the dining table, rubbing a hand over his face. Yes, his uncle's advice had been exceedingly helpful so far, but the way he insisted Arthur make use of the slave for the sake of diplomacy – it simply didn’t sit right with him.
But then, his uncle had once more proven himself a good judge of character: Cenred had appeared honestly offended that Arthur had not used his gift. Arthur had never been a good liar and wasn’t sure he could convincingly deceive the other King that he had sampled the delights.
It wasn’t like he didn’t find Merlin attractive. On the contrary, Merlin was quite obviously very handsome; tall and lithe, with a head of dark hair that curled lightly about his ears, and a pair of stunning blue eyes, when he dared to show them – which hadn’t been more than once or twice so far. Arthur was sure he would enjoy lying with Merlin under entirely different circumstances.
But the thought of taking a slave, somebody who had been forced into this position…
Arthur was startled out of his thoughts by Merlin’s return. He was carefully carrying a laden lunch tray, which he set down in front of Arthur before making to kneel by his chair.
“No,” Arthur said quickly, wincing when he heard his voice grow harsh with discomfort.
Merlin ended up awkwardly hovering by his chair, head ducked.
Grimacing, Arthur looked away and perused the tray, realising that he hadn’t told Merlin to fetch himself a separate lunch. But there was plenty here, and he didn’t want the slave to hover anymore. On a whim, he picked up the empty plate and placed some bread, cold meat and fruit on it, then held it out to Merlin.
“Here, eat this,” Arthur said, watching Merlin accept the plate with shaky hands. “At the table,” he added hurriedly, when Merlin made to kneel on the floor again. “Sit down.”
Merlin’s head came up in surprise and Arthur was given another opportunity to study his face. He was right, Merlin was very handsome. The sensual shape of his lips, the bright shade of his eyes – clearly, the Escetirians knew how to pick a bed slave.
The thought was enough to make him scowl, which Merlin seemed to interpret as Arthur being cross with him. He ducked his head again as he pulled out the chair by Arthur’s side. He perched on the very edge of it as he settled down with his plate and when he finally started eating, he lifted the piece of bread he had torn off to his lips slowly and carefully, as if he were expecting to be punished for having it.
To reassure him, Arthur started eating, too, right from the serving tray, having given away his own plate. He reckoned it was normal for Merlin to be nervous, even scared around him, but as an exquisite, expensive pleasure slave, he really should be less twitchy, shouldn’t he? Certainly, he shouldn’t be surprised to be given food, though he was very lean. Perhaps Escetirian bed slaves were kept thin on purpose and their food restricted.
After what felt like endless minutes of slow, careful movements, Merlin finally started eating more quickly, too quickly, really, and by the time Arthur was halfway through the tray, the slave’s plate was empty.
“More?” Arthur asked, waving at his tray.
Merlin mutely shook his head, though if he was refusing out of a fear of punishment or because he was actually full, Arthur didn’t know. Either way, it would probably be best not to have him overeat, if he had gone without food for a day or two.
Deciding he had no desire to eat with Merlin cowering in the chair next to him, Arthur ordered, “Make yourself useful, why don’t you? Pick up the laundry, dust the furniture… I’m sure you know what to do.”
“Yes, sire,” Merlin replied and dutifully got up from the chair.
He was still cleaning when Arthur was done eating, and so, Arthur left him to his own devices, making for the armoury to hunt down a squire to help him into his plate mail.
Just as luck would have it, though, he stumbled upon Guinevere in the hallway, who curtsied prettily at him when he stopped her. “Was there something you needed, sire?”
“The slave—Merlin,” Arthur told her. “He needs some fresh clothes. Some shoes, too, perhaps. I was wondering…”
Guinevere smiled at him. “Of course. I’ll see what I can do.”
“He’s in my chambers,” Arthur told her, grateful. “And maybe show him the bathhouse, too? And where to fetch himself some food if he needs it?”
Guinevere nodded. “Yes, sire. I’ll see to it.”
Arthur flashed her a relieved smile. “You’re a treasure, Guinevere.”
In a far better mood than before, Arthur made his way to the armoury and soon, he was on the training fields, swinging his sword. Some Escetirian knights had joined them, though Cenred himself had opted out, citing fatigue from the journey. Arthur duelled Kay and Leon, winning with ease. By the end of the training, he felt great, as he always did after a good work-out.
But the high only lasted until dinner with King Cenred. They had retired to the smaller dining chamber, with Morgana and Agravaine. As soon as they were done with the main course, Cenred said from across, “I do so hope you’ll be making use of your gift tonight.”
Arthur instinctively tightened his hold on his knife. Ignoring Morgana’s disgusted huff, he replied, “I’d rather we didn’t discuss this in front of a lady.”
Cenred smirked. “Of course,” he said, dipping his head at Morgana. “I wouldn’t want to offend Lady Morgana’s delicate sensibilities.”
“I’m not delicate,” Morgana spat, with considerable heat in her voice.
“I’m sure King Cenred meant it as a compliment, Morgana,” Agravaine intercepted quickly, ever the diplomat.
“Of course,” replied Cenred smoothly and dropped the topic. But when Arthur stood to retire to his chambers, he threw Arthur a meaningful look, raising his eyebrows as he smirked in a lewd fashion, making his message clear.
Agravaine followed Arthur into the hallway, clasping his shoulder. “You know, there is no shame in doing this, Arthur,” he murmured. “It’s basic diplomacy, making use of a gift. The slave has been trained for this very purpose. You won’t hurt him. As soon as the Escetirians are gone, you can assign him other duties around the castle.”
Arthur grimaced, his dinner suddenly heavy in his stomach. “It doesn’t bother you at all that he’s been forced into this?”
Agravaine raised his eyebrow. “I’m sure there’s a reason he’s been collared. He probably committed a terrible crime, to have been put in this position.”
Arthur stared at him. He hadn’t even thought about how else Merlin might have become a slave, other than by force, but his uncle’s words made sense. “You think so?”
Agravaine nodded. “I know that, in Escetir, an execution can be avoided by accepting life in slavery instead. Really, the slave can count himself lucky to be young and pretty. He could have just as well been sent to the mines.”
Hearing that, Arthur suddenly felt a little less queasy. The thought of using a bed slave still didn’t sit entirely right with him. But if Merlin was indeed a criminal, and had made the conscious choice to be a slave rather than be executed…
“Thank you, uncle,” Arthur said thoughtfully. “Your advice is invaluable, as always.”
Agravaine smiled warmly. “You’re welcome.”
Merlin looked around the chambers for the tenth time, wondering if there was anything else he could do. He had collected the laundry and dishes, changed the bed sheets, dusted every surface and even washed the floors, and the King’s rooms looked absolutely impeccable.
He couldn’t have done it without Gwen, though, the kind servant who had shown up in the King’s chambers out of the blue some hours ago. Not only had she brought him new clothes—clothes that actually deserved the name—but told him where to bring the laundry, fetch fresh sheets and bathe himself.
Now, it was quickly growing dark out. Merlin decided to light some candles, then stoked the fire. A young serving boy had been in the rooms earlier to clean the hearth and light it again, but other than that, nobody seemed to enter the King’s chambers. Merlin didn’t know much about the running of a royal household, but would have thought a king would have a dedicated attendant or two. Even someone like Master Kanen had a personal slave, after all.
Deciding that he had done all he could, Merlin settled down on his knees again. King Arthur hadn’t voiced a preference—hells, he had even let Merlin sit with him at the table!—so Merlin dared to pick a spot near the fireplace, where it was warm and cosy. He took a moment to brush a hand over his new trousers and tunic, the heels of the boots digging into his backside as he knelt. They were the nicest clothes he had ever worn, sturdy and well-made, even if they were a little faded at the seams.
Merlin didn’t know what to make of his situation. When he had been gifted to King Arthur, he had expected to be used right away. But all Merlin had done so far was serve and clean. Master Kanen also gave him such duties, but at the end of the day, Merlin was always reminded of what he was really being kept for.
Not for the first time, Merlin wondered what scheme the Master and King Cenred were planning. Master Kanen had said his placement with the King of Camelot would be temporary, but when he had been presented to King Arthur, it had sounded rather more permanent.
And King Arthur – what a curious man!
Merlin was not sure whether to be scared of him. When he spoke to Merlin, it was always in a harsh or annoyed tone, as if Merlin had displeased him in some way. But he had not touched Merlin in any way, be it to pleasure himself or to punish him. He had also given Merlin food from his own tray, arranged for new clothes and given Merlin his own bed.
It was puzzling, though Merlin found he was starting to hate the uncertainty. He liked to know where he stood. Master Kanen had always given him clear rules, though Merlin had rebelled against them for the longest time.
Here, there were no rules. He didn’t know if he was allowed to leave the chambers without explicit orders or whom he was allowed to talk to, and it was starting to become unnerving.
But as it turned out, he needn’t have worried. When the King finally entered the chambers, he said without preamble, “Strip, and get onto the bed!”
Merlin’s heart plummeted. So much for remaining untouched!
King Arthur had sounded annoyed, too, and so, Merlin hurried to comply, getting to his feet and walking over to the side chamber where the bed was. With trembling hands, he started to undress, pulling off the nice, soft tunic Gwen had given him while simultaneously toeing off his boots.
So there it was. He would be used for pleasure after all. Perhaps the King had simply not felt like doing so yesterday, too tired from the feast or too surprised by the gift.
Merlin slipped out of the trousers and smallclothes both at once. He made a neat pile of his clothes on the floor, trembles turning into shakes when he glanced at the bed.
He had made it up earlier, but had yet to lie on it. It looked soft, certainly more comfortable than Master Kanen’s furs. Merlin dared to glance over his shoulder, but the King had yet to make an appearance, remaining in the main chamber. Merlin could hear him move around.
Taking a deep breath, Merlin climbed onto the bed. The King hadn’t specified a position. Master Kanen often took him on all fours from behind, but it seemed crude to present himself like that. He lay down on his back instead, then blinked at the ceiling, trying to calm his racing heart.
He focused on his breathing, his eyes tracing the folds and tassels of the red canopy as he inhaled and exhaled.
He could do this. He had been doing this for months, with Master Kanen, who was hardly gentle. Could King Arthur really be worse?
As much as Merlin had been afraid to be serving a Pendragon, the young King had not struck him as particularly cruel so far. Certainly, he would give Merlin a chance to prepare himself before he took him. Should he ease himself open already? Biting his lip, Merlin glanced around, but there was no oil or grease on the nightstand. Perhaps the King had expected him to fetch some himself? From the physician Gaius, maybe?
Well, it was too late now. He would simply have to brave the King’s ire, or live with the consequences.
Just then, footfalls announced the King’s arrival. Merlin dared to glance at him from the bed and saw that the King was carrying a chalice again, probably drinking some of the wine Merlin had fetched that afternoon to restock the sideboard.
He wasn’t looking at Merlin, emptying the chalice in three long gulps before setting it down on the nearest available surface. Then, he walked over to the dressing screen, behind which he disappeared. From the sounds of it, he was undressing.
Merlin swallowed and looked back at the canopy, his hands curling into the fresh bedsheets. He really hoped it wouldn’t hurt. Sometimes, Master Kanen was impatient and tore into him with barely a finger’s worth of stretching and then, Merlin tended to limp the whole day after, much to the amusement of the Master’s men.
More footfalls floated his way, and Merlin tensed. His eyes were still on the ceiling and he decided to keep them there, not wanting to provoke. The King seemed to have come to stand at the end of the bed and was probably watching him. Merlin wondered if he was pleasant to look at, skinny as he was. Master Kanen had certainly called him an ugly bastard often enough, when he had been in one of his moods.
Merlin startled when the mattress dipped and then, skin brushed against skin as the King appeared above him. Merlin’s eyes flitted past his face and down to his bare chest. His body was well-muscled, more so than the Master’s, and there was a golden hue to his skin.
Merlin closed his eyes, grateful for small mercies. At least the King wasn’t horribly disfigured or disgusting. Perhaps it would make this easier.
His eyes flashed open again when a hand appeared on his cheek, warm but firm. “Look at me,” the King ordered.
Reluctantly, Merlin did, meeting King Arthur’s gaze. He had a handsome face, Merlin thought faintly, a majestic sort of nose and strong jaw. Yes, definitely not disfigured.
“You have done this before, yes?” he asked.
Merlin bit down on a strained chuckle. “Yes, sire,” he replied.
The King frowned down at him. “Good. Because you look…” He trailed off. Somehow, he seemed a little nervous. His hand was still on Merlin’s cheek.
“Should I have prepared myself?” Merlin asked, after a long moment of silence.
“Prepared your—oh.” Fascinated, Merlin watched a faint blush appear on the King’s face. “No. No, that’s…” He trailed off again. Yes, definitely nervous.
Merlin didn’t know what to make of it. Surely, the King had done this before?
King Arthur’s eyes started roaming, until something flashed across his face, his hand moving from Merlin’s cheek and downwards. Merlin tensed when it came to rest on his collar, his heart picking up speed again.
Sometimes, when Master Kanen was fucking Merlin from behind, he liked to tug at the ring of iron, choking Merlin. Was King Arthur into that sort of thing, too?
But the King made no move to hurt him. He seemed to be tracing the collar with his thumb and on a whim, Merlin tilted his back a little, granting him better access.
“No lock? And there’s writing here,” the King murmured.
A cold shiver ran down Merlin’s back. His collar was special, one smooth, endless ring of iron. Undoubtedly, if there were runes on there, they were meant to suppress his magic.
He couldn’t risk King Arthur finding out he was a sorcerer. In Camelot, they killed sorcerers, burnt them at the stake, he knew that much.
“That's Old Escetirian, sire,” Merlin said quickly, grasping for an explanation.
The King frowned. “Oh?”
Merlin nodded against the pillow. “Some traditional text, about obedience, punishment and such.”
“I see.”
Merlin had no idea if he had believed the lie or not, but certainly knew he didn’t want the King to do anymore prodding. He needed to distract him. Bravely, he reached out to place a hand on King Arthur’s shoulder. “Sire, should I…?”
The King startled and pulled back. In fact, he stopped hovering above Merlin all together and sat back on his heels at the end of the bed, going back to looking Merlin over.
Merlin couldn’t help but let his own eyes wander, too, taking in King Arthur’s form. He was aroused, though looked far from fully hard. He looked big, though, bigger than Master Kanen, and Merlin swallowed, praying that he would be allowed some oil.
He let his eyes flicker upwards again to take in King Arthur’s face. He was frowning again. Merlin had hardly ever seen a different expression on him. Unsure what was expected, Merlin let his legs fall wide open, granting access. “Like this, sire?” he asked tentatively, trying to keep the tremble out of his voice.
“You’re not…” The King waved at his legs.
Merlin glanced down. It took him a moment to understand the King meant Merlin’s own cock, lying limp against his thigh. Master Kanen had never cared whether or not Merlin was enjoying himself, though sometimes he did become hard, when there was enough oil and the Master fucked him slow and deep instead of hard and rough. Once or twice, he had even spilled, though he had felt disgusting after. “I don’t—there’s no need, is there, sire?” he replied nervously.
King Arthur’s frown deepened. Clearly, it was the wrong answer.
“I’m sorry, sire,” Merlin added hurriedly, already reaching between his legs. “I can…”
But the King shook his head. “No, I won’t—not like this.” He leaned in, batting Merlin’s hand away. “Relax,” he added.
Merlin lowered his hand and let his head fall onto the pillow. Relax? Surely, the King had to know it didn’t work like this. Surely, he knew the muscle had to be stretched and moistened with something, even if it was just with a finger, wet with spit. Surely, he—
His thoughts stopped when King Arthur’s fingers curled around his limp dick. “Relax, I said. You’re trembling all over.”
Merlin opened his mouth to apologise again—and let out a startled yelp when something warm and wet engulfed his cock.
The King, he was—oh, Gods, he was—
Shocked, Merlin tensed all over and with an obscene noise, the King pulled his mouth—his mouth—off Merlin’s dick. “I said, relax!” he snapped from below.
“Yes, sire,” Merlin gasped and tried his best to comply, loosening his limbs.
Satisfied, the King sucked Merlin’s cock back into his mouth and started moving his head.
Merlin had never felt anything like it. The King’s lips were hot and tight around his cock and Merlin’s whole length was already wet with spit. It felt—it felt marvellous! No wonder the Master liked fucking Merlin’s mouth so much!
Suddenly overcome with an unwise urge to grab a hold of the King’s head and shove him deeper into his crotch, Merlin curled his hands into the sheets and tried to focus on relaxing. Which was difficult when Merlin’s new Master—the King of Camelot—was sucking his cock!
He was hard in no time. In fact, Merlin wasn’t sure he had ever been this turned on in his life, and he let out a sigh of regret when the King removed his mouth and cold air hit his cock. Merlin lifted his head to stare down and found that King Arthur was, at last, no longer frowning, but looking satisfied.
“There we go,” he said, sounding a little smug as he sat back and wiped his mouth. “That’s much better.” He raised an eyebrow at Merlin. “Good, yes?”
Merlin nearly started laughing at the absurdity of the question. “Yes, sire,” he choked out.
The King’s smirk widened, then he asked, “You bathed today, yes? Thoroughly?”
Merlin nodded, finding himself strangely distracted by a need to touch his throbbing, wet cock, which he only just resisted.
“Good,” said the King and held out a hand. “Hand me a pillow, will you?”
Merlin passed him one of the throw pillows, only to be told to lift his hips. Understanding where this was going, Merlin let his legs fall wide open again. After what had just happened, he doubted the King would take him dry, but still, there was no oil in sight.
“Sire,” he dared to speak up. “I haven’t—”
But already, the King was lowering himself between his legs again, and then—and then—
Merlin screamed. There was no other way to describe the sound that was wrenched from his mouth when the King licked one, broad stripe from the base of his balls down his arse crack, only to start tonguing at Merlin’s hole. Without much conscious thought, he bucked his hips, causing the King to let out an annoyed noise. Firm hands came to circle his thighs.
“Hold still,” King Arthur said and went back to licking Merlin’s hole.
Merlin turned his eyes on the ceiling and started moaning shamelessly, all the while wondering what on earth was happening here. The King of Camelot was licking his arsehole. The King of Camelot was licking into his arsehole, his face pressed between Merlin’s buttocks, clearly intent on preparing him like this.
Before he knew it, Merlin was practically melting into the mattress, his whole body brimming with pleasure. He had never felt anything like this and his head was spinning with the sensation. Soon, he forgot that the person slowly but surely fucking him open with his tongue was a king, because all he could focus on was how good it felt. His whole body seemed alight, hot sparks racing up and down his spine, slowly lighting every patch of skin on fire.
And still, he was moaning loudly. Master Kanen didn’t like it when he made too much noise, but there was no way Merlin could hold back now. He was starting to grow loose, enjoying the incredible feeling of something soft and wet licking into him again and again, slowly opening him up.
When the King stopped, Merlin’s cock was leaking all over his stomach and he felt a need he had never felt in his whole life – a need to be filled and fucked.
“Please,” he gasped as King Arthur emerged and let go of Merlin’s thighs. “Please.”
The King grinned down at him, looking impossibly pleased with himself. His own cock, Merlin was awestruck to see, looked to be just as hard as Merlin’s. He had got off on what he had done to Merlin! “Pull in your legs,” he ordered.
Merlin readily complied, presenting his wet, loose hole, having half a mind to beg again. But King Arthur had already knelt between his legs, now grabbing the base of his cock and guiding the tip between Merlin’s buttocks.
Merlin could feel the head press against his slick entrance. He knew this feeling well—Kanen fucked him almost every night, after all—but he had never wanted it, had never craved the fullness.
He moaned wantonly when the King pushed, carefully easing his way in, though Merlin’s body seemed to latch right onto him, greedily swallowing him up.
The King gasped as he bottomed out, grabbing Merlin’s thighs again as he let out a soft moan. “Touch yourself,” he said, when he had caught his breath, then started moving.
Merlin did not need to hear that order twice. His hand came down between his leg, curling around his hard cock, and he started stroking himself. At first, he tried to match the rhythm to the King’s movements, but soon found himself frantically stripping himself, his arse clenching around the exquisite burn that was the King’s cock.
He spilled quickly, with a moan so indecent it would have shocked him, had he not been so far gone. Not long after, the King finished, too, letting out a strangled grunt as he did. Merlin could feel the King’s cock pulse as he came inside of him.
King Arthur took a moment to hover in place, then pulled out of Merlin, only to collapse right on top of him, sweaty skin sliding against Merlin’s soiled chest.
Without much conscious thought, Merlin brought his arms around the King’s back, pulling him close, then hid his face against his shoulder. Before he knew it, he had started shaking again. When the King pulled back, propping himself up above him, Merlin realised he had started crying.
“Gods, did I—are you hurt?” King Arthur exclaimed, sounding alarmed.
Merlin blinked up at him through his tears. “No,” he gasped, trying to smile. “No. No.”
“Then why on earth are you crying?” the King demanded, still sounding distressed.
“I don’t know,” Merlin replied, sniffling. “But it was good. It was really good. I—thank you.”
The King gave him an incredulous look. “You’re thanking me?”
Merlin let out a wet laugh. “Yes,” he said. “I’m thanking you. This was—I don’t even know how to describe it.” Life-changing. The best thing that had happened to him since he had become a slave, no matter how messed-up that thought was.
At last, the King lost his worried look. He rolled over and stretched out next to Merlin. “You sure know how to make a man feel good about himself,” he replied, sounding satisfied as he lazily wiped himself clean with the edge of the sheet.
To Merlin’s complete shock, he then reached out to tug Merlin close and pulled the blanket over the both of them.
“Well, I’m exhausted. Let’s sleep,” King Arthur murmured and closed his eyes.
But Merlin couldn’t fall asleep right away.
As he listened to the King’s breath evening out, he stared at the canopy in the light of the fading candlelight, and wept a few more silent tears.
He hadn’t known it could be this good. How could he ever go back to Master Kanen’s brutal attentions now?
King Arthur had ruined him, completely taken him apart with his mouth.
And Merlin found he was glad for it.
Arthur awoke with his dick in someone’s mouth. It was a very pleasant way to wake up, and it took him a moment to make sense of what was happening as he let out a happy little moan. When he did finally become aware of his surroundings, he tensed, head snapping up to see a bulge under the blanket, bobbing up and down.
He reached out to pull aside the blanket and was presented with a mop of dark hair and a pair of sensual lips wrapped tightly around his cock, expertly sucking him off.
“What—what are you doing?” Arthur gasped.
Merlin looked up at him and pulled back, letting go of Arthur’s dick with an utterly perverse plopping sound. “Returning the favour,” he replied, smiling tentatively.
Arthur blinked at him. “Oh,” he said dumbly.
Merlin seemed to take that as encouragement, as he plunged right back down, swallowing all of Arthur’s length in one go.
“Lords!” Arthur exclaimed and let his head fall back onto the pillows.
Arthur had had his share of dalliances, but this was something else. Merlin clearly knew what he was doing, swallowing him deep, keeping his lips tight, generously licking at the head when he needed a break.
Arthur came much too soon, watching Merlin swallow every last drop. When he was done, he sat up, running a hand over his split-wet mouth, then gave Arthur another one of those tentative smiles. “Good?” he asked.
Arthur chuckled when he heard his own question from last night echoed back at him. “Very good,” he replied and Merlin smiled, a proper smile this time, one that lit up his whole face, dimpling and wrinkling it in all the right places.
Gods, he was handsome like this. Without thinking about it, he reached out and pulled Merlin on top of him, settling him against his chest and covering them with the blanket again. He glanced at the window, realising Merlin had woken him right at dawn. A little early, but Arthur couldn’t find it in him to complain, with his whole body brimming so very pleasantly.
When he had convinced himself last night to follow his uncle’s advice and make use of the gift, he had needed some liquid courage to go through with it, fully expecting to regret it later. He had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t hurt Merlin, at least, would make it pleasurable for him, and he had definitely succeeded in that.
Belatedly, he realised Merlin hadn’t come yet, and with a sly smirk, Arthur let his hand slide underneath the blanket and down Merlin’s lithe body. Sure enough, he was still half-hard. Arthur started stroking him, enjoying the small hums and sighs of pleasure Merlin made, who was squirming a little against Arthur’s side, his eyes closed. Eventually, he came with a gasp that almost sounded startled, then blinked his eyes open. They were an impossibly beautiful shade of blue when they looked at Arthur in what could only be described as wonder.
“Thank you,” he said and closed his eyes again to drift off for a little while longer, appearing quite content to be tucked against Arthur’s chest.
Arthur wiped his soiled hand against the sheets, then raised it slowly, not wanting to jostle Merlin. It was an odd angle, but he could just make out the slave’s collar, cool and hard around Merlin’s throat. Arthur traced the edge with his thumb, wondering.
He didn’t buy for a second that the writing on the collar was Old Escetirian. Arthur, for all that he wasn’t a great scholar, had actually paid attention during tutoring, lest he disappointed his father, and knew there was no such thing.
No, the writing had looked like something else. Foreign runes, perhaps. Arthur didn’t know if Merlin had purposely lied to him, perhaps trying to conceal what crime had earned him his collar, or simply didn’t know any better, repeating whatever those who had trained him had told him.
Not that Merlin had seemed particularly trained to Arthur last night. For someone who was, supposedly, experienced in the sensual arts, Merlin sure had looked shocked at the very idea of being opened up with his mouth. Undoubtedly, he had submitted willingly to Arthur, undressing himself without hesitation and readily spreading his legs. He was experienced in some ways, certainly, as Arthur had found out just this morning, but his overall demeanour hadn’t struck Arthur as that of a trained bed slave.
He had looked scared and tense, his face stoic, like a man who had learned to endure and not fight. Shouldn’t he have acted more seductively?
The longer he thought about it, the more Arthur thought something was off. He just couldn’t put his finger on it yet.
He waited until the sun was properly risen, then slipped out of bed. He poured some water into the washing bowl, diligently scrubbing his face and body with a soft cloth, then pulled some clothes from the wardrobe and got dressed, only to realise he had picked one of the more fancy tunics, those that required a second pair of hands to tie up properly. He stepped out from behind the dressing screen, still fumbling with the cords.
“Would you like me to help?”
Startled, Arthur looked up. Merlin was sitting up in bed, watching him. His hair was a mess, sticking out in odd places, but he looked awake, his eyes alert.
“Sure,” Arthur replied and watched, not without appreciation, as Merlin’s nude form emerged from the sheets. He was still soiled and sticky in places, but seemed unbothered by this as much as by his state of undress as he stepped closer.
He frowned as he got to work at the laces, almost going cross-eyed, but eventually managed to tie everything in place. His eyes crinkled fetchingly. “There we go.”
Arthur nodded at him, then gestured at the wash stand. “You can use it. And then fetch us some breakfast, will you?”
“Yes, sire,” Merlin replied and ducked his head. “Of course, sire.”
Only then did Arthur realise that Merlin had been slipping up, looking him in the eye and forgoing his title. Arthur hadn’t even noticed, or minded.
He settled down at the dining table, pouring himself some water as he watched Merlin slip out of the room, dressed and washed. He returned quickly, and Arthur was glad to see he had listened carefully and brought his own breakfast, too, though it looked to be much simpler fare than Arthur’s.
“Sit with me,” Arthur told him and Merlin obeyed quietly.
This time, he sat properly on the chair, no longer perching on the edge of it, and Arthur smiled to himself, thinking that he had cured the slave of some of his fear, at least. Feeling uncharacteristically indulgent, he slipped some sweetmeats onto Merlin’s plate, who flashed him a surprised look before picking them up.
He let out a pleased little sound when he bit into one and Arthur chuckled, reminded of other exquisite noises. He had always enjoyed making his partners moan and scream, and Merlin had turned out to be incredibly responsive.
“You may leave these rooms,” Arthur told him after breakfast. “The guards have orders to let you in and out of my chambers. Stay within the castle, though. I don’t want you to get lost in the city.”
“Yes, sire,” Merlin replied, but when Arthur left, Merlin stayed behind to strip the soiled sheets off the bed and clear away the dishes.
Determined to get to the bottom of his gut feeling that something was off, Arthur made directly for the physician’s tower, knowing he still had some time before the next meeting with Cenred.
When he stepped into the infirmary, he found Gaius wasn’t alone. Morgana was there, looking incredibly tired, accepting a small bottle from the physician.
“… take two sips, before you go to sleep,” Gaius was saying, though he fell silent when Arthur stepped into the room.
Arthur grimaced a little, realising Morgana must have suffered another round of nightmares. Ever since Uther’s death, they were becoming more and more frequent, it seemed.
“Morgana,” he greeted her, then nodded at the physician. “Gaius. I came to ask you something about Merlin.”
Morgana’s eyes instantly narrowed at him. “What about him?” she demanded.
Arthur threw her a look, already regretting that he had brought up the topic with her present, only to stiffen when her face turned furious.
“Oh no, you didn’t!” she hissed and took a step forward. “Oh, you disgusting—!” She took another step closer and shoved at Arthur’s chest. She was not strong enough to move him, but he took a step back anyway, taken aback by her ire. “You forced yourself upon him, didn’t you?”
Arthur flushed. “I did not,” he denied. She made it sound like he had brutalised Merlin, when really, he had serviced Merlin, pleasured him as if he were the bed slave. He wasn’t cruel!
Morgana, however, seemed to have come to her own conclusions. “You monster!” she shouted and struck his chest again. “You’re no better than Uther!” She hit him one more time, then ran from the infirmary with a sob, slamming the door shut behind her.
Embarrassed—and suddenly inexplicably and deeply ashamed for having slept with Merlin—Arthur found it difficult to meet Gaius’s eyes.
“You had a question about Merlin, sire?” Gaius asked, his voice carefully neutral.
Arthur cleared his throat. “Yes, I did,” he said. “Or rather, about his collar. There’s some writing on it. Runes I’ve never seen before. Would you mind taking a look at it? Perhaps you recognise them.”
Gaius nodded. “Certainly, sire. Where is he now?”
“In my chambers, though I gave him permission to roam the castle,” Arthur replied, realising he should perhaps have ordered Merlin directly to the infirmary.
“I’ll go up right away then, sire,” Gaius replied. “I should look him over again, anyway, if…” He trailed off, arching an eyebrow.
Arthur’s ears grew hot. “I didn’t—he wasn’t hurt,” he stammered.
Gaius’s face turned disapproving. “Of course not, sire,” he said, managing to make the words sound like, I’m vastly disappointed in you.
Arthur fled the infirmary.
As he walked towards the council chambers, he wondered if he had started lying to himself. Both Morgana and Gaius clearly thought he had taken advantage of Merlin. Was he a monster? Merlin had seemed content enough, going so far as to thank him and wake Arthur up with his skilled mouth. But he had cried last night, too. Arthur had assumed he had been a little overwhelmed from the pleasure, but perhaps it had simply been because he had just been violated?
By the time he entered the council chambers, he was feeling sick, and it certainly didn’t help that Cenred immediately approached him, pulling him aside.
“Well?” he asked, smirking. “Did you finally enjoy my present?”
Arthur knew he was flushing again when he replied, “I did.”
Cenred seemed to sense it was the truth. His smirk widened into a lewd grin, then he clapped Arthur on the back. “Wonderful,” he said. “I’m glad you found your gift satisfactory.” He gestured at the table. “Perhaps we can finalise this treaty today?”
They did not, because Arthur simply refused to give into some of Cenred’s demands, even though his uncle kept signalling him to do it. There was simply no way he would make as many concessions as Cenred asked. For someone who had come here to forge lasting peace, he sure was keen on getting Arthur to sign off on all sorts of military agreements, going so far as to ask Arthur to let his troops pass freely through his lands without prior notification.
After three hours, they called it a day, and Arthur proposed a ride through the nearby woods to clear all their heads, suggesting they could bring the falcons and do some hunting.
Cenred agreed and so, Arthur had their horses saddled and brought into the courtyard. Arthur mounted Hengroen, waiting for Cenred to get onto his own stallion, but saw that he was still deep in conversation with one of his knights – a Sir Kanen, if Arthur wasn’t mistaken.
For some reason, Arthur didn’t like the look of their conversation, even less so when he saw Sir Kanen walk off quickly shortly after, wearing a rather sly expression.
On a whim, Arthur guided his horse over to Leon. “Would you mind staying behind after all?” he asked him. “I don’t like the look of that Sir Kanen. I think he’s up to something.”
Leon looked after the man in question, who had just disappeared into the castle. “Of course, sire,” he said and got off his horse again.
They left with a small party, letting the falcons fly in the meadows close to the Darkling Woods, succeeding in hunting down some hares for dinner and improving the mood of everyone that had been part of the tense negotiations.
Arthur, too, was in a good mood when he returned, though it quickly soured again when he saw Leon was already waiting for him in the courtyard, looking serious.
“Bad news?” Arthur asked him quietly, mindful of Cenred and the other Escetirians nearby.
“I followed this Sir Kanen through the castle,” Leon replied in the same, hushed tone. “Turns out he was meeting someone.”
“Whom?” Arthur asked.
Leon twisted his lips unhappily. “The slave,” he revealed. “I didn’t hear what they were saying, but it sure looked like Sir Kanen was giving him orders of some kind. He looked frightened.”
Arthur nodded tightly as he stomached that. “Thank you, Leon,” he said.
He made directly for the infirmary, all the while mulling over what he had heard. Why would one of Cenred’s knights go out of his way to speak to the bed slave gifted to Arthur? Did it have something to do with the strange runes on his collar, or Merlin’s odd behaviour?
Or was there a harmless explanation for all of this, and Arthur was merely overthinking?
“Gaius,” he said as soon as he had entered the infirmary. “Did you have time yet to look at Merlin’s collar?”
“Yes, sire,” Gaius replied. He was at the workbench, grinding some herbs.
“And?” Arthur prodded.
Gaius kept his eyes firmly on his work. “I don’t recognise them,” he said. “I think they might simply be decorative. Symbols without any special meaning.”
On any other day, Arthur might have readily believed him. But with what he had just learnt from Leon, and the gut feeling that something was off about the situation with Merlin, he grew suspicious. “Really?” he prodded. “No meaning at all?”
“Not that I could decipher,” Gaius replied. He sounded perfectly calm as he ground his herbs, but Arthur thought he could see his fingers tremble, which was odd. Gaius was old, but he had a very steady hand. Had to, surgeon that he was.
Gaius was lying. He knew something about the collar, but was hiding it.
For a moment, Arthur felt like pressing the issue. But he knew Gaius could be stubborn. If he didn’t want to tell Arthur, he would simply deny he was lying. Arthur had no proof to the contrary, either, and wasn’t cruel enough to throw an old man like Gaius into the dungeons or, gods forbid, whip him until he saw reason.
But when he walked out of the infirmary, he couldn’t help but feel deeply unsettled.
Something was going on, and he would get to the bottom of it.
Merlin was roaming the castle.
At some point, he had most definitely lost his way, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t want to return to King Arthur’s chambers, though he knew he had to, and soon. Already, the sun was starting to set, and he needed to go back before the King retired.
Not because the King would punish him. Merlin had only known him for a short time, but was convinced he wouldn’t be beaten for being late to return. Behind the tough exterior of a King lay a gentle, noble man, who had taken utmost care not to hurt Merlin. It was more than a bed slave could ever hope for.
Which was exactly the reason why Merlin was reluctant to return. Master Kanen had just given him his orders. Now that he had been in the King’s bed, Merlin had garnered some trust and knew his way about the royal chambers, too.
And so, tonight, he was expected to go and look for the King’s key. A specific one, at least as long as his palm, and made of brass.
Because King Cenred hadn’t come here to negotiate for peace. He had come to learn more about Camelot’s castle. Specifically, the siege tunnels, though the Master hadn’t exactly given Merlin all the details. Mainly, Master Kanen had threatened him, telling him to get at the key as soon as possible, or else.
Part of Merlin wanted to tell King Arthur everything, beg him for mercy for his involvement and hope for the best. From what he had seen, the King of Camelot might even be inclined to help him. But if it was also revealed that Merlin was a sorcerer, he might just as well strike Merlin dead. Magic was forbidden here, on penalty of death.
Of course, there was also Gaius. Merlin didn’t know why he hadn’t recognised the name before, but Gaius had certainly recognised him. As it turned out, Gaius was an old friend of Merlin’s late mother. He had known, too, with one look at the iron collar, what it was for. Gaius had promised to look into how to break it open. If Merlin had his magic back, escape was a real possibility. He could flee, defend himself, hide in a different kingdom and make a new life there.
But who knew if Gaius could really release him from the collar? It was naïve to dream of freedom when all the physician had done was to promise that he would look into it.
No, for now, he had to stay put. And if he wanted to stay alive, or at least not be beaten to a pulp, he had better do as Master Kanen told him, and get at that key tonight.
When the sun sank past the horizon, Merlin finally braced himself and asked a servant for the way back to the King’s quarters. He tried not to look guilty as he passed the guards by the door and slipped quietly into the chambers. He found the King sitting at his desk and looking over some papers.
Merlin swallowed as he approached, then bowed low. “Sire?”
The King looked up, his face unreadable, which caused Merlin to lower his gaze to somewhere around his chin. “Explored the castle, did you?” He didn’t sound angry.
“Yes, sire,” Merlin murmured. “I apologise I was gone for so long.”
“Well, I did tell you that you could leave,” the King added and turned his attention back onto the papers.
Relieved, Merlin looked around. He had cleaned only yesterday, so there wasn’t much to do. But he needed an excuse to walk about the chambers and look where the King might be keeping his keys. So he started to gather up what little laundry there was and stoked the fire, then pretended to do some more dusting, all the while surreptitiously searching for clues.
As it turned out, the keys were kept out in the open, right by the bed. He hadn’t noticed them before, but there were some hooks mounted below the nightstand, with several keys hanging off them. One or two of them looked like they could be the one Master Kanen had asked about.
If he slept in the King’s bed again, it would be easy to get at them. All Merlin needed to do was wear him out, then wait and watch until he was sure King Arthur had fallen asleep before snatching the keys that looked like they might fit the description.
It was a good plan, except that it made Merlin’s stomach turn. He glanced at King Arthur again, who was still at the desk reading, frowning at his papers.
The King had treated him well, given him food from his own plate and made him feel good in bed. Merlin didn’t want to steal from this man, or be part of some nefarious plan against him. But he had his orders, and Master Kanen had made it perfectly clear that Merlin would not be staying with King Arthur, but return to his side soon. His loyalty should be to Master Kanen, if he wanted to survive.
And so, when the King finally got up from his desk, Merlin stepped up to him and tried for a smile he hoped was seductive. “Shall I join you in bed again tonight, sire?” he asked boldly.
The King’s eyebrows shot up. He looked Merlin up and down, who tried not to fidget, or give away how anxious he was. “If you’d like,” he said at last.
Merlin nodded eagerly, feeling his guilt grow ever heavier. If you’d like, the King had said. Like Merlin had a choice in this.
Suddenly, he wondered if the King would have taken him to bed last night if Merlin had begged him not to. Someone who was willing to lick a slave’s arse didn’t seem the type to force himself onto anyone.
Pushing those traitorous thoughts aside, Merlin pulled off his clothes, then lay down on the King’s bed. The King chose to undress behind the screen again, an odd habit given that he would soon be fully naked before Merlin. This time, when he stepped out from the screen, Merlin dared to look his share.
The King really was beautiful, all muscle and golden-hued skin, and his cock rested in a nest of dark blond hair. Already, he had grown a little hard in anticipation.
Merlin, too, felt his body react. How could it not, after the pleasures they had shared?
This time, when King Arthur climbed on top of him, Merlin dared to circle his hands around the back of his neck and pull him down into a kiss.
The King’s eyes widened in surprise, but he gave in, opening his mouth and chasing Merlin’s tongue with his own. By the time their lips parted, both of them were panting, and fully hard.
“Is there oil?” Merlin asked.
The King retrieved a vial from a drawer in the nightstand. Merlin tried not to think about the keys hanging just below as he accepted it. Under the King’s dark gaze, he slicked up his fingers, then stretched himself, his cock leaking onto his stomach.
When he was done, he sat up. “Why don’t you lie down, sire?” he asked the King, who complied, watching him intently.
Merlin smiled as he climbed on top of him. He had never liked doing this with Master Kanen, preferred the impassive fuck from behind, but with King Arthur, it seemed just right.
As soon as he had sunk fully onto the King’s hard cock, he sighed, savouring that burn and stretch. Neither feeling had ever been particularly enjoyable with the Master, but with King Arthur, he knew, there was plenty of pleasure to be found.
He moved experimentally, eliciting a moan from the King. Encouraged, Merlin worked his thighs as he pushed himself up, then sank back down. Soon, he had found a nice, steady rhythm, shifting his hips when he realised that certain angles brought him so much more pleasure, which only intensified tenfold when the King reached out to stroke Merlin’s cock.
They came nearly at the same time, with the King shuddering and moaning first, and Merlin following him right over the edge. He tipped forward, hissing when the King’s cock slipped out of him, only to be immediately pulled down and into strong, warm arms.
“So good,” Merlin murmured into the King’s skin and felt like crying again, knowing what he had to do tonight.
“Mhm,” hummed King Arthur and closed his eyes.
Merlin waited for a long time, until he was absolutely sure the King was asleep. Then, very slowly, very carefully, he extracted himself from his hold, stopping whenever he thought he could see his eyelids flutter or hear his breath hitch.
At last, he had made it out of the bed. He crouched before the nightstand, looking the keys over. There were three that matched Master Kanen’s description and slowly, very careful not to cause any noise, he slipped them off their hooks, one by one.
Next thing he knew, we was slammed backwards and onto the floor, a knife digging into the skin right by his collar.
The King was above him, looking furious. “Thief!” he hissed.
Merlin froze, his head throbbing from where it had been knocked against the stone.
King Arthur pressed the knife more firmly against his neck, only just keeping the blade from cutting into it. “Why are you stealing my keys?” he growled. “Answer me, slave!”
Tears sprung to Merlin’s eyes. “Because Master Kanen told me to,” he replied hastily.
“Master Kanen?” the King repeated with narrowed eyes.
Mindful of the knife at his throat, Merlin did not nod. “Yes,” he said. “He owns me.”
The King sneered. “And here I thought you were my special gift.”
“I’m sorry,” Merlin said, voice pleading. “I’m so sorry, sire.”
Abruptly, the King retreated, the knife vanishing from Merlin’s throat, though he kept his weight firmly on Merlin’s hips where he was straddling him. “Why were you stealing these keys?” he demanded. “What does your Master want with them?”
Merlin found he could not lie. He brushed a few tears off his cheeks and told the King everything. That King Cenred had asked to borrow him from Master Kanen, that he had been told not to say anything and play the trained pleasure slave until finally, he had been given orders to steal the key that looked like it might belong to the siege tunnels.
“Hells,” the King cursed when Merlin was finished. His grip tightened on the knife in his hand and Merlin closed his eyes and turned his head away, fully expecting to be slain, now that he had revealed the truth.
But instead, the King released him fully, getting up. He got dressed, then walked off. Merlin could hear him talk to someone outside, the guards perhaps, then pace about the main chamber.
When he returned a few minutes later, Merlin was still cowering by the nightstand, sniffling, too afraid to move.
“Cover yourself,” the King ordered.
Merlin scrambled onto the bed and pulled up the sheets, just in time for the knock at the door. A moment later, two men walked in, looking like they had been roused from their beds and had dressed in great haste.
They looked at Merlin, sitting on the bed, then at King Arthur.
“What happened?” the older of the men demanded, and Merlin recognised his voice as the lord who had come here on his first night.
“King Cenred has deceived us,” King Arthur told them.
“Deceived how, sire?” asked the other man and ran a hand over his unruly curls.
Merlin listened to King Arthur repeating the story to them. When they looked at him, Merlin ducked his head and pulled the sheets up higher, hugging them close, feeling ashamed. Not because he was naked, but because he had been part of the scheme.
He was afraid, too, his whole body shaking. What would happen to him now? Would he be sent to the dungeons to await a trial? Brought to the mines? Executed?
“Have you considered the slave might be lying?” the lord asked when the King had finished.
“Why would he, uncle?” King Arthur retorted.
The lord, apparently the King’s uncle, sounded sceptical. “Perhaps he was stealing the keys for himself, sire. To get at gold, or to attempt to flee.”
“No,” the King replied firmly. “I believe him. He was specifically stealing keys that looked like they might belong to the doors to the siege tunnels.”
“Sire,” the other man spoke up. “I was planning on telling you this in the morning, but the captain of the guard came to me earlier this evening. He said some guards spotted Escetirian men sneaking about the lower levels of the castle. They claimed they had simply lost their way, but now, with what you told us…”
“Yes, it fits,” replied the King.
“That is still no proof King Cenred is planning to betray us,” the King’s uncle cautioned. “All we have is a single observation from some guards, and the word of a slave. We cannot risk war over this!”
“And what would you have us do?” snapped the King. “Negotiate a treaty, all the while knowing King Cenred might be scheming? I’ve had enough of caution! Caution is what got us into this situation! I knew we couldn’t trust a man like Cenred and yet, you kept telling me we needed to try for this treaty!”
“Arthur, I only ever tried to advise you to the best of my knowledge and according to my conscience—”
“Be quiet!” barked the King, and everyone fell silent.
Merlin dared to glance up and saw the King had started pacing before his desk.
“Sire, if I may,” said the younger man. “How about we gather actual proof?”
The King stopped and looked up. “How?”
The man looked at Merlin, who promptly ducked his head again. “Use him. Give him the key and have him hand it over to Sir Kanen. We will station guards near the entrances to the siege tunnels. When they go there to explore and gather intelligence, we will catch them in the act, with enough credible witnesses.”
The King paused to think that over. “Let’s do it,” he said.
“Sire,” the King’s uncle spoke up at once. “I strongly advise you to rethink this—”
“I’ve had enough of your advice, Agravaine! We’re following Leon’s plan, gathering the evidence we need. If that means war, so be it. It was only a matter of time until someone declared it. This way, at least, we’ll have the upper hand, especially with King Cenred here, and only thirty men to protect him.” There was a pause, then the King said, “Merlin.”
Merlin flinched, making himself small on the bed. “Yes, sire?” he whispered.
The mattress dipped. Merlin snuck a glance to see that King had sat down on the bed. “Look at me.” Reluctantly, Merlin did, only to find that King Arthur was watching him intently. He didn’t seem angry anymore. “Can you do it? Pass on the key and act as if I never found out about all this?”
Merlin bit his lip. “I can try, sire,” he replied.
“Arthur, please, you cannot honestly—” the King’s uncle spoke up again.
“Quiet,” barked the King, and the lord obeyed. Much gentler, he continued, “I don’t blame you for deceiving me, Merlin. You’re a slave, and you must do as you’re told. But if you help us, I’ll make sure you’ll never have to return to your Master. I’ll free you, and I’ll find you a paid job here, at the castle, or somewhere else, if you want.”
Merlin stared at him. He knew, of course, that this would never happen. Because surely, even if they succeeded in this plan, someone among King Cenred’s men would tell King Arthur that Merlin was a sorcerer and then, he would find a swift death at his blade, or worse, a drawn-out one in the flames.
But still, the offer alone told him everything he still needed to know about the King. King Arthur could have threatened Merlin to play along, or beaten him until he complied, but despite his earlier anger, he had asked and offered him freedom, too.
Maybe there was still some hope for him here as well? Perhaps, when this was all over, Merlin could still flee, have Gaius remove the collar, then run off before King Arthur found out he had been bedding a sorcerer all along.
“I’ll do it, sire,” Merlin vowed. “I’ll try my best.”
King Arthur smiled. “That’s all I can ask.”
Arthur wanted to punch Cenred, right into his smarmy visage.
But instead, he had to play nice and pretend everything was fine as they sat down for lunch with a worried-looking Agravaine and a tight-lipped Morgana, who had not spoken to Arthur ever since she had learnt that Arthur had slept with Merlin.
He knew Merlin had met Sir Kanen to pass on the key. He could only hope that Merlin had kept a straight face when he did. Perhaps it was a risk to trust a slave with something so important, especially a slave who had been ready to steal from him.
But he hadn’t lied to Merlin when he had told him he didn’t blame him. He was a slave, powerless and defenceless. He had done as his Master had told him, simple as that.
Arthur doubted he was a tried criminal, either, guilty as he had looked over his attempted theft. Arthur wasn’t sure why he had ever believed that in the first place. Perhaps he had simply wanted to believe it, so he could bed Merlin without regret and get Cenred off his back.
Arthur felt sick at the thought that he had forced himself on Merlin. Naïvely, he had thought last night, when Merlin had climbed on top of him and ridden him with abandon, face scrunched up so beautifully in ecstasy, that he had genuinely enjoyed himself, chosen to be with Arthur because he liked it.
But there had never been any choice for him. He was a slave, and he had done what he had to do to seduce Arthur and get at the key.
At least, Arthur had never physically hurt him. He would have to find solace in that.
When Morgana glared at him again over her roast chicken, Arthur could not help but think that he deserved every bit of her hatred.
For the rest of the day, Arthur was on edge. Leon would place the most trusted guards and capable knights near the siege tunnels. If Cenred’s men did indeed use the key tonight to spy out the castle for a surprise attack, they would be caught red-handed.
He spent the afternoon with Cenred, showing him the battlements and playing nice, all the while thinking how Cenred was probably filing away the information for the war he was planning. Arthur did not know how he could have been so naïve to listen to his uncle.
Cenred had asked for so many things in their treaty that, in retrospect, were a clear invitation for a surprise attack. More garrisons at the borders, free movement for this troops... By the time Arthur would have realised Cenred was marching on them, the Escetirians would have long entered the citadel through the siege tunnels and taken over the city from within.
At last, Arthur was able to dodge Cenred without looking suspicious, and he returned to his chambers to find Merlin there. Arthur was relieved to see he was not kneeling in the darkest corner again, but neither was he idle. He was sitting at the table, polishing some goblets. When he looked up, he immediately stood to bow.
Arthur made sure to close the door properly behind him, then stepped closer. “It’s done?” he asked. “He’s got the key?”
Merlin nodded, glancing up at Arthur through his dark fringe. “Yes, sire. I don’t think he suspected anything.”
Arthur looked him over. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure, sire,” Merlin replied firmly.
“Good. Thank you.”
Merlin nodded, then glanced at the door. “Would you mind if I went to the infirmary?” he asked.
Arthur frowned at the request. “Are you feeling ill?”
“No, no, it’s just—Gaius said he’d like to check on me again.” Merlin gave a little shrug.
Arthur couldn’t find a reason to deny him, though he immediately thought of Merlin’s collar again, and the way Gaius had most definitely lied about it. For one moment, he considered Gaius was working for Cenred, but immediately dismissed the idea. Gaius was loyal to Camelot, of this he had no doubt. But he had his secrets, too, that much was clear.
“You’re not a prisoner,” he told Merlin. “You’re free to visit Gaius, of course.”
“I’ll be back with dinner,” Merlin promised. “Unless you’re dining with King Cenred?”
“No, not tonight.”
Merlin bowed and left. As promised, he returned carrying dinner. He had brought his own food again, too, and sat down next to Arthur without hesitation. Arthur didn’t know where Merlin’s sudden boldness had come from, but found he enjoyed it. It eased at least some of the heavy guilt he was harbouring.
Arthur studied Merlin as he ate. Eventually, Merlin caught him staring. Instead of ducking his head right away, he returned the gaze, smiling faintly, and Arthur was the one to look away, feeling his cheeks prickle as he did. Merlin was very handsome indeed, especially when he smiled, even just a little.
Merlin stayed in the antechamber that night and so, when Arthur was woken up by the warning bells, it was in an empty bed. He jumped from the sheets, already dressed, then slipped into his boots and grabbed his sword.
“Stay here, Merlin!” he shouted towards the antechamber, and ran off.
As it turned out, Leon and the others had caught the Escetirians red-handed. But they had immediately put up a fight, then tried to flee. Some of them had succeeded and by the time Arthur and Leon thought to check Cenred’s chambers, he was gone, too. In the stables, they found a severely injured stablehand, and horses missing.
Cenred had escaped, along with the rest of his men.
Immediately, Arthur gathered the knights and made after the King of Escetir, although it was the middle of the night, and there was no way to follow any tracks.
In the end, they didn’t have to. Only a league down the road towards Escetir, they found most of Cenred’s party, dead on the ground. The King himself wasn’t there, but Sir Kanen, and at least a dozen more men.
Next to them knelt Merlin, looking utterly exhausted. When Arthur dismounted and approached, he saw that the slave was no longer wearing his collar. It lay abandoned on the forest floor, looking like it had simply sprung open, the runes shimmering strangely in the moonlight.
“Merlin,” he said and knelt next to him. “What happened here? How are they all dead?”
Merlin looked moments away from collapse. “I’m sorry, sire,” he said, head bowed. “I’m so sorry.”
“Your Majesty,” Sir Bors spoke up just then. “None of these men have any wounds. It looks like…” He trailed off, sounding more than a bit spooked.
“What?” Arthur demanded, his eyes still glued to a pale, shaking Merlin, who wouldn’t meet his eyes, even when Arthur lifted his hand to cup his cheek.
“It looks like their necks were broken, all of them,” Sir Leon said and stepped closer. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur could see him unsheathe his sword. “Doesn’t look natural to me.”
Arthur stilled. “You mean…?”
“Sorcery,” confirmed Leon and raised his sword.
“I’m sorry,” Merlin whispered again in that moment, raising his head to look at Arthur with sorrowful eyes. Then, he fainted, falling forward and right into Arthur’s arms.
“Sire!” Leon exclaimed. “Don’t, he’s a—”
“We don’t know that he is anything,” Arthur cut him off, cradling Merlin close. “All we know is that he was with them, probably taken against his will, and that he survived whatever attack happened here.”
Leon stared at him. “Sire,” he said, “are you sure?”
Arthur glared at him, just willing him to defy his King. “Yes, Sir Leon. Very sure.”
Leon blinked at him, then obediently dipped his head before calling out, “Bors, Kay, Belvidere, spread out! See if you can find the sorcerer responsible! The rest, you’re with me. We’re going after King Cenred.”
Satisfied, Arthur stood up, hoisting Merlin up in his arms and slinging him over Hengroen’s back like a sack of wheat. He was feather-light. They really would have to fatten him up.
He returned to the castle alone, and immediately brought Merlin up to Gaius’s tower, only to find Morgana there again, sitting on a bench in her nightgown, clutching a cup of tea.
Gaius, who had been sitting across from her, stood, his eyes widening when he saw Merlin dangling from Arthur’s arms. “What happened to him?”
Arthur looked at Morgana, who appeared equally alarmed, but decided he would not lie. “I think he exhausted his magic,” he replied. “It looks like he took out nearly all of Cendred’s men on his own.”
Gaius drew in a sharp hiss, paling. “Sire, I have no idea—”
“Don’t lie to me,” Arthur snapped. “I know you helped him get rid of that collar. It suppressed his magic, didn’t it?” When Gaius opened his mouth, clearly intent on denying it, he added, “I don’t care, Gaius. Just—just help him. Make him better.”
Gaius looked him over for a long moment, then nodded. “Put him on the pallet over there, sire,” he said, his voice gentling. “If it is magical exhaustion, he will simply have to sleep it off.”
Arthur lowered Merlin on the bed, then stepped aside to let Gaius fuss over him. He watched until a hand appeared on his arm and he turned to face a pale Morgana.
“He has magic?” she asked shakily.
Arthur squared his shoulders. “Yes.”
Morgana glanced at the bed, looking frightened. “And you don’t care?”
“I do care,” Arthur replied, then added more quietly, “About him, that is.” Knowing fully well it was foolish, and dangerous, and perhaps a little insane to trust a sorcerer who had just single-handedly killed a dozen men. His father, certainly, would be spinning in his grave over this.
Perhaps Arthur was still feeling guilty over bedding Merlin. Perhaps Merlin had simply managed to endear himself to Arthur with a rare, dimpling smile. Perhaps, Arthur thought with dark humour, he was under a spell.
Whatever it was, he knew he couldn’t harm Merlin, magic or not.
Morgana was still staring at him. “You’re not going to arrest him?” she asked. “Or burn him on the pyre?”
“No,” Arthur replied simply. “I won’t.”
Morgana took a step back to sit on the bench. She rubbed a hand over her mouth, then said, “Arthur? I need to tell you something. Before I lose my nerve.”
(epilogue)
“What are you doing?”
Arthur flinched, looked up from the desk, then scowled. “Lords, Merlin! Do you ever knock?”
“No,” replied Merlin, merely amused at Arthur’s bite, and unceremoniously plopped down on the armchair across from the King, draping his limbs all over it.
“You’re the worst manservant I’ve ever had,” Arthur told him, still scowling.
Merlin grinned, unbothered. “I know for a fact that’s not true. Morgana says I’m the one you’ve kept on the longest.”
Arthur made a face at him, then focused back on his parchment. It looked important and Merlin found himself rather curious.
“So?” he prodded. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to finish this speech,” Arthur replied pointedly and bowed his head lower.
“Shall I look at it?”
“No.”
“I’m really good at speeches.”
“No.”
“Really, if you just let me—”
Arthur’s head snapped up. He was glaring. “Don’t you have anywhere to be?” he groused.
“No, not particularly.” Merlin grinned again and started counting on his fingers. “I washed your laundry, polished your armour, mended your riding breeches, fixed the—”
“Yes, yes, I get it,” the King cut him off and held up his hand.
“So? The speech?” Merlin pushed and batted his eyelashes, amping up the charm. That usually worked.
Arthur looked at him, long and hard, almost convincing Merlin that he was losing his edge. But just as he was about to give up, the King’s eyes softened, and he handed over the scroll with a sigh.
Merlin took it and read over it. As soon as he realised what he was holding, he sat up straight on the chair. “Arthur!” he exclaimed. “This is—is this—is this what I think it is?”
Arthur looked at him with a little smile. “I don’t know,” he said. “What do you think it is?”
Merlin’s hands started trembling. “A speech,” he said faintly.
“Yes, we already established that,” Arthur said with exaggerated patience, as if talking to a particularly slow child.
Usually, Merlin would call him a prat for that, but not now. “A speech about—about the legalisation of magic,” he stammered. “And about—about court sorcerers and—and…” He looked up, feeling his eyes start to prickle. “You’re done? You’ve convinced the council?”
Arthur huffed. “Browbeaten them, I’d say. But yes, they will back me up, even with my uncle fighting tooth and nail until the end. If all goes well, magic will be perfectly legal in Camelot by the end of this week.”
Merlin pressed a hand to his mouth. He looked down at the speech again, then at Arthur, only to close his eyes when his vision went blurry and tears threatened to spill over. He only opened them again when a hand appeared on his shoulder.
Merlin looked up to find Arthur had walked around the desk to stand by his side. “Merlin,” he said. “Are you all right?”
Merlin nodded. Very carefully, he put down the speech. Then he stood and threw his arms around Arthur’s neck. “Thank you,” he cried. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you…”
The King stiffened briefly at this sudden assault, but soon drew him close, tightening the embrace. “It’s all right,” he murmured when Merlin sobbed a little. “Besides, you’ve always known this was going to happen. Months earlier, too, if Cenred hadn’t started that damned war...”
Merlin pulled back to rub a hand over his wet cheeks. “Doesn’t make it any less special,” he sniffed.
“It needed to be done,” Arthur replied, his voice turning a little gruff, as it always did when tears were involved and he felt completely out of his depth. Merlin knew this sort of thing about him these days. “The laws were wrong, so I changed them.”
“Because of a slave,” Merlin said wetly, rubbing at his face again.
“First of all, you’re not a slave,” Arthur said, very firmly and seriously, catching Merlin’s gaze until he nodded his agreement. Only when he had got it, did he add with a smug smirk, “Second, don’t overestimate your importance, Merlin. I did it because it needed to be done, not because you have such a handsome face. What sort of king would I be if I made my laws based on that?”
“Of course, sire,” Merlin said, ducking his head into a bow, feeling chastised despite of Arthur’s joking tone.
“Hey,” Arthur said at once. “None of that.” His finger appeared on Merlin’s chin, tilting it up.
Merlin gave him a shaky smile as their eyes met again. “Sorry.” Sometimes, breaking old habits was still hard.
Arthur smiled back, one of those rare warm and soft ones he only ever bestowed upon Merlin, and very few others. “Nothing to be sorry for.” More quietly, he added, “And of course, it was because of you. You were the catalyst. You’re not overestimating your importance at all. I was only teasing.”
Merlin smiled wider, then leaned in. Luckily, Arthur got his hint and met him half-way for a soft kiss.
When Merlin pulled back, he was grinning. “So, you’re saying I’m very handsome,” he said. “Handsome enough to turn the King’s head.”
“Shut up, Merlin!”
“No, please, my lord, do continue,” Merlin went on. “Tell me more about how handsome I am, I beg you—”
“Merlin!”
Merlin laughed, perhaps a little harder than the banter merited.
But he couldn't help it, knowing that by the end of the week, he would truly be free.