Chapter Text
It would have pained her to admit it to Arthur - or anyone else for that matter - but he knew how to dance with gallantry and an ease that seemed in contrast to his flippant, arrogant side.
Morgana wished for the tune to be more romantic and slow but she stepped lively and gracefully to match her unwilling partner who seemed to adapt quickly to his surroundings. It was the knight, the soldier, the warrior in him, the ability to conform to the situation he was in despite the circumstances being less than favorable. She knew they cut dazzling figures against the robust crowd and blazing torch lights, even more pronounced as couples moved a discreet distance away to afford them the center of not just the hall but also of the attention.
“Is that a smile I see, dear Arthur?” She teased as she smiled prettily, twirling and stepping in time to the music, clapping her hands together. “I would not dare to say you may be enjoying yourself with something not involving a sword.”
“The company is not entirely unkind,” he admitted, “though these rows are meant to wear us out.”
“Then allow me to change the tune.”
She broke abruptly from their dancing, giving Arthur a reprieve to stand there like a self-conscious oaf. Any fear of him deserting her to sulk back at the table was laid to rest when she glanced back as she made her way to the minstrels and noticed he was staring after her.
“Good gentleman, I ask you to have mercy on us and slow things down?”
She smiled prettily, charming the group of men instantly as they immediately acquiesced to her request. Thankfully they started in a romantic tune, slow and melodic and undoubtedly meant for a courtly dance. Many of the guests returned to their seats but Morgana did not give Arthur a chance to escape. Supple arms outstretched, she held her head high and smiled her most beguiling smirk, raising an eyebrow. She knew Arthur would not refuse a challenge from her, not even when it came to dancing. He was well versed if not exactly enthusiastic; he was a Prince, after all, and this was just another duty he had to master. He smiled back, bowing his head slightly while offering his hand.
Slower dancing meant she could touch, move closer, talk softer, and she slipped her hand in his. The warmth, the heat seemed to sink instantly into her skin, just as it has every time he touched her since he had found her. Palm to palm now, they began the circling steps; his other arm behind his back, hers crooked to rest her other hand on her hip. It was a far cry from the sensual, free dances she witnessed and participated in while she was away; Cenred’s court was truly a licentious one. When she was not training alone with Morgause, her half-sister used Cenred’s gloomy castle for more seductive lessons; unfortunately in Uther’s court everyone was in the constraints of decorum. Well, at least outwardly. What happened in the darkened corridors and in the chambers of the guests or the hay of a stable was a different matter.
Hypocrites, all of them.
Even as the polite dance allowed for limited sensuality, Morgana was still determined to use this opportunity to lure Arthur to her a little more. Easily she was the most beautiful lady here, and she did not miss the spark in Arthur’s eyes as he looked only at her. Their dance before rendered him distracted, detached, even as he would glance down her body before scanning the hall for Gwen, no doubt. Now, she had his full attention.
“Did you dance this song while I was held captive?” She kept her tone low, throaty. “You aren’t missing a step.” Indeed, as they switched direction and changed palms, he kept in perfect motion.
“I haven’t danced since you were gone, Morgana. There was no need for it. And there’s no need for your flattery.”
“But I thought Arthur Pendragon thrived on flattery - “ She twirled around, only to be caught and lifted by strong hands at her narrowed waist. Through the thin silk of her gown it felt like fire searing down her hips into her thighs. He set her down, one hand clasping palm-to-palm once again, but one hand staying on her waist. A grip more firm than what was necessary - “and don’t tell me Uther didn’t push some noble girl on you as a prospective bride -”
“Not while you were away.” His voice was no longer bored or jocular, but terse. “When would I have had time to play and dance with matchmaking when I was scouring the lands looking for you? Risking my life meant no time for courtly love.”
“Please Arthur, don’t be so sour. This night was meant to celebrate, not meant for a prince to be so pouty. If you don’t stop it, I shall find myself a more congenial partner.”
“Oh?” His eyebrow lifted and he smirked as he spun her around. He was a divine dancer, not really surprising. Watching him in fight practice or in tournaments, or even when walking, he moved with an assured yet graceful air. It was only natural it would spill over to other pursuits. “And what better partner would you even find?”
“Still as pompous as ever,” she chided. “ I know a great many men here who would be more than honored to dance with a Lady, and the King’s Ward, no less. They surely wouldn’t act as if it were the worst imposition.”
“Admit it, Morgana, you would not have as much fun dancing with another man. I mean, come on, you had to beg Father to have me dance with you. I’d say there is no being pompous about it. You didn’t want anyone else. You wanted me.”
He had her there and Morgana smarted inwardly while she held her sweet face. He could not know the real reason for wanting him to dance with her but he knew the truth just the same. Ever since they were younger, giving Arthur the upper hand in anything meant having to suffer through his intolerable gloating. The times she had beaten him were truly the most satisfying in her life, even though later he always denied she bested him or made excuses why she won. At least with Arthur she knew he wouldn’t just let her win on account of her being female, or a highborn lady. When she won it was always fair and square. He never made it easy on her. Never.
“Tell me, Arthur, how do you walk around with such a huge ego to weigh you down? Perhaps I should dance with someone who knows how to treat a lady. It seems you have forgotten how, with your… preference for being in the company of servants.”
She meant to enchant him, draw him in and enthrall him, but instead her barely-checked temper made her tongue sharp. Her statement could have meant how Merlin always seemed to shadow him so he has now lost his touch in dealing with highborns, but of course Arthur would see it as a jibe against Gwen and yes, it was what she meant anyway. Still, instead of looking guilty or contrite as she put him in his place, he instead twirled her around and pulled her flush against him. It was the closest she had ever been since riding on his horse returning to Camelot and it momentarily caught her by surprise.
“In that gown you are less a lady than you think,” he muttered against her temple. She barely had time to relish the close contact before he stepped back to clasp hands in time to the song. Flames rushed rampant through her whole being but now was not the time to swoon like so many of his adorning female admirers. Instead, she broke the measure to grasp his neck and pull his head down so she could tipoe up and whisper in his ear.
“Then you will not mind my very unladylike behavior.”
She felt him shiver a little before she forcibly shoved him away, pivoting around, scanning the hall for only a heartbeat before calling out.
“Sir Leon!”
Most of the dancing couples faltered even as the music played on but Morgana, not giving Arthur a second glance even as her body hummed with his touch, made her way over to the confused knight, who had been sitting slumped over enjoying a cup of wine while chatting with other the knights. He had risen when Morgana called out to him, a little gangly and uneven in his surprise. Tall, slim, with tousled ginger hair, he was one of the most trusted and loved of the Knights Of Camelot. Arthur liked him a great deal and respected him, no doubt increased by the fact that he had been a childhood friend of Gwen’s while her mother had been a maid in his household.
Morgana smiled and offered her hand as Sir Leon bowed.
“Please dance with me. My… former partner has become such a bore.”
“As… as you wish, my Lady.”
It was sweet balm to her pride to see the knight so flustered and a little in awe as he gallantly offered his arm. He was taller than Arthur and far more respectful as they made their way to the middle of the floor, where Arthur was no longer standing dumbfounded. He had stalked his way back to his seat next to his father, barking for more wine from a scurrying Merlin. Morgana smiled, laughed, complemented Leon even though he was a barely passable dancer, though admittedly he excelled at the lifting and twirling. Every time he cautiously touched her on her waist she stole glances over to Arthur, who scowled darker and darker each time she was spun around and gulped heavily from his cup. Even when he was obscured by the moving crowd she could feel his irritation and she reveled in it, her gaiety increasing when the particular dance called for the constant changing of partners, weaving in and out of a circle. Each pair of hands that passed fleetingly through hers felt cool against her touch in sharp contrast to the exciting sensation of Arthur’s, which she found herself longing for even more through the bevy of guests.
She kept Leon on as a partner through three more dances, and then begged him to take her outside for fresh air on a break, making sure Arthur would see her leave. Watch her he did as she deliberately passed by the head of the tables and caught his glower while he clutched his goblet in a death grip. He seemed more impossibly handsome while he brooded, even though Morgana would never admit it to him.
Sir Leon was polite and respectful company but her mind wandered as they strolled through the gardens in the enclosed rear courtyard of the castle. It was so lovely on a beautiful night but completely wasted in its air of romanticism on a respected knight who would not dare to do more than offer an arm to escort her around as his esteemed Lady. There was no danger of her honor being compromised as others had the same idea of enjoying the breezy night so they were not alone, but Sir Leon still seemed so nervous to be playing the temporary suitor. She inquired after his mother who was not well enough to attend and this seemed to place him at ease as he chatted amicably about his home. He did have a soothing voice and perhaps on some other occasion she would have been content to carry on an enjoyable conversation with him but Morgana’s thoughts were of nothing but Arthur. It was as if his hands still burned at her waist and his lips still breathed at her temple -
“My Lady, I apologize. You’re shivering.”
Sir Leon hastily shrugged off his knight’s cloak and draped it around her shoulders. She offered a sweet thank you and he coughed as if embarrassed.
“I suppose I should find Gwen. She has my stole.” It was a polite way to suggest they return to the banquet. She was sure they had spent enough time away for Arthur to think about her absence. Unless he was fixated on Gwen… she had not considered that.
Sir Leon bowed and offered his arm again and they returned leisurely to the great Hall. Although it was customary, Sir Leon’s deferential bow and chaste kiss to her hand appealed to her vanity as she nodded watching him walk away, not forgetting she still wore his cloak as she flounced over to Uther,who who was grinning up at her lovingly as he then stood while she took her seat and Arthur, who stood as curt as possible and flopped back down, his eyes narrowing. Innocently she situated the red garment around her and kept it on despite becoming quickly warm.
“My dear, you were gone almost too long to be proper. The guests have abandoned dancing. How could they not after you left? I doubt there is a better dancer in all of Camelot.”
“My partner made it seem so.” That brought a smirk to Arthur’s face as he took a swig of his wine. She paused for effect.”Sir Leon dances very well for such a tall, lanky man.”
“Merlin!” The grin had faded as he barked, bringing the poor servant to his side.
“Sire?”
“My cup is empty.”
“Sire, you - are you sure you want -”
“I’ve not had nearly enough to listen to Lady Morgana extol the virtues of one of Camelot’s most trusted knights.”
Uther’s brows furrowed.
“A servant does not question his prince,” he snapped, eliciting a bow and apology from Merlin while Morgana’s stomach tightened with resentment and hate. True, she cannot forgive Merlin for her poisoning or for how he seemed to worm his way into Arthur’s good graces, but her distaste for her foster-father outweighed any other feelings.
“I am not that far gone, Father. I can hold my spirits better than you.”
Morgana darted her eyes over to Arthur as he loosened the ties on his doublet. He ignored Merlin pouring the wine and instead scanned the quieting crowd. Indeed, there was a lull since the music had stopped and now only the hums of conversation and an occasional drunken outburst filled the room. There would be no more of an opportunity for her tonight to work any magic - rather, lack of - on Arthur. Inwardly she cursed his insufferable arrogance and also his damned devotion to her servant. She knew he was searching for Gwen with his eyes and it hurt her pride and for a moment uncertainty flooded her but then she reminded herself of who she was; a priestess, a beautiful and young and desired lady with all of the kingdom lying at her feet waiting to be freed from the oppression and persecution that Uther doled out in spades. Perhaps she should have followed through on Morgause’s plans; by now she and Morgause could be ruling Camelot. Yet what of Arthur? And what of the loyalty of their subjects? The Knights Of Camelot would refuse to serve a Queen that took by force and denied Arthur his right. Or was her rationale just a cover, a ruse, something to disguise her stronger desire to be not just Queen, but Arthur’s Queen?
“My Lord, I wish to retire.” She stood gracefully but suddenly, and Uther looked up at her with genuine concern. With repulsion well hidden she placed a slender hand on his shoulder. “I am simply exhausted from too much dancing. This was a wonderful evening.”
“Ah as you wish. I am happy you found the entertainment to your liking. I can never make up for the time you were away from us, Morgana, but I hope this night was memorable.”
“Good evening, my Lord.” She leaned down to kiss Uther’s wrinkling cheek before giving his son a curt nod. “Arthur.”
“My Lady.” Arthur cleared his throat trying his best not to look at her as he downed the contents of his cup.
She held her head high as she swept out of the Great Hall clutching Sir Leon’s cloak to her, resisting the urge to glance back to see if she still held Arthur’s captive gaze.
********************
Morgana stopped just outside the door to viciously wipe her lips of the feel of Uther’s skin. She didn’t care that there were guards and guests scattered in the hall who might have seen it. Indeed, she received a few looks, probably because she was donning a Knight Of Camelot’s cloak, but after the glances she received nods and curtseys as befitted her station as she made her way down the hall and away from the revelries, up the staircase and down another narrowing corridor that led to her rooms. It was dark and empty, so quiet in contrast to what was happening below. She really wasn’t ready for bed just yet and paused before an arched window overlooking the gardens she walked in with Sir Leon. The glass was not as translucent as her windows but she could still see the moonlight shining; it was full moon tonight. She felt a pang, an almost homesickness for Morgause and the castle ruins where they lived and she trained. Full moons meant more power; it also meant clarity, completion, and rewards. She remembers well the last full moon when she and Morgause were at Essetir and the awakening she experienced there with the knowledge she was ready to bring down Uther and his tyrannical rule -
Inadvertently she shivered and drew Sir Leon’s cloak in closer to her. The weather was changing almost instantly and the winds were gaining strength while the moonlight dimmed. There would be rain tonight, perhaps a storm. She leaned into the windowsill and rested her forehead on the pane of braised glass. She could feel the breeze as if she were actually outside in the gardens and part of her longed to run out of the castle, leave it all behind, but she was bound here by her mission, her duty to protect those of her kind no matter what the cost to her or those around her -
“Still in Sir Leon’s cloak, I see. Though, it is rather long for you.”
Startled, she turned to face Arthur in the poorly lit corridor. The dim torches danced flickers of light on his impossibly handsome face as he stealthily approached her, his swagger marred by a slight swaying while his hand rubbed the back of his neck. Her chill dissipated.
She tossed her head.
“Yes, I mean to seek him out to return it -”
“Ah, a clandestine meeting in the shadows of an alcove? Fie, Morgana, you should know better. You wouldn’t want your girlish reputation ruined by idle gossip.” His words were slightly slurred and she knew he had far too much to drink.
“As if being held captive for so long was not enough to destroy any notions of my virtue or propriety,” she retorted. “I care not for rumors. Sir Leon is nothing if not honorable, and more pleasing company than a sulking boy. Really, Arthur, you should try to enjoy yourself more often and not act like a jealous suitor every time I show interest in another man. It is very unbecoming of a Prince Of Camelot.”
“Jealous? Me? Don’t make me laugh.” He strutted over to plunk his bottom on the sill next to her and crossed his arms, giving the appearance of casually lounging even though she could feel the tension radiating from his whole body.
“Why are you here, Arthur? Are you lost?” His rooms were down the other hall and there was no need for him to be in her wing.
“Of course I’m not lost. -”
“No, just drunk.”
“Not drunk enough,” he muttered. “Father’s festivities leave me wishing there was a war or mission so I could be excused from attending. Besides, I wanted to make sure you weren’t putting poor Leon under your spell.”
Her breath caught as it always did when anyone mentioned magic around her, even in jest. Always afraid, always so terrified someone would see guilt on her face telling the world she was one of the detested -
“Oh Arthur, do be serious. You truly have had too much to drink.“
“So what of it? You are having too much fun with the… honorable Sir Leon to notice. Besides, it’s true.” His words were quiet and struck terror in her heart even as she knew he did not mean them to be serious. “The way you look tonight, the way you danced and had to have all eyes on you. Dressing in a gown that no true lady would ever have dared to wear. Vanity is not becoming in a Lady, you know.”
“Yet it suits a man?”
“I’ve changed, Morgana. You just refuse to see it. I am not who I was a year ago.” He leaned his head back against the window but did not break his gaze from her. She could see his throat constricting in his arched neck. With his doublet undone and his shirt untied from the first few eyelets, he was the picture of a casual figure as he looped his thumbs into his dark brown leather belt. Only the sharpness in his deep blue eyes and the muscle in his cheek gave his tension away. “Everything has changed since the night you disappeared without a trace. You, most of all.”
“I suppose a year in captivity would do that to someone,” she retorted, his statement making her nervous. Part of her deception was to remain the Morgana everyone knew and loved so as to not arouse suspicion, and if someone as oblivious as Arthur noticed a change…
“No, it’s more than that. Since I brought you home you have been seeking me out, spending time with me if I ever have a moment to spare. It isn’t like before. You used to challenge me, goad me into doing the right and just thing, there was so much fire in you but it was for the greater good of everything. You made me feel like a man, not a boy. Even our arguments and jibes - now it feels different. Now, even our playful banter seems… it seems… wrong.”
“What?” Her hand flew up to fidget with the clasp on Sir Leon’s cloak. It seemed to suddenly constrict her. “Arthur, you don’t know - “
“I do know.” He stood and crossed his arms in front of him and a smirk formed. “It’s obvious. You want me.”
“Oh, do be serious! You truly are drunk! I am going to call for Merlin to put you to bed and then Gaius can prepare a healing draught to help with your headache in the morning -”
“Morgana, just admit it. If you just admit it, I’ll only hold your feet to the fire for a little while.” His mouth pursed as he looked up and off to the side, tilting his head. “Well, maybe longer than a little while.”
“You are being a ridiculous prat!” This wasn’t the way she wanted things to go; not at all. He wasn’t supposed to be taking the idea of her as an amusement and he certainly wasn’t supposed to suspect anything was amiss.
“Really?” He stalked forward a few steps and reached out to touch the lining of Leon’s cloak. Her hand clutched the fastener even harder. “Our dance, the dress, wearing the bracelet I gave you as a gift, abandoning me on the floor in front of everyone to take up with one of my knights hoping to render me insane with jealousy. Do you think I am ignorant of women and their ways? I am not.”
“Oh no, Arthur, I do not think you are ignorant of women. Of what a Lady desires, yes, in that you are as dense as Uther’s fool... but you know all too well the needs of serving wenches.”
“What did you say?” The shock and then guilt spread over his face and she hated to admit how much she relished it, along with letting out a little hurt pride.
“I think you heard me perfectly clear. I doubt the wine was poured into your ears. My maid is more to your level, is she not? What a challenge that must have been to woo her into your bed! I understand it, of course. No effort needed to win such affections -”
“Gwen is virtuous - “
“So it is Gwen! My own servant. Well, now I know how you’vechanged since I’ve been gone. Chasing the skirts of a commoner and making a fool of yourself. Yes, you are surely a changed man, Arthur. I wonder what Uther would think of it. I bid you good evening -”
She mock-curtsied and side-stepped him to leave but he surprised her by grabbing her arm. The heat burned through the cloak and she did not want to disengage his hand even as she felt her vanity smarting.
“You can not tell Father. It doesn’t matter anyway,” he muttered. “It’s over. Ever since you’ve been back, it’s been over. Ever since I - “ he faltered, his grip weakening, his eyes searching her face while his brows furrowed. His pupils seemed to dilate and the torches teased a reflected fire there - and suddenly Morgana had a brief, searing vision: a crowned Arthur with armor of glowing silver, splintered, shattered, red flowing like poured wine from the purest of colors -
“Arthur,” she whispered, momentarily dazed as she caught her breath, her arm slackening under his hold.
He must have mistook her reaction to The Sight as breathless ardor because as her vision blurred with pieces of armor falling from her golden King, she found him pushing her up against the stone wall, his hands reaching up to cup her face before his lips crashed down into hers in a fierce yet stumbling kiss, awkward only in that first second of melding. His lips were hard but warm and she gasped into his demanding mouth but did not fend him off. No, she did not want to refuse such a feeling as his body shoved into hers, pinning with no chance of escape. His previous taunts of her wanting him made her slam her palms against the stone to prevent from embracing him, the cool surface keeping her grounded even as the fire ripped through her body and threatened to buckle her knees. His kiss was merciless but skilled and she wondered if he ever kissed Gwen - or any other - like this. He was all heavy of breath as she gave him the small permission of moving as he desired, attempting to not give any credence to her inner turmoil.
Everything was blurring, dark, heady, as strong as a good flask of wine and she wasn’t sure when his trembling hands roughly unhooked the clasp of his knight’s cloak so that it was easily dropped to the floor, but she knew the moment his lips left hers to travel down her neck, biting nips into her exposed shoulder just enough to make her bite her own lip to prevent any affirmative whimper or moan escape. Maybe her hands carded through his silky golden strands, maybe she arched into him as much as she could, did it truly matter? She has never felt so in tune with her own body, never felt this intimacy with another man, and she couldn’t help but squeak out a tiny exclamation when teeth and mouth explored her breasts, wetting the fine thin silk of her gown. It was as if there was no barrier at all -
Arthur’s head jerked up and she met his gaze even as she didn’t want to. He had the nerve to smile licentiously even though his breathing was labored with passion and want. Never mind how her chest rose and fell rapidly or how she could feel the evidence of her own desire between her legs.
“What was that, my Lady Morgana?” His voice was low, thick, sensual. She had never heard him like this and she swallowed hard. “Did you mean to speak? To tell me you want me, perhaps?”
He was beyond all stomaching!
“The only thing I want is for you to leave,” she managed to mutter, amazed at how normal her voice sounded.
“Is that so?” He leaned in, seemingly towering over her, his body against hers. She could feel through his breeches how he wanted her, and she wanted to make mention of it to embarrass him, but she did not get the chance. His breath was on her face, smelling oddly sweet of wine. He was close enough to kiss her but instead he smirked, refusing to stop staring at her as he lowered his hand downward between them.
Morgana thanked all the gods and the goddesses in existence for being tucked off to the side in a small alcove as she could not imagine a wandering guard or servant or guest happening upon them for what was happening. Did Athur’s hand truly cup her womanhood as if there were no cloth separating her skin from his palm? Had he not been supporting her with his body she would have collapsed. She was thankful for the semi-darkness as she blushed furiously as he discovered her bold decision she had made when donning her gown for the evening. He let out a low guttural grunt of surprise.
“Why Morgana, you are far more wicked than any Lady I have known. Parading around the crowd with no underthings on.” His breath became heavier. “I guess this makes it easier. Easier to see if you really do want me.”
Before she could retort or push his hand way - if she had even wanted to - his lips sought hers again and it was more demanding, more uncaring and accompanied by tongue and teeth while both hands scrambled madly to push up her long skirt, holding the bunched up flimsy fabric with one hand while heated fingers sought out her wetness with the other. It set her mind reeling, her head blazing with a sensation foreign to her: unbridled lust. All pretenses ebbed away as he breached her, slipping two long digits inside, the movement emitting sounds of her obvious want of him. Slick, sticky, and exposed, Morgana could not find it in her to be ashamed. Instead, she adjusted to make it easier for him to go deeper, jutting her hips forward to encourage him to move, while giving back each bite to the lip and gripping his neck so tightly she feared she might be hurting him.
He started to laugh in triumph but stopped when her own hand slipped between them to smooth over his erection. He could not fault her when he was just as wanting as she, could he?
He moved his head to pant in her ear and she turned her head to the side, the cool stone wall doing nothing to assuage the flush in her cheeks.
"I've found you out. Your cunt is as wet on my fingers as -" he faltered and bit her earlobe instead. No doubt either too impassioned or tipsy to think of an allegory but she nearly buckled anyway just from the way he actually said cunt.
He wasn't drunk enough to not detect her reaction.
“Do you want it, Morgana? My - ah, my cock?” Her toes curled at that and she screwed her eyes shut tightly while her hands moved away. She did not want to acknowledge how shocked and yet aroused she was at his uncharacteristic talk. She thinks her action might have made him frustrated, maybe angry even, because she no longer had to move her hips to encourage him to finger her. He did so with a furious abandon, twisting and sliding and thrusting, his palm soon slapping madly against her folds, creating echoes of flesh on flesh mixed with her own little moans in an empty corridor, and she felt it then, the climbing to a climax. He somehow knew she was fighting for the release to wash over her as he lunged down to bite into her neck just above the golden collar line of her dress, even as his jagged words muffled into her skin.
“You’re going to cum for me, aren’t you? You will, because you want this, don’t you Morgana, you want me… cum for me -”
The knowledge that it was Arthur sputtering out husky demands that she peak for him made it that more intoxicating. Always with him there was a desire to do the opposite of his wishes just to defy and vex him but in this her body and mind had no other will than to bend to his. It shouldn’t be this way, a tawdry tryst just steps away from her chambers where she had her skirts hiked to welcome pleasures from the Prince of Camelot’s persistent kisses and hands. It was supposed to be her bending him to her will, her need. He was to be her puppet King to his powerful Queen. This was a different Arthur, a stranger inhabiting his skin, and she both loved and feared the change.
Even as her legs tensed in anticipation she pressed her cheek harder into the wall, desperate to delay her orgasm, maybe determined not to let it happen but at the same time she chased it; but perhaps not looking at him would defeat his ego but she could never imagine another in his place, try as she might.
Arthur seemed to know what she was attempting to do as his idle hand dropped her skirts to turn her head to face him, She refused to open her eyes but he kissed her soundly with a solid grip to her chin and Morgana responded with the same furious hunger; her hands grappling on his broad shoulders, tasting his mouth as her thighs squeezed together. It was if her whole being insisted on hold him in whatever thrall it could as his rough fingers kept their tireless rhythm, both hurting her and hurtling her towards the certain ecstasy -
He shoved her away, yanking his fingers from her warmth so abruptly she stood immobile, shocked, confused, as he swept down to retrieve Sir Leon’s cloak, pivot around, and wipe his mouth before stepping out into the corridor.
“Guinevere.”
Even in her dazed lust, Morgana managed to smooth out her gown and hair before her servant came within view even as her body screamed out for a climax. Gingerly she tiptoed out from the shadows to stand by the window as if nothing was amiss while regulating her breathing. A faint amusement surfaced as she noticed Arthur holding the resplendent cloak in front of him, hiding the painfully obvious bulge in his trousers.
“My Lord, my Lady.” A quick curtsy as Gwen’s eyes flitted from one to the other. “Forgive me, but I was searching for you, Lady Morgana. You had left this in the Great Hall.” To affirm, she held up the wrap.
“Thank you, Gwen.” Morgana managed a gentle smile. “ I guess I must have forgotten it since I had borrowed Sir Leon’s far more comfortable cloak. Which,” she added,”Arthur came after me to retrieve for him. So silly of me. At least Arthur remembered.”
“Um, yes, I -” He faltered while staring at Gwen. The longing coupled with resentment in his eyes was unmistakable. Something like fire struck her heart. Whatever he did with her in the alcove just moments before, it was obvious his affections still lay with her servant. She had been a plaything, a distraction from his pain of Gwen’s apparent detachment from him, just some female to use to replace who he truly wanted. How could she have thought he wanted her for herself?
“Gwen, would you be so kind as to return it to Sir Leon, along with a message? Please let him know I enjoyed his company tonight and would very much like him to accompany me in the gardens again, when time permits.” She reached out to take her own wrap while Arthur begrudgingly handed over the clothing to Gwen before tugging down his tunic at a feeble attempt to use it as a shield. It didn’t matter anyway as Gwen smiled at Morgana and paid him no mind. The spell was still quite intact.
“I think he will be pleased, my Lady.”
“Oh, and find Merlin, let him know Arthur is drunk and in need of sleep.”
“I can manage on my own, thank you.” Arthur was sullen again, quite the contrast to the naughty lothario he seemed to have been with her. “Good evening, Guinevere.”
Indignation swelled in her even though she was sodden between her legs and still very much humming with passion. He deliberately left her out of the goodbye as he stalked off in the other direction towards his own chambers. The insult was no doubt meant to sting, and it did.
“I am retiring, Gwen. I can manage undressing myself. Please give my regards to Uther. The dancing quite wore me out. You can go home.”
“Yes, my Lady. Have a good rest.” Gwen curtsied prettily before turning and gracefully retreating. Soft of voice and step, her curly hair glistening as she walked by the torches, Morgana could see how Arthur had fallen for the sweet girl but it did not make it hurt any less.
As she made her way into her chambers and bolted the door from the inside, she briefly considered stealing out of the castle to visit Morgause but all her thoughts were colored by Arthur and his touch. Damn Gwen. If she had not interrupted, he would have easily given her the most shattering orgasm she ever experienced. Even now she felt her body so primed for it. There was no doubt they would do well in a marriage and it would not be one of mere convenience. From now on, Arthur could not deny there was a passion between them that had laid dormant just under the surface of all their bickering and jealousies. Even if he still pined for a servant, there was nothing to stop her from seducing him. He cared for her, had affection for her, and obviously was not adverse to her physically. There was hope. However, her vanity would not allow any competition for his heart… or his body.
Her slippers were easily kicked away and her gown slipped off in a whisper as she sensually crawled under the silken sheets of her canopied bed. The jewels were left interwoven in her air and the bracelet from Arthur still gleamed around her wrist. She touched it reflectively before closing her eyes.
She was still so wet between her legs; tingling with the sensation of his fingers still invading her most private place. She was sore but it was a good sensation, and her hand slipped down between spread legs, her fingertips skimming through dark pubic hair to touch her folds and she gasped at how drenched and swollen she really was. Not even during Morgause’s most sensuous lessons had she been this way -
King Cenred’s castle has many rooms, usually dark and dank and in desperate need of a woman’s touch, but the ambiance of the room was lost as Morgana as Morgause presented her a chosen assistant for her training. The man in question was one of Cenred’s most accomplished soldiers, a lesser in the ranks but superior on the battlefield. He was stripped naked as Morgause instructed her how to tease and manipulate with her hands alone. It was a lesson in the art of seduction and sensuality and Morgana was an apt pupil.
It was as if her half-sister knew of her innermost desires and she found the man compelling in his beauty: tall, broad-shouldered, golden-spun hair and dark blue eyes and full, sensuous lips, muscled and in fine form. She learned quickly how to make him hard, make him want her, yet he was not to touch her. No, not until Morgause instructed him to his knees and lifted Morgana’s skirts herself. By the time he pressed his mouth to her cunt she was mystified at the dampness already there and as Morgause steadied her from behind she came for the first time, her hands fisting golden hair and dreaming, imagining, flashing what she had hoped were future visions of her heart’s desire bringing her to her peak. Even as Morgause coupled with the man with narrative, all she could so was imagine Uther’s son -
“Arthur,” she whispered, slipping fingers inside. She was more gentle than he had been but still moved quickly, bringing forth her climax so soon as she was already so primed. She imagined him above her, inside her, filling her, becoming hers completely and she did not know if it was a vision or merely an image conjured in her mind.
It was over in seconds without so much as a moan and she felt empty.
Even so, she smiled as she drifted off to sleep.