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“You must have a bedwarmer, Arthur, and that is all there is to it.” Uther Pendragon glared from over his cup of mead, which he then drained with a quick nod of his head. “We will send for one of the village boys, someone from the country. That sort is warmer, you see—they’re bred to be.”

Across the table, Arthur met his father’s stare levelly. He had known this was coming. Every nobleman and woman had a bedwarmer after their thirteenth winter until they were married, and sometimes even longer. Custom decreed it was so young men and women would remain warm through the bitter nights once they’d left their nursery mates behind, but Arthur knew it was intended to prohibit the birthing of bastards. For the past four winters, he’d held his father off, not wanting to invite some strange boy into his bed. This year, however, his usual arguments didn’t seem to be working. It was late November, and already the ground had begun to frost. His father met each of his protests with a counter-move, and his drinking only increased his inflexibility.

“It will not do, not at all,” said Uther. He shook his head and waved for another fill of mead. One of the servants stepped forward to pour. “You are seventeen years of age. I will send Leon tomorrow to find someone appropriate.”

Arthur grimaced.

“Oh, come now. I will make sure he is not ill formed. Leon will see to it. He has had much practice in selecting warmers for me.”

“Yes, father,” Arthur said darkly. He did not wish to hear any more of the boys—sometimes two or three at a time—who warmed his father’s nights.

“That’s a good lad.”

With a resigned sigh, Arthur took himself to bed—alone, perhaps for the last time.

When nothing more was said of the bedwarmer the next day or the next, Arthur dared to grow optimistic. Perhaps his father had heard his objections after all and decided to honour them. He soon found his hope misplaced. On the third day, after his manservant George had dressed him and brought him his breakfast, he was called down to an audience with his father.

The boy was Arthur’s height, all toothy grin and huge, flapping ears. He stood gawping at Arthur with his hand thrust out, as though Arthur would shake the hand of a mere servant. Arthur nearly laughed, but kept from doing so by digging his fingernails into his palm. His father would reprimand him if he laughed, and he did not want to be corrected in front of this ridiculous boy.

“Merlin,” said the boy, still holding out his hand. He had a deep, almost pretty voice. It took Arthur aback. “My name is Merlin. And you’re the prince. Prince Arthur of Camelot.”

“Very good, Merlin,” Arthur said, rolling his eyes. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Sorry. I’m only nervous. It’s not every day a person gets kidnapped from his village to spend months in a stranger’s bed without recompense.” He gave up waiting for a handshake and thrust both fists into the pockets of his baggy trousers. From the tone of his voice, Arthur got the feeling that Merlin wasn’t exactly thrilled about their arrangement either. He didn’t like the idea of this boy being taken from his home against his will.

“Oh, you’ll be paid,” said Uther from his throne. “You’ll be fed and clothed while you’re here, as all the warmers in the castle are. And you will have a year’s provision of wheat for yourself and your mother, in Ealdor. That’s where you’re from, is it not, boy?”

Merlin nodded but didn’t look at the king. He blinked slowly, focusing his blue eyes on the ground, near Arthur’s feet.

“And how old are you?” asked his father.

“Seventeen.”

His father cocked his head, thoughtful. “Mmm, a ripe age. And you are untouched?”

Merlin’s face flamed, and Arthur felt heat rise to his own cheeks in sympathy. “Y-yes.”

“Good, very good indeed." His father arched an appraising eyebrow. "Now you boys run along and get acquainted. I have more important matters to attend to.”

Arthur turned on his heel and walked quickly away, feeling the curious eyes of his father’s knights on him. A couple gave soft whistles—not meant to be offensive, but to congratulate Arthur on his conquest. He ignored them. If they found this gangly boy so pleasant, they were welcome to him. It was bad enough the entire court thought they were about to bed each other.

Merlin trailed behind him without speaking. When they came to the stairs that led to Arthur’s chambers, Arthur whirled around.

“Why are you following me? Go find something else to do.”

“What should I do? I don’t know the castle or anyone here.”

“I don’t care. Surely there are other servants you can bother. You see, Merlin, I’m a prince, and I have duties just like my father, and I don’t have time to play nursemaid to you.”

Merlin straightened up. His face had gone very pale. “Very well, Sire. I understand my place.”

There was something in his eyes that made Arthur’s gut twist with remorse at his harshness. It was too late to counter it, though. With a curt nod of his head, he dismissed Merlin and went looking for George, who would fit him with armour for sparring practice.

Arthur stayed late out of doors, only returning to his rooms after dark. George had set him up with a warm bath, and Merlin was nowhere to be seen. After he’d washed himself and dressed, he sipped a flagon of wine by the fire, trying hard not to think about the night to come.

He had gone over his meeting with Merlin again and again, unable to account for either his anger or the uncomfortable feelings Merlin’s hurt response had elicited within him.

Would Merlin touch him? Though he was an innocent, there was no doubt in Arthur’s mind he had been instructed regarding his duties, if not from Leon than certainly by the other royal bedwarmers, whom he would have inevitably met by now.

What would he do if Merlin touched him? His stomach fluttered anxiously.

He remembered what Merlin had said about being taken away from his village—no, kidnapped away. Arthur had no interest in receiving pleasure from someone who had been forced away from his home. Perhaps that was why he so disliked this custom. His father’s ward, Morgana, had her own bedwarmer, a girl named Gwen. They seemed to enjoy one another’s company even in the summer months. He had seen the boys that warmed his father’s bed often enough. Some of them had sleepy, flirtatious eyes and looked as though they fed on the sort of pleasures they provided. Others, skittish creatures who slunk around the castle trying to avoid notice, seemed to live in fear of the nights ahead.

In any case, he did not wish to slake his lusts with a boy. He liked girls. He liked their softness, their full breasts, and the promise waiting underneath their skirts. For his seventeenth birthday, some of the younger knights had helped him sneak from his rooms to the tavern in the village. There, he had spent a night with one of the whores, a buxom redhead named Lucy. She had touched his prick and let him nuzzle and fondle her breasts, and then she had climbed upon him and—oh! Arthur felt his member begin to stiffen at the memory of her clinging, wet heat. Since then, he had not indulged for fear of siring a bastard, but his desire sometimes caused him great discomfort. He knew he should probably go back to see Lucy or one of the other girls again soon.

It would not do to be roused when Merlin came to bed. Arthur decided, right then and there, that if Merlin tried to pursue anything he would put a stop to it. Neither of them wanted it. They would sleep together for warmth, and that was all. He was thinking too much about it, working himself up for no reason.

He shivered in his robe. Even near the fire, it was quite cool in his rooms. The wine had relaxed his limbs and made him sleepy, so he set down the cup and took himself to bed, wondering whether Merlin had run off. He was just about settled on the idea when the door to his chambers opened and Merlin came in.

“Where have you been?” Arthur asked without thinking. In the soft candlelight, Merlin looked less funny and . . . younger, perhaps. His ears didn’t stick out as much. He frowned and stood a few feet away from the bed, as though unsure.

“I thought you didn’t care what I did.”

“I don’t.” Again, Arthur spoke without considering his words.

Merlin’s eyes seemed to glisten. “I don’t know what I’m doing here,” he said helplessly. “You obviously hate me. How am I supposed to sleep here with you? I can’t . . . King Uther told me if I run away he’ll flog my mother.”

Arthur sat up, giving himself a silent curse. He had no reason to be cruel to Merlin, really. The other boy was fiddling with the long sleeves of his tunic and worrying his full lower lip with his teeth.

“Get into bed, Merlin. No one is going to flog your mother.”

“But I—”

“It’s plenty large enough for two.” Arthur gestured to the untouched expanse at his side. His ears flamed as he considered how to phrase the rest of what he wanted to say. “You will stay there, on your side, and I will stay on mine.”

Appearing to understand finally, Merlin nodded. He began to disrobe carefully, folding his meagre clothing in a pile and setting it at the side of the bed. He stood in nothing but his smallclothes, teeth chattering. He had pale skin and a jutting collarbone that suggested he had been malnourished, but was beginning to fill out. The dark patch of hair in the middle of his chest contrasted with his boyish features.

Arthur looked away. “Hurry up, the floor is freezing. And blow out the candle when you’re done.”

Merlin did so, leaving the two of them in darkness. Arthur felt the dip of the bed as Merlin climbed in. He shifted around annoyingly and made small noises as he fell asleep, almost like a kitten.

Rolling his eyes at himself, Arthur gathered up the covers around his chilled ears and turned away.

The morning dawned too soon. Arthur rolled over and blinked sleepily at the ceiling, chasing a rather pleasant dream. He might have fallen back asleep if not for a sudden waft of bone-chilling air from the other side of the room.

Merlin was dressed and leaning out of the window. Flakes of white stood out against his dark hair.

“What on earth are you doing?” Arthur asked. He flopped back against the pillows.

After pushing himself away from the window, Merlin shuttered it and turned around. He was grinning, and the tip of his nose was red.

“It’s snowing!”

“Yes, I can see that,” said Arthur. “And for future reference, I prefer it stay on the outside of the castle. It’s why we have one in the first place.”

Merlin ignored him. “I love the first snow of the season, don’t you?”

“Not really.”

“Oh, don’t be such a spoilsport,” Merlin said. “It’s really snowing hard. I doubt you’ll be able to do any sparring today.”

Arthur frowned. Merlin was probably right. “I’ll have to see.”

“Maybe you can show me around some more, then?” Merlin asked hesitantly. “That is, if you’re not too busy—”

George interrupted the thought before Merlin could finish. He had a tray of food for Arthur and a look of disdain for Merlin, who was told to go eat in the kitchens. For his part, Arthur wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or disappointed. As irritating as Merlin could be, his enthusiasm was almost . . . pleasant. It had been years since Arthur had allowed himself to be excited by such a regular thing as snow. As a child, he’d loved it. He’d loved building things in the snow—castles and fortresses, especially. Once, he’d even built a snow horse to ride.

After breakfast and a quick look outside—it was surely coming down, just as Merlin said—Arthur found himself loitering near the kitchen. He could hear the laughter and talk of the servants, and he listened closely for Merlin’s voice. A woman was speaking. Gwen.

“How will you stand it, Merlin? He can be such a . . .”

“Pompous arse?” Merlin supplied.

The other servants roared with laughter. The little bloom of eagerness in Arthur’s chest withered, and his face burned. How could he have been so foolish as to seek out a servant? To what—play with him? Gods, it was ridiculous.

He stood rooted to the spot. The laughter died down and Merlin continued.

“I don’t know why they nabbed me. The prince clearly doesn’t want me here, but I have no choice, do I?”

“You’ll have to make the best of it, I suppose,” said Gwen.

“He’s not a bad child.” Another voice. Gaius, the court physician and Uther’s long-time friend. “Arthur has the weight of the world on his shoulders. He used to be happier.”

“He’s certainly not happy now,” said Merlin. “This morning, I thought he was going to send me to the stocks just for looking out at the snow.” He snorted. “I’ve never met such an unpleasant fellow.”

After that, the topic turned to other things—the weather, the upcoming feast. Arthur tried to breathe in spite of the band of hurt encircling his chest. It was treasonous for Merlin to speak like this with other insubordinates. He could rightly send him not only to the stocks, but to the dungeons below the castle. There, he would suffer a lonely, cold winter that would surely be worse than spending his nights in Arthur’s bed.

No. He wouldn’t let this talk get the better of him. He would never let Merlin know he had overheard, or that he had been bothered in the slightest.

Intending to sneak away without being noticed, Arthur kept his eyes on the opened door. He did not notice the wet stones under his feet until it was too late. He lost his balance, and his feet slipped from under him. Pain blossomed on the back of his skull, and everything went black.

His head throbbed. He groaned and opened his eyes, shifting on the soft bed. It was dark save a few candles, which meant he had been unconscious for quite some time. He touched his hand to his temple. Someone had wrapped his head with fabric.

He wasn’t alone. Gaius rose with a concerned expression on his face. Merlin was there too, looking paler than he had been that morning. That morning, when he’d laughed at Arthur and called him a pompous arse and a disagreeable fellow.

Arthur grimaced and looked away, focusing instead on Gaius. At least the man had stood up for him.

“You gave us quite a fright, sire,” said Gaius, smiling fondly. He patted Arthur’s shoulder. “Good to see you awake.”

“How long have I been asleep?” The words felt scratchy in his throat.

“Since this morning. I gave you a tincture to help you rest, but you should probably take a bit more to sleep through the night.”

Arthur nodded. His eyes burned curiously when he caught a glimpse of Merlin, so he closed them. Gaius fussed a little, making sure his bandage wasn’t too tight, propping Arthur up so he was comfortable. He asked Merlin’s assistance with this latter task, and gave further instructions about how to care for Arthur in the night. Merlin didn’t jabber on as he usually did, answering Gaius with simple ‘yeses’ and ‘nos.’

Before Gaius left, he offered Arthur more of his calming draught, which Arthur took gladly. He didn’t want to be awake alone with Merlin, not after what had transpired. So foolish to fall clumsily like that and give himself away. He would have been furious with himself if it didn’t hurt so much.

Still, as luck would have it, Merlin didn’t seem content to let the matter rest. Once Gaius had shut the door behind him, he came close and sat on the bed next to Arthur.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“How do you think, Merlin?” Arthur groused, opening one eye. “I feel as though I’ve been skewered by a lance.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why should you be sorry? Just go to bed and leave me alone.”

Merlin bit his lip. “I’m sorry for what I said. You must have heard me. I didn’t mean it.”

“Yes, you did. It’s no matter.” He waved his hand in dismissal.

Still, Merlin pressed on. “You were looking for me, weren’t you? In the kitchens.”

“I was hungry. I was looking for food.”

“No. You’d just had breakfast. I think you were going to show me around, as I’d asked, and I . . . oh, Arthur.” Merlin shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid I was wrong about you.”

Neither of them spoke for a while after that, and the tincture began working. Arthur’s eyes dropped closed, and he was only vaguely aware of a cool hand resting against his brow. A feeling of the most pure, sweet wellbeing swept over him. He had never experienced the like before.

“Sleep now,” Merlin whispered.

When he woke again the next morning, the room was bright. His head still hurt, but not as much as it had the previous night. In fact, Arthur felt well enough to get out of bed. He swung his legs around and started to stand, but Merlin was instantly there in front of him, pressing him back down into the downy softness of his mattress.

“Ah ah ah, no you don’t. Gaius has given strict instructions—you must rest today. I’ll tend to you. Just tell me what you need.”

“I don’t feel like resting. And since when are you a doctor?”

“Since Gaius said he’d teach me.”

“Oh? When did this happen?”

Merlin had a tray of food for Arthur, probably left earlier by George. He set it atop of a pillow on Arthur’s lap. “Yesterday. I’m to be his apprentice. That is, if you don’t mind. I figured you didn’t have much use for me . . . during the day.” He flushed, the colour making his pale face almost handsome.

Arthur was hardly in a place to object. “I don’t mind.” There were dark rings under Merlin’s eyes, and his lids drooped, as though he hadn’t slept at all. Something else was there too. Guilt.

“I want to talk about what happened yesterday,” Merlin said, staring down at him.

“I don’t.”

“I know. It . . . it was horrid of me to say those things. And probably illegal. I won’t blame you if you send me to the stocks. It’s just, ever since I got here, I don’t understand what I’ve done to make you dislike me so. If you didn’t want me here—”

Arthur cut him off. “I haven’t been very fair to you. My father insisted I have a bedwarmer, as custom dictates, and I didn’t want one. I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”

“Your father?”

“He can be stubborn when he has mind to.”

“It obviously runs in the family.”

“Merlin—”

Merlin wrinkled his nose. “Sorry. I’m afraid I’m a crap servant. I’ve never been very obedient.”

“You don’t have to be obedient,” Arthur said, “but please don’t say things like that to the servants ever again.”

“I won’t.” His wide blue eyes grew very solemn. “When I saw you lying there, lifeless, I felt so horrible, I—”

Arthur raised his hand. He didn’t think he could handle any more emotion—his head was starting to throb again. “It’s okay. I’m not dead, as you see.” He gestured to himself. “Your conscience is clean.”

Merlin didn’t look convinced. He crossed his arms over his chest and gnawed his bottom lip until it was plump and red. Arthur noticed he was still wearing the same threadbare tunic he’d arrived in—with the cold weather and snow, that would have to be remedied immediately. He made a mental note to ask George for some warmer clothes.

“Is there anything else, Merlin?”

“I was hoping we could start over. Maybe . . . be friends?”

Arthur’s stomach twisted at the earnest, hopeful look on Merlin’s face. He really wasn’t very funny looking after all.

“All right. Friends.” Arthur held out his hand.

No one living remembered a winter with so much snow. The skies hung heavy and threatening with grey clouds, and each day that passed left the kingdom with increasingly impassable roads. Reports trickled in from every corner of the realm. Horses couldn’t struggle through the waist-high drifts, and peasants could barely make it to their barns to feed the animals that were too large to fit in their cottages. The frigid north wind blew straight through woollen clothes to the bones. No one in the castle went out if they could help it.

Except, of course, Merlin. He went on long walks through the snow in his new winter clothes and came home sodden and damp, smiling brilliantly. Every night he dove under the covers, shivering and happy, prattling on about Gaius doing this and the other servants doing that. He talked until he grew too tired, sometimes falling asleep midsentence. Arthur pretended to suffer these stories indignantly, but he did not mind Merlin’s chatter. It was better than falling asleep with nothing more than the howling wind for company.

Once Merlin warmed up, Arthur could feel glimmers of his heat from the other side of the bed. Sometimes he woke up in the middle of the night with an arm or leg within touching distance, but he didn’t dare make contact, instead quietly slipping back to his side before Merlin noticed.

After a week of enforced convalescence, Arthur was finally given leave to return to his normal activities. He thought he might go on one of these famous walks to see what all the fuss was about.

“Really?” Merlin said. “I thought you said you hated this weather.”

“I owe it to my people to see what they’re experiencing first hand.” Being cooped up in his rooms for days was another, less noble reason for wanting to venture out, but he didn’t mention it.

Merlin hopped on both feet excitedly while Arthur dressed and pulled on his fur-lined boots. He’d made sure Merlin had a similar pair after the first day he’d come home with his old leather ones dripping wet.

“So, where are we going that’s so interesting?” Arthur asked as they crossed the snowy courtyard and made their way down a narrow path towards the lower town. There had been a break between storms, which allowed the inhabitants to clear some of the snow, but it was still deeper than Arthur had ever seen it.

“You’ll see,” said Merlin. They continued trudging past the tavern and the market—closed for the winter—until they were at the edge of the forest. Here, under the protective branches of the trees, the snow wasn’t quite as deep.

“It’s a little further on,” said Merlin. He looked back over his shoulder for approval.

“I can take it.” Already, Arthur had begun to sweat under his thick woollen coat. He unfastened it at the throat to let in cold air. The heavy boots made walking through the snow quite an effort, but he felt more alive than he had in weeks. “Let’s go.”

They fell into conversation as they went. Over the past several days, Arthur had noticed Merlin talked an awful lot about everything but himself. He realised he knew little about Merlin’s life before his arrival in Camelot, aside from the fact he had been selected from a group of young men to serve Arthur. He found himself curious.

He wasn’t exactly sure why he should care. After all, his father always said that the lives of servants were only important insofar as they attended their betters.

But then he remembered shaking Merlin’s hand. His grip had been warm and firm, as though he was very sure he wanted to be Arthur’s friend even though Arthur had been . . . well, a bit of an arse.

“Merlin,” he said during a moment of rare silence. “What did you do before you came here?”

“What did I do?”

“Yes. What did you do. Were you apprenticed?”

Merlin raised an eyebrow. “No. I wasn’t. I helped my mother with our farm, same as most of the other boys my age.”

“Did you . . . like it there, in your village?”

“Do you like your home?” Merlin shot back. “Of course I liked it.”

Arthur puffed up, ready to defend himself—but perhaps it was a stupid question. A part of him had almost hoped Merlin would say he hadn’t liked living in Ealdor, and that he’d been thrilled to be taken to Camelot.

He wasn’t very good at this.

“It’s only that in the last couple of years, more and more raiders have come,” Merlin went on. “From Cenred’s kingdom. They steal our wheat and the smaller animals, even the horses. I hoped . . . coming here would ensure my mother had food for the winter. All of our stores were taken, you see.” He said the last bit almost apologetically, but Arthur was livid.

“You mean to tell me your family is being robbed?”

“Me and my mother. My father is dead. But it’s not just us,” said Merlin. “It’s almost everyone in Ealdor.”

Rage bubbled up within Arthur. Ealdor was considered outside the limits of Camelot, but surely someone should do something to stop this.

“I’ll speak to my father,” he said. “This cannot be allowed to continue.”

Merlin smiled sadly. He looked like he might want to believe Arthur but remained sceptical. Arthur was about to make him believe when his breath caught in his throat at the sight suddenly appearing before him.

He had almost forgotten they were on their way to anywhere at all, but now he recognized the place.

During the summer, this waterfall filled a deep pool with crystal clear water, perfect for swimming and fishing. Now, however, it had almost entirely frozen midstream on its journey down the rock face. Rivers of ice hung glimmering in the afternoon sunlight, which filtered in through barren branches. Underneath the solid crystal expanse, liquid water still trickled, carving out shapes and paths in the ice and lending the scene an even more tranquil beauty. The pool itself was unfrozen save for a thin sheet of ice along its outermost edge.

“What do you think?” Merlin asked.

“It’s like magic.”

“It is, a bit.”

It wasn’t what Arthur had expected at all. Everything was quiet save the gentle trickle of water under the ice. It moved sluggishly, like it too wanted to freeze, and its slow progress made the waterfall seem almost alive.

He was strangely touched, and he turned to Merlin, but Merlin was gone.

A cold, powdery blast hit Arthur in the back of the neck.

“Wha—” He whirled around to find a laughing Merlin bending down to scoop up another ball of snow. “I’ve been injured, you know.”

Merlin stood poised to launch another attack. “I figure your head’s too thick to really damage.”

Of course, Arthur wasn’t going to take this lying down. He swiftly avoided the second snowball and dove for cover behind the trunk of an elm. There, he gathered his own fistful of snow and fashioned it into a hard-packed weapon.

Two could play this game.

It went on for what seemed like hours but was probably only minutes. Each of them had far more misses than hits, though snowballs battered Arthur relentlessly whenever he emerged from behind his shield—it was as though there were two or three of Merlin instead of just one. He retaliated by forming a giant ball of snow and waiting quietly until Merlin came to see if he was all right.

“Arthu—”

Springing away from the tree, Arthur covered Merlin’s entire head with snow. The impact took them both down to the ground. Merlin sputtered, laughing underneath Arthur while the cold snow dripped and melted on his exposed skin. His cheeks were rosy, and the colour travelled down his neck. His eyes sparkled like ice.

“You got me,” he said, smiling.

Merlin’s lips were chapped and bitten, very pink in contrast with the white snow. His body was warm even through the layers of wool. Arthur shifted back onto his haunches and stood, feeling strange.

“Truce?” he said.

“Truce.”

He helped Merlin to his feet. “We better get back and get these wet clothes off.”

Merlin chuckled, and Arthur flushed and turned away. He hadn’t meant it like that, but the image flashed into his mind, unbidden, of how Merlin looked in his smallclothes. He pretended to fiddle with his boots and then took off at a quick pace, leaving Merlin behind.

“Don’t dawdle, Merlin,” he called over his shoulder.

Merlin hurried to catch up.

They returned to the castle laughing and freezing at just around nightfall. It had begun to snow again. Merlin went to get changed and see about something for Gaius while George manhandled Arthur into the tub, scrubbing and buffing him to shiny, clean perfection. By the time Arthur made it to dinner, Uther and Morgana were already seated at the table. His father set down his knife and fork and frowned.

“We couldn’t wait any longer to begin. Where have you been?”

“Out. I went on a walk with Merlin.”

“A walk? A walk to where, to do what?”

“To do nothing. Just to walk.” He shrugged and started tucking into the pork pie set in front of him, suddenly ravenous.

“The two of you are getting on, then?” Uther asked. “Good, good.” Arthur ignored the self-satisfied tone in his father’s voice. Morgana laughed from the other side of the table, and Arthur stuck his tongue out at her. She had teased him about not wanting a bedwarmer for years. Of course, with a girl like Gwen to attend to her, she could hardly complain.

The thought occurred to him—what did girls dotogether—and he flushed bright red. He chewed carefully, trying to pay attention to what his father was saying about the recent storms.

Did they touch each other? He couldn’t understand it. It seemed much easier with a prick—you knew where to put it, even with another boy. He had heard the knights talking. But a girl with a girl? He hardly knew what to do with them himself.

When he’d lain with Lucy, she had made sounds of pleasure, but he hadn’t known whether she really liked it or whether she had simply moaned for show. He had been too embarrassed to ask.

Had Merlin ever desired a girl? Or did he prefer men, as some bedwarmers did? His breeches tented and he wasn’t sure what had excited him—the idea of Gwen and Morgana together, or the idea of Merlin—

“Arthur,” his father demanded. “Have you listened to a word I’ve said?”

“Yes, Father.” Arthur lied. “I’m listening.” He had to do something to distract himself, say something. He remembered what Merlin had told him of Ealdor.

“Father, Merlin said his village had been raided by rogues from Cenred’s kingdom. They’re taking most of the harvest and leaving the people there to starve.”

Uther finished chewing his bite and forked more pie into his mouth. “So? What has that to do with Camelot? It’s outside our borders.”

“We can’t let an innocent town suffer if we have the power to help. There are women and children there, possibly starving.”

Morgana set down her goblet. “That’s terrible.” She looked from Arthur to his father. “Can’t we do something?”

“And what would you propose we do?” Uther asked.

“Send a band of knights there in the spring,” Arthur said. “Meet with Cenred and get him to agree to protect the town or else face trade sanctions.”

“Trade sanctions?” Uther snorted and threw down his napkin. “You are not king yet, boy. Do not act as though you understand diplomacy. Matters like these are far beyond your experience.”

Arthur lost his appetite. He returned to his rooms dragging his feet, disappointed in his father’s response about Ealdor and dreading telling Merlin. He wanted to do the right thing, but he had no power to order the knights on a mission—they, even those loyal to him, answered to the king and the king alone.

A roaring fire and a quiet room greeted him. Perhaps Merlin hadn’t returned from his visit to Gaius yet. He kicked off his boots and unlaced his tunic, and he was just about to sit down near the fire with a flagon of wine and wait for Merlin when he heard a groan from the bed.

“Merlin?”

Another groan. Arthur investigated more closely only to find Merlin under the covers, shivering, with only his head visible. His nose looked red and raw, and he stared up at Arthur, bleary eyed.

“I’m not feeling well,” he said. “It came on all of a sudden, after we got back.”

“I leave you alone for two seconds,” said Arthur, but there was no venom in his voice. He did what Gaius always did when he was ill and pressed the back of his hand to Merlin’s forehead. He was burning up. “Perhaps it was the snow, being too much in the cold.” He remembered how he’d piled snow on Merlin’s head and felt a stab of guilt.

“I’ll be okay,” said Merlin. “Gaius gave me something . . . for . . . to sleep. But I’ll go somewhere else. I don’t want to bother you.” He teeth were nearly chattering.

Arthur shook his head. “No, you’ll stay put. Can I . . . get you anything?”

“N-no.”

Merlin closed his eyes, and so Arthur climbed into his side of the bed and doused the candle. He could still feel the bed trembling with Merlin’s chills.

“Merlin?” he said. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m all right. Just a little c-cold.”

Even under all of those blankets, his fever was making him think it was cold. Arthur hadn’t been sick like that in a long time, but he remembered how miserable it could be. When he was a child, he’d been sent to sleep with his nurse when he was sick, and he had always taken comfort in her warm, soft body.

He scooted a little closer to Merlin until their shoulders touched. Merlin was certainly hot—his body felt like a banked fire. Arthur was paralysed, though, unable to make the final move until Merlin whimpered and curled around Arthur, resting his head on his shoulder.

“You’ll be warmer now,” said Arthur gruffly. He wrapped his arms around Merlin and rubbed his back in soothing circles. Merlin seemed to like it.

“T-thank you,” said Merlin, nuzzling closer. Maybe he was really delirious, Arthur thought. He tried to close his eyes to sleep, but with Merlin clinging onto him and shuddering, it was no easy task. They began to sweat where their bare skin touched, too, and the stickiness was uncomfortable, though Merlin didn’t seem to notice.

After a while, it seemed Gaius’s tincture started to work, and Merlin dozed off. His limbs slackened and his breathing evened, and Arthur didn’t want to wake him up by disentangling himself. Hair tickled Arthur’s nose. It smelled of smoke and something pleasantly sweet, and without thinking Arthur pressed his lips against the top of Merlin’s head.

The movement made Merlin murmur in his sleep, but he didn’t move away from Arthur—he clung tighter. His leg travelled up around Arthur’s, too, and rested just below his groin.

Arthur tried not to think about how it felt—tantalizing, like a delicious fruit hanging barely out of reach. He wanted Merlin to wake up and rub his leg higher or, better yet, reach down and touch him there. Even without the direct contact, his prick began to stiffen in his smallclothes.

It was even worse than at the dinner table. His prick hardened until it ached, and he couldn’t do anything about it. He certainly wasn’t going to wake Merlin up. Merlin was ill. Gods, what kind of person was he?

But there was no doubt what his body wanted. In his desperation, he even thought about using his free arm to touch himself—but no, he couldn’t do that, either. Merlin would surely find out.

After what seemed like ages, he finally willed himself soft and fell asleep.

In the morning when he woke, his smallclothes were wet.

Face flaming with embarrassment, he flung the covers back and got out of bed before Merlin noticed. Merlin, for his part, seemed completely oblivious. He groaned and stretched his pale arms overhead while Arthur disappeared behind the dressing partition.

“Arthur, I’m feeling so much better,” he called. “Still a little peaky, though. I don’t think I’ll help Gaius today.”

“That’s good.” Arthur didn’t know what else to say.

“Did you sleep all right?” More hesitant.

“Yes. I slept fine in spite of your bony knees. You need to eat more.”

“Mmm. I feel as though I could eat an entire house.”

Arthur snorted, feeling lighter. So Merlin hadn’t noticed anything amiss. They could go on as they had been—as friends, nothing more. He came around the partition with a smile on his face. “Let’s see about that house.”

While Merlin stayed in bed for the rest of the day, George fitted Arthur for a new set of clothes for the upcoming feast. He hated being poked and prodded, standing there holding his arms up until they grew tired. Once he was finished, George decided to clean Arthur’s chambers and sort his linens and wash the floor. He really was an excellent manservant, but today his solicitousness annoyed Arthur. He wanted some peace and quiet.

After George had made him sit down and lift his feet for the mop a third time, he sighed with exasperation. “My rooms are quite clean enough, George,” he said. “You’re excused for the day.”

His manservant nodded, but there was something terse in the gesture. He swept out of Arthur’s rooms with a strange look towards Arthur’s bed, where Merlin lay dozing, still recovering from his illness.

Arthur tensed. His dirty smallclothes. Surely George had found them during his cleaning and now knew . . . what, exactly? It wasn’t the first time Arthur had spent his seed during the night. Such things had happened with regularity since his thirteenth summer.

But now Merlin was here. George obviously thought they were engaging in the typical nightly rituals of a man and his bedwarmer. Or perhaps he suspected Merlin wasn’t doing his duty by his prince, thus resulting in the soiled garment. Whatever the case was, Arthur didn’t like the idea of George even considering such things. He was a servant, and it was not his place to approve or disapprove of Merlin.

“Arthur?” Merlin’s sleepy voice roused him from his thoughts. “Is George gone?”

Arthur chuckled. Obviously Merlin had been as irritated at the intrusion as he had been. “Yes, for now.”

Merlin propped himself up on the down pillows. His dark hair was dishevelled, and he wore a clean nightshirt he’d borrowed from Arthur, which was too big. The sleeves billowed as he stretched and made kittenish sounds.

“What are you doing?” Merlin asked.

“Reading.” Arthur set down his book—a Latin treatise on statecraft he’d procured from the castle library—and went over to Merlin’s side of the bed.

“I didn’t know you could read.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Of course I can. I’m not a savage.”

Instead of answering with another quip or retort, Merlin focused his eyes on the bedding. He rolled a loose string between his fingers, but he wouldn’t return Arthur’s gaze.

“Merlin,” Arthur began tentatively, “can you read?”

“A little.” Merlin yanked the string, which came free. He rolled it into a ball and tossed it onto the floor. “Not much.”

How could he have been so ignorant? Of course Merlin, as a peasant, would never have learned. For all his jabber and nonsense, Merlin was intelligent. Arthur had assumed he had the skill, and now he had embarrassed his friend. His stomach twisted. “Do you want to learn?”

“From who—you?”

“If you like. Or my old tutor Geoffrey, if you’d be more comfortable with him.”

Merlin’s forehead wrinkled. Arthur expected a rejection of his offer, but it turned out to be just a sneeze.

Still sniffling, Merlin looked up at him. “Well, it would help my work with Gaius, and . . . yes. I think I’d like that a lot.”

“All right. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

That decided, talk turned to other things, and Arthur lay down on his side of the bed, figuring he might as well get comfortable. He would have to leave his chambers for dinner, but he liked talking to Merlin, and Merlin seemed to like hearing about his life, too.

Arthur realised he had never really had a friend like Merlin. Oh, yes, he had Morgana, but she didn’t like to speak with him freely as she once had, when they were young. It was improper for him to spend time with an unwed girl anyway, even if she was his father’s ward. He thought of the knights as brothers, but they had never asked Arthur personal questions. They would have found the very idea improper. Not Merlin, though.

“Can I ask what happened to your mother?” Merlin asked.

Arthur rolled onto his side. “She died when I was born.”

“Oh. Oh,” Merlin said, seeming to understand. He shook his head sadly. “That’s horrible. I’m so sorry.”

“So am I. Sometimes I feel like . . . maybe it was my fault.”

“I used to think it was my fault my father left,” said Merlin.

“How could it be? Weren’t you just a baby?”

“Weren’t you?”

“Good point,” Arthur said. They looked at each other for a beat, and Arthur noticed they’d moved closer as they talked. He could reach out and touch Merlin if he wanted. A low tug in his belly told him he did want to, very much. He wanted to see what it would feel like to press his lips against Merlin’s.

Merlin’s hair stuck up at a funny angle. Arthur figured it wouldn’t be so objectionable to smooth it down, so he did. He let his hand linger in the soft strands. Merlin’s hair was quite thick, almost like a girl’s if it had been longer.

He realised he was petting Merlin, and Merlin was watching him, gnawing his bottom lip with his teeth.

What was he doing? His heart started hammering, and he got a queasy feeling in his stomach, almost as though he were going to be sick.

Merlin leaned closer, and Arthur closed his eyes.

A sharp knock at the door made Merlin yank back abruptly. His cheeks were flushed.

“Sire.” George came into the room without being invited. Arthur could have throttled him. “The king has asked me to ensure you are on time for dinner this evening.”

“Yes, George. I’ll be right there.”

But George didn’t leave. “The king firmly instructed that I was to return with you immediately, sire.”

Groaning, Arthur pushed himself up from the bed. Merlin had already buried himself back under the covers, perhaps to hide from George. He didn’t make a sound as Arthur sorted himself and followed his impertinent manservant out the door.

All through dinner, Arthur thought about what had happened. He was confused. Had Merlin really wanted the same thing—to kiss him? What would happen once he got back to his rooms? Maybe it had simply been a moment’s passing fancy.

His palms were sweaty as he carried a tray of food up the stairs later that night. He half-expected Merlin to be asleep, but he wasn’t. He was still lying in bed, though, and when he saw what Arthur had brought, he perked right up.

“Beef stew?” he asked, sniffing the dish. “My favourite.”

Merlin devoured the entire bowl and then sopped up the remaining sauce with a bit of crusty bread. He licked his fingers, swiping each with the pink curl of his tongue, and then raised an eyebrow at Arthur, who flushed when he realised he’d been staring.

“That was good. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Arthur took the tray and set it to the side. Somehow, he had started acting like a servant, caring for Merlin. Maybe the thought should have shamed him, but it didn’t. A bloom of warmth flushed his chest, even though the room was cold.

Still, it was awkward. Whatever had almost happened between them before the interruption seemed out of reach now. Merlin didn’t seem his usual chatty self either, and so Arthur undressed for bed, doused the candle, and slipped under the covers.

He lay rigid as a board, staring up at the darkened ceiling. Merlin didn’t seem to be asleep either. Arthur remembered the way Merlin’s cheeks had flushed, the feeling of his soft hair. The tension grew and grew until Arthur felt he might explode if one of them didn’t move closer.

The bedding shifted. Arthur held his breath. His cock had hardened as soon as he’d gotten into bed, and now it was impossible to ignore. If Merlin touched him, he would know.

Another few excruciating minutes passed. Then the bed shifted again. When Merlin’s body pressed against his, Arthur let out a gust of air. His heart thudded against his ribs, and he welcomed Merlin with opened arms, overwhelmed by the combination of fear and desire rioting inside him. They clung together, not speaking, and Arthur felt Merlin’s hard prick against his hip. As he had last night, Merlin wrapped one leg around Arthur, but this time, he moved it just so, until it was pressing against Arthur’s own arousal. They both gasped.

Merlin slid his leg up and down, until he was stroking Arthur with the movement of his thigh. Arthur hitched his hips helplessly.

Speaking might ruin everything. With a shaky hand, Arthur sought between their bodies until he held Merlin’s prick. It was hard and hot under his smallclothes, and he wanted to feel it against his skin. Merlin pushed closer, whimpering.

Somehow, by silent consent, they managed to discard their remaining clothes while still staying close under the covers. Once they were fully naked, Merlin slid on top of Arthur and kissed him, an awkward, messy movement that made their teeth clack together. His mouth was salty and wet, and Arthur surged up to taste him again.

This wasn’t anything like it had been with the whore. He had been aroused then, but this hot, irrepressible need was new and almost alarming. It fired his blood and made him groan whenever Merlin pushed down against him, like he couldn’t control his own sounds. Their cocks slid together, and wetness smeared on Arthur’s belly. He kissed Merlin again and again, and each time they got better at it, until their tongues were twining perfectly.

Arthur’s climax happened in the middle of one of those kisses, with Merlin’s hot, sinewy body moving over him. His toes curled and he shuddered, holding Merlin with both arms as Merlin’s cock slipped through the new slickness. Merlin followed soon after, tensing above him and letting out a soft cry, then whispering something Arthur couldn’t quite understand.

They rolled apart afterwards but stayed close. Arthur’s heart finally stopped thundering and his limbs grew heavy. He used his smallclothes to wipe up the seed on his stomach, no longer caring if George found the garment in the morning. Merlin cleaned himself off, too, and when he lay down again, he used Arthur’s shoulder as a pillow. Arthur didn’t mind.

The following day, Arthur waited with impatience for the sun to set. He went about his duties with a half-focused mind, wondering what Merlin was doing with Gaius. After sitting through council with his father and his advisors, he paid a visit to Geoffrey at the library to broach the possibility of tutoring Merlin, and the old man was happy to oblige. He told Arthur to send Merlin that evening after dinner for their first lesson.

Feeling satisfied with himself, he went straight to Gaius’s chambers to find Merlin and tell him the good news. He was just about to fling open the barely cracked door when the sound of a conversation inside made him pause.

His heart started to pound. The last time he’d eavesdropped had ended badly, and maybe even rightfully so. But something about Gaius’s tone chilled him. He held his breath and listened.

“—must never know.”

“But . . . I feel like I need to tell him, Gaius. I can’t keep it a secret.”

“Do you know what they do to sorcerers in Camelot, Merlin?” Gaius’s voice grew hoarse. “No, it’s far too dangerous. You must never tell Arthur you have magic.”

Arthur’s stomach plummeted to his feet.

Merlin, a sorcerer?

He thought back over all of their interactions, looking for any sign—the snowball fight came to mind. At the time, he’d thought it strange that Merlin had amassed such a ready arsenal. Perhaps he’d used magic.

Magic.

Sorcerers were evil and only used their powers for ill. His father had instilled that basic truth within him since he was a child, and he had never doubted it. There had never been any evidence to the contrary; after all, each sorcerer Arthur encountered wanted to bring ruin upon his father and the kingdom.

Merlin had lied.

“But he’ll never know who I really am.” Merlin’s dejection cut through some of Arthur’s burgeoning anger. He obviously wanted to tell Arthur the truth, but felt like he couldn’t.

“It’s the only way to keep you safe,” said Gaius.

“Arthur wouldn’t hurt me.”

“You can’t be sure, Merlin. To Arthur, you’re a servant. He’s been brought up to think of your class as expendable.”

“It’s not like that,” said Merlin, obviously miserable.

“And even if Arthur accepted you, if Uther ever found out, it would surely mean your death. He doesn’t understand magic, and he’s afraid of it. He will never change his mind. We can’t risk—”

Gaius’s reasoning struck Arthur to the core. This is what was really thought of him, of his father. Yes, Camelot's policies against magic users were harsh. His father had told Arthur they had to be, and Arthur had accepted the occasional execution as a necessary protective measure. But gentle, kind Merlin . . . how could he be evil? How could he want to harm Arthur?

Arthur flushed remembering the heat of Merlin’s body, his sweet kisses. In those moments, he had been entirely vulnerable to attack. If Merlin had wanted to hurt him, he could have done it easily and then escaped before morning.

He paused with his hand on the door, and then, steeling himself, he pushed it open.

When Gaius and Merlin turned, their faces wore twinned expressions of fear and surprise. Merlin’s eyes widened, and he looked as though he might cry.

Arthur stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “You probably shouldn’t have such conversations with the door open,” he said.

“Sire,” Gaius said, flustered. But Arthur wasn’t looking at him.

“Merlin?”

“I—”

“Is it true?” he asked.

Instead of speaking, Merlin simply nodded and then stared at the ground near his feet. His features schooled themselves into a look of resignation. Obviously he believed Gaius and thought Arthur was going to turn him in. Arthur didn’t suppose he could really blame him.

“Show me?”

“What?” Merlin’s head snapped up. Again, the emotions on his face changed, growing hopeful this time. With a pang, Arthur wondered how Merlin had survived so long with every feeling written so plainly for everyone to see.

“I heard what you said. I’m not going to tell my father. I promise you.”

The three of them stood facing each other, and Merlin looked to Gaius, as if seeking permission, before glancing back at Arthur. He seemed to be considering what to do. Finally, he raised one hand, gesturing towards a bucket of water on the floor, and his eyes flashed gold.

Arthur gasped. A tiny creature rose from the bucket. It paused several feet off the ground and then began a journey around the room, stopping in front of Arthur. Only then could Arthur discern what it was: a little fish, no longer than a thumb, swimming through the air. Merlin’s eyes changed colour again, and then the fish seemed to shimmer.

“Take it,” Merlin said.

Hardly believing what he saw, Arthur did. The fish was frozen solid and cold to the touch, but it didn’t melt. “Amazing,” he said. He wasn’t sure if he was more impressed by the object in his hand or the ease with which Merlin commanded it.

Merlin beamed with pride. He stood a little taller. “I’ve been working on that one.”

“It’s . . .wow.” Arthur turned the fish over. The level of detail was exquisite, from its minute scales and wavy fins to the curve of its frowning jaw. “But how do you know how to—”

Now Gaius spoke. “Merlin’s magic is like nothing I’ve seen before, Sire.”

“I was born with it.”

“Oh.” Still marvelling at the fish, Arthur realised what they were doing was very dangerous. If anyone else had walked in, it could have resulted in disaster for Merlin and Gaius both.

He closed his palm around the fish and it disappeared, leaving only a trace of water behind. “Merlin, you mustn’t tell anyone else. And you must be more careful. Gaius was right, if my father ever hears of this . . .” He trailed off.

“I will,” said Merlin, but he was smiling so broadly, Arthur couldn’t be cross. “I knew you wouldn’t hate me.”

“Of course I don’t hate you.” His mind turned again to the previous night and his cheeks pinked. Merlin must have noticed, for he blushed even more violently than Arthur. The colour travelled down his neck and flushed his chest.

Gaius cleared his throat. “Well. This went better than I ever expected. Arthur, I have to apologize. I was wrong about you.”

“It’s all right,” Arthur said with a shrug. “Most people are.”

Several hours later, Arthur waited for Merlin under the covers. It was late, which suggested the reading lesson with Geoffrey had gone well. Arthur was glad for that, but he was getting impatient. He wanted to see more of what Merlin could do, to learn more about what it was like to have such powers. He wanted to learn the truth about magic.

Anticipation trembled through him when Merlin entered the room.

“Arthur?” Merlin said.

“I’m here.”

Merlin hurried to the bed. His smile was radiant, if a bit nervous. “Oh, thank you,” he said.

“How was it?”

“Geoffrey says he will teach me Latin first and then maybe Greek, and I’m to practice every day.” As he undressed, he continued prattling on about the lesson. Arthur wondered at his enthusiasm. He had never had such interest in schooling as a boy, but then again, perhaps he had taken the opportunity for granted.

By the time Merlin had climbed under the covers, Arthur could barely control his excitement. He wanted to reach for Merlin, but Merlin didn’t seem to be making any moves to get closer.

They hadn’t spoken about what had happened the previous night. He had hoped things would continue, but what if Merlin didn’t want him again? By now, he realised it would be impossible for him to carry on sleeping with Merlin without touching him. His cock stood tall and wanting, not encumbered by smallclothes, which he’d taken the liberty of discarding before coming to bed.

“It’s cold.” Merlin shivered.

He reached out and tentatively grazed his hand against Merlin’s naked ribs. Merlin shivered again and made a small sound of desire. Maybe he was waiting for Arthur to take control.

He didn’t hesitate any longer. With one swift movement, he climbed atop Merlin and kissed him. Merlin embraced him with both arms and pulled him down hungrily. Their mouths met, and it took mere seconds for them to find the rhythm of the previous night. Merlin’s prick was so hard already, Arthur thought with excitement as he took it in his fist and stroked.

Merlin groaned, and Arthur stroked him again and again. He ground down as he did so, and soon they were sweating and panting together, grasping whatever parts of each other they could reach. All of Arthur’s senses were filled with Merlin—his warm smell, his rasping chest hair, his whimpers of pleasure—and he was chasing something he didn’t know how to ask for. His prick ached and his bollocks tightened. Sparks of pleasure lit up his spine whenever their cocks rubbed against each other. He sucked Merlin’s bottom lip and then dipped his head lower to bite and kiss Merlin’s neck.

“Mmm,” Merlin sighed. He gripped Arthur’s arse to urge him on, and—oh, oh— Merlin pressed into the crease, touching him there.

Merlin stroked lightly over his most private area. The ripple of pleasure the touch elicited was nothing Arthur had ever felt before. He didn’t know which way to push, whether to grind his needy cock against Merlin’s or welcome Merlin’s fingers, which were now pressing more firmly. He automatically tensed at the intrusion, but the finger was relentless, sliding in further, and Arthur gasped his surprise and started to spend, his warm seed coating their stomachs and spurting almost up to their chins.

He shuddered through the aftershocks of his release with Merlin’s finger still inside of him. Merlin seemed just as undone. He panted and writhed through his sudden climax as though he wished his cock were in that place, too.

Oh Gods. Arthur felt another spark of pleasure at the thought. He didn’t know what had come over him, but he needed something. He needed. Oh.

He flushed at the thought and rolled off of Merlin, panting. Instantly, he missed the pressure of Merlin’s finger inside him. A cloying shame lodged in his throat. He . . . had never thought he would want that.

Merlin didn’t let him get too far away, though. He snuggled close and sighed happily into Arthur’s neck.

“You’re really not mad, about the magic?”

Arthur shook his head in the darkness. He was still trying to figure out what had just happened, what the strange desire meant. “I’m really not.”

“Then you won’t mind if I use it to . . . clean up?” Merlin asked.

“No.”

Merlin’s eyes glowed. And with a sudden, cool burst of air between them, the evidence of their pleasure seemed to disappear.

“Pretty handy, that,” said Arthur. “What else can you do?”

“Oh. A lot.” He felt Merlin’s smile press against his skin. “I can’t wait to show you.”

On the night of the solstice feast, Arthur frowned into the mirror as George fussed and fretted with the stays on his new velvet coat. He was reaching the end of his patience, already having suffering being bathed and perfumed at George’s insistence. Or probably his father’s insistence. He knew his manservant was feeding the king information about Arthur’s behaviour and, by default, Merlin’s. While his father could have no objection to their nightly intimacy since he himself had insisted upon it, he would be less pleased to hear of the closeness that had developed between Arthur and his bedwarmer. After all, Merlin was still a servant. And he would have no place in Arthur’s life after this winter.

He swallowed the thought bitterly as his mind turned to other, more immediate worries—at the fore of them, Merlin’s magic.

George’s increased surveillance made Arthur nervous. Though he delighted in the things Merlin showed him—usually late at night or far away from the castle walls—he was wary of George’s lurking. One false move and Merlin would be burned at the stake. (And perhaps Arthur would be punished as well, though he cared less for himself than for Merlin’s fate.)

George patted down his shoulders and finally seemed satisfied. There was a knowing look in his eye. “You look very well, indeed,” said George. “A handsome prince, fit for any princess.”

“You look like a prat,” Merlin said from the other side of the room, where he was studying an old book of Latin Arthur himself had used in his own lessons.

Arthur snorted. He did look a bit like a prat.

George was less amused. “That is no way to speak to your prince,” he snapped.

“It’s all right,” Arthur said with a sigh. “Merlin, behave yourself.”

Merlin stuck out his tongue, and with that disobedient gesture, Arthur wanted nothing more than to forgo this entire evening and stay here curled up with Merlin by the fire, listening as he read aloud. He felt stifled by the fancy clothes, the tight collar and the stiff new boots.

As though reading his mind, George cleared his throat. “We don’t want to keep the Lady Mira waiting.”

“The lady who?” Merlin asked.

Arthur ran a hand through his hair. He’d been hoping to avoid this conversation all day, and he certainly couldn’t have it with George in the room.

Since the snow had broken and allowed for travel, Lord Olmsted and his daughter Mira were due to arrive at any moment from Olaf’s kingdom. Arthur knew his father hoped to forge an alliance with Olmsted’s brother the king, a sickly man with no heir. Though he had not yet broached the idea, Arthur feared his father meant him to woo the lady Mira.

“No one,” said Arthur by way of explanation.

“Only one of the most beautiful ladies in all of the five kingdoms,” said George. “And, forgive my importunity sire, but I do recall hearing you had been taken with her the last time you met?”

The last time they met, Arthur had been seven years old, and he told George so, loudly enough for Merlin to overhear. But George only smiled and nodded, and when Arthur glimpsed Merlin over his shoulder just before he left the room, he was scowling at his book.

Well, nothing to be done about it now, he supposed. He would have a word with his father about George.

The lady in question had wheat-coloured hair and large blue eyes. He only vaguely remembered meeting her when they were children. He kissed her hand and she took his arm as they proceeded to the great hall, but her gentle touch didn’t inspire any tug of desire within him.

The feast was an intimate affair by Camelot standards. Since not many travelled abroad during the winter, the party was predominately made up by members of the court. Lord Olmsted and Lady Mira were their only foreign guests and had a seat of eminence at Uther’s table. Olmsted sat at the King’s left hand and Arthur sat on his right. Lady Mira was placed next to Arthur where Morgana usually sat—another subtle declaration of intent on Uther’s part.

“It was very kind of you and your father to invite us,” she said once they’d been seated.

“The pleasure is ours, my lady,” Arthur said. “Were your travels very arduous?”

She shook her head, and her golden tresses glimmered in the candlelight. “Not at all,” she said. “The sleds work very well over flat land, and the roads were smoother than they are in the summer. It made for a pleasant journey.”

“I can imagine it was very pretty, as well, with the snow and the ice.”

“Indeed. Camelot is lovely this time of year.”

Arthur thought of Merlin in the snow. “Yes, it is.”

The conversation continued in this vein throughout the feast until the festivities began. There were jugglers and jesters and play actors, and by the time the last had finished and the party began to disperse, it was very late. Arthur felt pleasantly warm from the spiced cider he’d drunk, and he wanted to climb into bed and forget the day. Morgana had already left some time before. But after a glare from his father, who was still conversing with Lord Olmsted, he stood and offered Lady Mira his arm.

“Would you like to take a turn about the room?” he asked.

“Thank you, yes.”

Her grip was soft on his arm. He tried to imagine being married to her, having children with her. Of course he would have to marry some day. Why not this girl, who seemed pleasant enough?

They walked to the far end of the hall and stood under one of the stone archways. There, a little ball of mistletoe had been hung—a peasant’s tradition. Arthur hadn’t noticed it until it was too late, but now it appeared as though it had been part of his design. Lady Mira looked up and flushed.

Arthur froze, unable to determine what to do. He didn’t want to embarrass the lady, but it seemed he already had. She bowed her head demurely.

A kiss on the hand would not be inappropriate. Arthur bent and pressed his lips to the back of her glove, and the mistletoe fell on his head.

“Oh!” exclaimed Lady Mira.

Arthur startled at the impact but did not shout. He turned around and around, but no one else seemed to lurk in the shadows. It had probably been an accident.

Or had it?

“Merlin?” he whispered. There was no answer, but retreating footsteps heading toward the servant’s entrance told him all he needed to know. His stomach twisted anxiously.

“Who’s Merlin?” asked Lady Mira.

“He’s my . . .” Arthur trailed off. He could not describe who Merlin was, not to her or himself. “Friend,” he settled on at last. If it truly had been Merlin, and Merlin had seen him kiss Mira here in the dark, like lovers, he would never understand. How would Arthur explain? He wanted to run after Merlin, right there and then, take him in his arms, and show him the truth. “He’s my best friend.”

I love him. Not the love of friendship or of duty, but a love that made his chest ache at the thought of causing Merlin pain. In only a month, Merlin had become as essential to him as the air he breathed and the ground he stood upon. He stared into the darkness as the power of the revelation took hold of him.

“I see,” she said with something like understanding.

“You do?” Arthur asked as a whole new fear froze his blood. What if Lady Mira suspected magic and, by naming Merlin, Arthur had condemned him? He would never forgive himself.

“May I speak candidly?” Lady Mira interrupted his thoughts.

“Of course.”

“I am engaged to be married to a lord from the North Country, but my father will not recognize the match because the man in question is a sorcerer. It is my hope to persuade him with time.”

“A sorcerer?”

“As you know, my kingdom, like yours, prohibits the use of magic. The old ways are feared. But the persecution of magic users is driving our people apart, and my father cannot fail to recognize it. If I marry Robert, who is a very good man, it will usher in a new era of peace in our land. That is our hope, at least.” She sounded far away, and the faint smile on her lips made her beautiful.

“Do you love him?” Arthur asked. He realised he was asking too many questions, but truly the lady had surprised him. He had never before heard of a young lady of her status wedding a sorcerer—and by her own choice. It gave him ideas.

“Very much.”

Arthur nodded, relieved. “I’m happy for you.”

“Do not be happy for me yet. I know that my father wishes us to make a connection tonight. He hopes I will forget about my love, but I won’t. I’m sorry.”

“There is no reason for you to be sorry.” He bowed to her and wondered if he too should express himself frankly. “I too have come to share your feelings about magic. But we cannot . . .”

“We will not speak of it again, of course. It was good to see you again, Arthur,” Lady Mira said, patting his arm. “Now, I think you’d better go find your Merlin.”

He looked down at her honest, open face and felt a surge of affection. “Thank you, my lady.”

“Call me Mira. I hope we will be friends.”

Arthur smiled. “I do too.”

Merlin was in Arthur’s chambers when he arrived, flushed and out of breath. He’d run all the way from the great hall.

“How was your evening?” Merlin asked, his voice curiously dead. He sat near the fire and did not look up from his Latin when Arthur came into the room.

“It was you, wasn’t it?”

“What was me?”

“Don’t play innocent, Merlin, I know you were there tonight. How could you be so careless? If anyone had seen—”

“You’re imagining things. Are you sure you didn’t hit your head again? I know how you like to do that.”

“So you admit it.”

“What should I admit to? Do you have anything to admit?” He glared up as Arthur snatched the book he was pretending to examine away.

“Merlin, about the Lady Mira—”

“I don’t want to talk about her, all right?” Merlin snapped. Then his voice changed, grew seductive. “Let’s go to bed.” He stood and pressed his lanky body against Arthur’s, but his eyes shimmered, and when he spoke his voice trembled. “She can’t give you what I can.”

“Of course she can’t.”

Merlin blinked at him. “But you’re to marry her. The other servants were talking in the kitchen, and they said—”

“I thought you knew better than to gossip with the other servants,” Arthur nearly growled. “And they know nothing, by the way. Nor do you. There is no match between myself and the Lady Mira. She is already betrothed.”

Still clinging to Arthur, Merlin seemed to relax. Arthur grabbed him by the shoulders and sat them both down on the soft furs by the fire. Once he started speaking, the words tumbled from his lips in a torrent. He held nothing back, and Merlin’s eyes widened as Arthur described Mira’s confession about her hopes for the future.

“Why, that’s wonderful.”

“I thought you’d like it. She’s really quite a charming girl.”

Merlin frowned.

“And I realized something else tonight,” Arthur continued, taking Merlin’s hand, “after you assaulted me with that ridiculous plant.”

“You deserved it.”

“I love you, Merlin. And I want you to stay here in Camelot with me. Don’t go back to Ealdor in the spring.”

“W-what?”

Arthur felt the blood rush to his cheeks, which were already warm from their proximity to the fire. “I know you didn’t want to come here, and I’m sorry for that, but I hope you’ve . . . I hope it hasn’t been as terrible as you feared. Of course it’s your decision to make, but consider it. If you stayed on as Gaius’s apprentice, then one day you would take your place as court physician. Your mother can come if you want.” He held back the last words on his tongue—he also hoped to make Merlin his consort. It was rare these days, but once Arthur was King, he figured he could do what he liked. Perhaps he and Merlin could build a better future together, the way Mira planned to with her husband. He shook his head at himself. They were both too young to think of such things, really.

Merlin appeared to be struck speechless. Arthur squeezed his sweaty hand.

“Merlin?”

“You. You love me?”

Arthur swallowed and quickly nodded. Merlin licked his lips.

“Yes. I’ll stay with you.”

“You will?”

“Of course. I . . . I belong here with you. Kilgharrah was right.”

Before Arthur could ask what kind of nonsense he was talking, Merlin pounced on him like a cat, pushing him down into the fur. Arthur let out a woosh of air, and then Merlin’s lips were on his, opening to welcome his tongue. Merlin tasted sweet, as though he’d eaten a pastry from the kitchen. He probably had, since Merlin was a favourite of Cook’s and she spoiled him relentlessly.

“Are you happy?” Merlin asked, smiling at him.

“What do you think?”

“I think I forgot to say something.” He bent and whispered hotly in Arthur’s ear. “I love you too.”

They laughed and wrestled as they kissed, rolling until Arthur was on top and then Merlin once again. The softness of the furs underneath them seemed to expand with every movement, and Arthur realized Merlin was making it happen with his magic. His spine tingled with excitement when he heard the latch of the door sliding shut after a faint glimmer of gold from Merlin’s half-closed eyes. No one would bother them, especially not his prying manservant. It was extraordinary how Merlin seemed to be able to perform magic even when his mind was otherwise occupied. Natural magic—that was the way he’d heard Gaius refer to it. Merlin possessed the power of the earth below and the sky above.

It was extremely exciting.

Merlin was, as always, wearing the loose trousers he seemed to prefer, and it was easy for Arthur to slip underneath to touch Merlin’s bare skin. He groaned, feeling the flex of Merlin’s arse under his hands.

“Clothes off,” Merlin said, running his hands down Arthur’s chest to unfasten the buttons of his jacket. It would be simple for him to use his power to disrobe them both, and he had done it in the past, but there was something alluring about the way Merlin’s nimble fingers ran over his body and unloosed his stays until he was all undone.

Once they were both fully undressed, Arthur pulled Merlin back down to him, and they wrestled again, now skin to skin. Arthur bested Merlin and held his hands over his head. Their hard pricks rubbed together, sending shocks of pleasure through Arthur’s whole body.

They had danced around this for weeks now. He wanted to take Merlin. But more than that, he wanted Merlin to take him.

“Merlin, will you . . .” He could hardly get the words out. Articulating it made it seem shameful, though he had dreamed about it since the first time he’d had Merlin’s fingers inside him.

“What?” Merlin smiled with a knowing glint in his eye.

Arthur slid off him, drinking in the sight of Merlin’s naked body as he did so. Most often when they touched each other it was too dark to properly see, and Merlin was gorgeous with the firelight dancing on his skin, covering it in patterns of flickering light and darkness. Limbs which had once seemed too thin were perfectly proportioned and graceful. Merlin’s cock lay heavy on his thigh, longer than—though not quite as thick as—Arthur’s own. His insides clenched as he imagined it inside him.

He tore his eyes away and lay on his front, arching his hips off the furs and burying his head in his arms. Hopefully that would be enough.

Merlin ran his hand down Arthur’s back to cup the swell of his arse.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Please. I want you to.” He shuddered when Merlin’s fingers lingered just at the crease.

“Do you want my fingers or my prick?” Merlin whispered.

Arthur groaned. “Both.”

There was a phial of oil that Merlin had procured from Gaius’ stores, and he fetched it now with his magic. They had not used it for anything but to slick their pricks—and it had made their nightly trysts much nicer.

Merlin urged him to part his legs and shifted behind him. Arthur felt exposed as the warm oil dripped onto his crack. The anticipation was painful. He pushed his hard cock into the furs to relieve the ache.

Merlin kept petting him, growing bolder, slipping his fingers between Arthur’s cheeks and rubbing lightly. He finally pressed one finger inside and teased, not going deep enough. Arthur instinctively pushed back for fuller penetration, and Merlin obliged him. “You’re so gorgeous. I’ve never . . . It won’t last long.”

Arthur gritted his teeth. “I don’t care.” He was already close to spending at the mere thought of Merlin inside of him.

He thought about how much power Merlin possessed. It should frighten him, that he was about to let such a man dominate him so intimately, but he knew Merlin would never hurt him.

A second finger, and the stretch burned slightly. Merlin started moving faster and deeper, mimicking the motion of sex.

“I’m ready. Please, Merlin.”

When Merlin spoke next, his voice was hoarse. “I’m . . . I’m going to. Shift your hips back a little.”

Arthur did. Merlin’s warm hands cupped his arse and spread him wider.

“A little more. Maybe . . . Can you get on your knees?”

Arthur huffed fondly and did as Merlin instructed. This was new to both of them, and there was bound to be awkwardness. He didn’t care, as long as Merlin was with him through it all.

When he glanced back over his shoulder, he saw Merlin gripping his own prick, his lips flushed and bitten, eyes intent.

“Get on with it, Merlin,” Arthur said.

“I will. I just . . . I need a moment.”

“Okay.”

The moment dragged on until Arthur thought he might expire from sheer want. And then, just when he was about to push Merlin down on his back and impale himself, he felt the broad tip of Merlin’s prick breach him.

They both groaned at the inward slide. Arthur tried to accommodate Merlin, but the going was slow. His heart hammered and he clenched up tight while Merlin whispered soothing, incomprehensible things. He had never felt so open and vulnerable, but he willed himself to calm. This was Merlin, whom he loved. He took a deep breath and felt his muscles soften—and Merlin was all the way inside.

“Oh gods,” Merlin said. He started stroking in and out.

Arthur was still hard, and with every full penetration, his prick bobbed underneath him. Merlin gripped his arse tightly and let out little sounds of pleasure as he started fucking Arthur in earnest. The heat in his belly grew, fanning out through his whole body. And then he jolted when Merlin nudged against something inside him, something good. He cried out.

“What is it?” Merlin asked worriedly.

“Ngh, it’s perfect. Keep going.”

Every time Merlin’s cock dragged against that place, Arthur felt himself nearer to spending. He braced himself with one arm and grabbed his prick.

He was so close.

“Arthur—I have to. I . . .” And then Merlin was lost, grunting out his release and pulsing deep inside Arthur. He trembled and draped over Arthur’s back as he started to soften and eventually slipped out. They lay tangled and panting in each other’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said apologetically, eyes darting to Arthur’s still-hard prick. “I’ll be able to go again soon. Let me—” He reached for Arthur.

Arthur was desperate. He rolled over onto his back and his swollen prick slapped his stomach. Merlin knelt between his legs and . . . oh gods. He started kissing Arthur’s cock, giving little kitten licks to the wet head. Tentatively, he let the tip slip into his mouth and he sucked. His eyes widened as he seemed to gauge Arthur’s response.

They had never done this before either. Arthur moaned as Merlin’s red lips stretched around him. The hot, wet suction was more than he could bear, and his arse clenched, feeling empty. Merlin bobbed on him, gagging when Arthur’s cock hit the back of his throat.

“Your fingers,” Arthur gasped. Merlin pressed his fingers back inside and sucked Arthur’s prick again, sloppily. Tears crept into the corner of his eyes, but he took Arthur’s cock deeper still.

He looked like he enjoyed it, like he liked having Arthur in his mouth. His fingers slipped easily now, filling Arthur like he wanted. He felt like he was bathed in a warm glow, enfolded by sweetness, and only then did he realise he was feeling Merlin’s magic everywhere, rubbing up against him as though it were tangible, as though it wanted to touch Arthur everywhere.

Arthur’s delayed climax rolled over him in a hot burst of pulsing waves. He pushed into the wet heat and whined when Merlin withdrew, sputtering and laughing as Arthur’s prick jumped in his hand. Merlin licked his lips.

“Not too bad,” Merlin said. “Not bad at all, actually.” He licked his fingers too.

“Mmm.” Arthur was still feeling the aftershocks. He shuddered when Merlin stroked him one final time.

They lay together as the embers of the fire slowly died and a chill crept into the air.

Merlin shivered and pressed close against him. “Maybe we should go to bed.”

“I don’t think I can move.”

But when the cold grew too uncomfortable, he somehow managed to make his limbs work. He could still feel the ghost of Merlin inside of him as they walked hand in hand.

“I don’t want winter to ever end,” Merlin said, snuggling close under the bedclothes. “But in a way, it doesn’t have to.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

There would be challenges ahead, but they would face them together. He closed his eyes and dreamed.

The horses stamped in the mud, snorting and tossing their heads. Arthur held his brown stallion by the reins and scanned the crowd, impatient.

There was a feeling of excitement in the air. Only a fortnight before, at his eighteenth birthday, he had been formally named heir to the throne, and on that day he had declared his intent to lead a quest signifying his dedication to his kingdom, as was the custom. He had asked to lead a party to stop the raids on Ealdor.

His father had not been pleased, but he could not deny Arthur once he had stated his goal in front of the court. Moreover, he had discovered he had the backing of the knights, several of whom had family members in Ealdor and the surrounding towns, and had long wished to put an end to the thievery.

They would likely be gone for a month, at least. Spring rains and the melting snow would make the journey tiresome, but Arthur had spoken with his father’s advisors, who all agreed it would be best to move when they were least expected.

His horse whickered and butted against his chest, and Arthur patted his head with a gloved hand.

“Sire!” The familiar voice made Arthur turn. He stifled his grin and pasted an annoyed frown on his face at the sight of Merlin hurrying toward him with a bundle in his arms. The already seated knights parted their horses to let him through, giving each other looks. None of them quite understood how Merlin, who had been brought to Camelot as Arthur’s bedwarmer, had replaced the efficient and well-respected George as the prince’s manservant when the latter had disappeared, especially since Merlin was the worst manservant in the five kingdoms.

Merlin flailed and tripped on the wet cobblestones, and was only saved from falling at the last moment when Arthur grabbed his arm and steadied him. He felt his father’s eyes on him from the stairs, where he and the royal retinue waited to see off the prince’s party.

“Thank you. Thank you, sire,” Merlin said, panting. “I brought you the extra blankets you wanted.”

“I see that,” Arthur said, injecting a bit of venom into his tone for show. “Though it took you long enough. Where have you been? We were meant to leave at noon!”

“Sorry.” Merlin winced. “I had to say good-bye to Gaius. I am his apprentice, after all.”

“Yes, but you’re my servant first and foremost. I hope you’ll be more reliable on our journey, Merlin.” He drawled out the name, and a few of the knights chuckled indulgently.

“Of course. It will not happen again.” He bit his bottom lip to keep from smirking. If they had been alone, Arthur would have kissed him for his insolence.

They had perfected this routine for the eyes of others. After the failed engagement with Lady Mira, George had warned Uther that Arthur and his bedwarmer were becoming too close, and it had taken Arthur ages to finally convince his father that Merlin was unimportant to him. When George left Camelot unexpectedly—to everyone but Arthur and Merlin—Merlin had naturally fallen into the role. He may be an idiot, Arthur told his father, but he has proven himself a loyal idiot.

Only he and Merlin knew where George had really gone. Halfway through the winter, Merlin had discovered George stealing silver from Morgana’s room. Instead of reporting him to the King, Arthur had given him the chance to leave and never return, though he had been sorely tempted to make him a bedwarmer and send him to King Olaf as a token of goodwill. But Arthur wasn’t his father.

From the stairs, Uther cleared his throat and nodded at Arthur, signifying he was ready to make his speech.

“Well, why are you standing there gawping? Get the blankets packed up on your horse, Merlin,” said Arthur, giving Merlin a light shove before mounting his horse. “Do I have to tell you how to do everything?” He rolled his eyes.

“I think you will find there are some things I know how to do on my own,” said Merlin. The slight tease in his tone made Arthur’s stomach squirm with desire. Only that morning, Merlin had proven he knew exactly what to do when Arthur was on his back.

“Prince Arthur of Camelot,” said Uther, who stood at the top of the stairs next to Morgana. “You have chosen to undertake a quest to restore order to the borderlands of our realm. May you honour Camelot in word and in deed, and return safely home to us as soon as you are victorious.”

The crowd cheered. Arthur nodded solemnly and waved as Merlin rode up next to him. No one else knew the truth. With Merlin’s magic and Arthur’s courage, they could not fail.

One day, they would change the world.