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Arthur gritted his teeth, wincing at the sting of the wound. He should have known better than to believe Sir Vinyer would yield. From the moment he had thrown down the gauntlet, Arthur had suspected the duel would end in death.
It had come unsettlingly close to being his own. The dagger had veered off course at the last instant to score a thin line across his throat. To someone in the stands, it must have looked as if Sir Vinyer's arm weakened, or Arthur moved back the tiniest amount, sparing him a bloody end. They would not have seen the faint flare of icy blue across the length of the blade, nor felt the air go tight as the will of another turned the weapon aside.
Magic. Just enough to spare him an untimely demise.
More than once, over the past few years, he had sensed the same thing: a shift of breathless power, as if a firm hand had steered fate in a new direction. Each and every time, he had been in danger, the world closing in around him as the hours of his life ticked down to nothing, only to be spared at the last moment. Someone, somewhere, was protecting him with magic. The question was, who?
'Are you sure you're all right?'
Arthur blinked, dragging himself away from his thoughts at Merlin's query. Those long fingers shook where they pressed a clean cloth over the shallow wound at Arthur's neck, staunching the thready seep of blood. Merlin's full lips were pinched in a thin, tight line, and the fierce scowl darkening his brow made Arthur's heart flutter beneath his ribs, taking guilty pleasure in Merlin's obvious concern.
'Gaius said that as long as I keep it clean, it's unlikely to even scar.' Arthur reached up, looping his fingers around Merlin's wrist to give a quick squeeze. The leather of his gauntlets meant he couldn't feel Merlin's warmth, and he frowned in brief annoyance. 'Vinyer missed, Merlin.'
'I wasn't just talking about this.' Merlin tilted his head towards the injury. 'I know how you hate it when duels go wrong. When you have to –' He cut himself off, biting his lip as if trying to hold his words back behind the barricade of his teeth.
The crackle of the logs in the fireplace punctuated the silence. Arthur sighed, skimming his gaze over the familiar surroundings of his chamber and taking comfort from the sanctuary of his rooms.
Here, in private, honesty came easier. Out in the castle, he dared not show weakness or hesitation. In the duelling ring, in front of the assembled nobility of Camelot, the best he could offer Vinyer was the mercy of a quick and brutal retaliation. He had acted against all honour by trying to slit Arthur's throat after his own defeat. The punishment was clear, and Arthur had meted it out with the swift thrust of his sword.
'I did what I had to.'
Merlin watched him, his blue eyes fathomless. 'Maybe, but that doesn't mean you don't feel bad about it.'
Arthur thought of the patch of blood-churned earth and the man who would never be returning to his family. Justice sometimes felt more like a necessary evil. His father, of course, had been proud and resolute, quick to denounce Vinyer as the villain, but it was never that simple. He had challenged Arthur over the death of his oldest son: a knight who had died under Arthur's command. Grief had fuelled his rage, and try as he might, Arthur could not fault him for that.
'What's done is done,' he murmured at last, grateful for Merlin's quiet understanding. 'Help me off with this armour, will you?'
Merlin watched him through narrow eyes, looking as if he were trying to read Arthur's thoughts off the inside of his head. A moment later, he nodded, shifting his weight. 'Hold this.' He pressed the cloth over Arthur's injury in emphasis, waiting for him to remove his gauntlets with his teeth before taking the makeshift bandage. Their fingers touched – a fleeting jolt of warmth that made Arthur's breath hitch in his chest – and then Merlin set to work, manipulating buckles and straps.
Before Merlin, Arthur had never thought there was anything intimate about donning or removing armour. It was a fiddly, irritating job that took more time than he cared to waste on such things. Now, though, there was something about the way Merlin touched him, all soft care and unfaltering diligence. He did not act as if helping Arthur was some perfunctory chore. Instead, he gave it all his attention, his gaze intent and his hands strong and steady.
Merlin was not a quick, darting shadow, like most of the other servants. He did not try and blend into the background, discrete and subservient. He was a constant at Arthur's side – an unfaltering presence that made his body hum even as something softer curled between his ribs. It was a tendril of emotion that had thickened with each passing day for more than a year now, no weaker for being unspoken.
Cool air whispered against him, making his sweat-stiff tunic stick to him as Merlin peeled off his chainmail and the gambeson beneath. The sudden loss of its weight made Arthur feel feather-light, half-dizzy with relief. He closed his eyes, swaying where he stood until the firm splay of Merlin's hand around the back of his neck steadied him.
Merlin's other palm rested against Arthur's chest, making the linen tunic rasp over sensitive skin. A shiver thrilled down his spine, and Arthur swallowed hard. Merlin's hands were like brands against his flesh, and the steady sweep of his thumb over Arthur's nape made his pulse skip into double-time.
It was not new, this exquisite desire. It had painted Arthur's days and haunted his nights for far too long, but he had never dared to act upon it. Yet with the turning seasons, it only seemed to grow in strength, intoxicating and full of promise.
He opened his eyes, his next breath a sharp inhale of surprise as he realised just how close Merlin stood, toe-to-toe and right there, ready to catch Arthur if he fell. Something in the back of his head warned him that he should reclaim some space between them, but his body refused to move away from Merlin's tantalising heat.
Restraint was all well and good when they were locked firmly in the sphere of friendship, but this was much, much more. It wrote itself in the care in Merlin's gaze and the flare of those pupils, in the hitch of Arthur's breath and the thrum beneath his skin. His control slipped through his fingers like sand, ebbing away with each passing beat of his heart and leaving him trembling in its wake.
'Arthur?'
Merlin's voice uncurled between them, a breathless rasp that pooled heat low in Arthur's belly. The tip of Merlin's tongue darted out, wetting dry lips, and Arthur followed the movement with his gaze, stifling the rough noise of want that bubbled in his throat.
Each breath felt too hot, laden with the smell of Merlin's skin: soap and fresh air and a hint of lush herbs from Gaius' healing room. If he could look away – could get one, clear gasp of air – then maybe he could remember all the reasons why he could not invite Merlin to his bed, yet there was no reprieve. Yearning locked his body in place, ensnaring him in a glowing web that he did not wish to escape.
'I – I want –' He swallowed, his voice little more than a rough whisper before his words failed him utterly. Ever since he had felt the first, shocking surge of desire for Merlin, more months ago than he cared to count, he had told himself he could not ask for this.
No matter how close their friendship, there was no escaping the fact that Merlin was his servant. The idea that Merlin might not feel he could say no, or would be punished for doing so, had haunted his thoughts, turning him back from this path time and again. Even now, that fear reached up to choke him, stealing away his quiet confession.
Merlin's gaze darted over his face, though the gods alone knew what he discovered in Arthur's expression. Was the thud of heat in his veins written there for the world to see? Did the same flush that crested Merlin's cheekbones daub his own skin? Were his eyes as dark, his own lips parted around each shattered breath, just like Merlin's?
Arthur blinked, sucking in a gasp as the realisation struck him. There was nothing akin to duty in Merlin's expression. No trace of obligation marked his features. Merlin wanted him, and Arthur's body trembled in response to his unmasked honesty.
Yes.
The hand over Arthur's heart curled into a clutching fist, striking creases into the linen as Merlin pulled Arthur close, chest-to-chest and breathless. Arthur's grasp dropped to the crest of Merlin's hips as the grip over the back of Arthur's neck tightened, urging him to bridge the final trace of distance.
Merlin's lips brushed against his, a soft request for permission that Arthur was only too happy to answer in kind. He could barely breathe over the hammer of his pulse – could hardly think around the sudden realisation that this was happening – that Merlin was kissing him – shy until the first flicker of his tongue had them groaning softly.
Warmth pooled through his veins as Arthur let him in, one hand shifting to smooth over the lithe muscles of Merlin's back and clutch at the fabric of his jacket. Every nerve sang, surging with heat as he lost himself to the caress of Merlin's lips against his own, chaste kisses turning wet and dizzying as he surrendered to the storm-surge within himself.
He and Merlin were so closely matched in height that their bodies slotted together with ease, as if there were no better fit for them in all of Camelot but each other. Merlin's teeth against his bottom lip made Arthur gasp, his hips twitching in helpless response. The weight of his thickening cock dragged against Merlin's, separated by what felt like an obscene amount of clothes, and Arthur's fingertips bit into Merlin's waist as sparks danced behind his eyelids.
'Fuck.'
Merlin's worshipful curse whispered between them, and Arthur hitched forward again, grinding against him as he watched Merlin's face.
Dark blue eyes observed him, hot and hazy. Rose bloomed in Merlin's cheeks, shocking against his pale skin, and his swollen lips lay parted and glistening. Merlin's hand tightened over the back of Arthur's neck, and Arthur followed the urging, shifting forward to taste Merlin's mouth anew, exploring with his tongue and the subtle edge of teeth.
The noise Merlin made went straight to Arthur's cock, and he answered it with his own breathy moan as Merlin arched into him: ribs and hips and the flex of his thighs. Arthur's wandering fingers caught in the knot of the handkerchief tied around Merlin's neck, clumsy over the twisted cloth. He tried to tug it free, smudging kisses over the corner of Merlin's mouth, his cheek, his jaw until the scrap of fabric finally fell away.
He nuzzled at the pale column of Merlin's throat, and a gasp ricocheted between them, burning along Arthur's veins like saltpetre. He pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to Merlin's tripping pulse, loving the way Merlin's hands shifted to clutch at Arthur's shoulders, clinging as if it was the only thing holding him up.
'Bed?' Arthur murmured, his voice low and wrecked in the shell of Merlin's ear. Part of him was terrified that cold reality would intercede – that Merlin would make his retreat, fleeing from Arthur's presence – but it was an unfounded fear. There was one, brief moment of hesitation before Merlin's lips curved, his smile wicked and wanton.
'I thought you'd never ask.'
This was happening. This was actually happening. Between one heartbeat and the next, he and Arthur had spilled over into new territory, obliterating their boundaries. He'd dreamed about this, in his lonely bed, hand wrapped around himself and chasing release with images of Arthur on his mind. Now, it was a reality, and he could not get enough of it.
Everywhere Arthur touched him glowed with sensation: the press of palms and the flutter of fingertips; greedy, clutching hands and the hunger of traded kisses. Arthur's body was a wall of solid heat, pushing into Merlin's space only to retreat as they grappled with jackets and tunics before surging forward once more. He had been helping Arthur with clothes for years, but it had never been like this: graceless and desperate.
He had seen Arthur naked before, but he had always done his best to avert his eyes while the prince bathed. He had not taken the time to really look, limiting himself to guilty glances that left him dry-mouthed, but now...
Arthur was beautiful, his body shaped by years of training with the sword and shield. From the breadth of his shoulders to the taper of his waist, there was nothing about him that didn't make Merlin's blood hum in his veins.
Yet there was more to Arthur than that, more than the shape of him. There was strength, but also scars: small stories writ on Arthur's skin. Merlin read them with his fingertips and tasted their story with his tongue, relishing the salty heat of Arthur's flesh. Most warriors would shy away, curling in around their vulnerabilities, but Arthur had never been a coward. He flayed himself open for Merlin, warm and willing, fingers tangling in his hair as he sucked at a silver starburst on his shoulder: an arrow that found its mark years ago.
Of course, Arthur was not the only one with scars. Merlin had seen most of them before: he knew their provenance, but the same could not be said for Arthur's awareness of the marks on Merlin's skin. They were new to him, and Merlin twitched beneath Arthur's fingers as he mapped each one, measuring the breadth of them. A quick glance up at Arthur's face told Merlin all he needed to know. Want still burned there, hot and enticing, but it did nothing to eclipse the questions that were igniting in Arthur's gaze.
Questions Merlin could not answer.
Brazen, he skimmed his hand over Arthur's belly, feeling the coarse trail of golden hair leading downwards. The waistband of Arthur's breeches offered little in the way of resistance, the laces already untied, and he eased beneath, grinning as Arthur's breath stuttered to a halt.
He could feel the trembling tension seeping from Arthur's body to his own, anticipation locking every muscle until Merlin's long fingers found their prize: hard, heavy heat, wet at the tip. Fabric whispered as Merlin nudged closer, pressing his bare chest to Arthur's as he shifted his hand in the too-tight space between them. Arthur's jaw clenched, his cheeks flushed with want and his hips stuttering forward as he fucked into Merlin's grasp.
'You – I – Gods!' Arthur jerked his head to the side, giving up on words as he grasped at Merlin, fumbling with laces and pushing aside cloth. He keened when Merlin released him, intent of divesting Arthur of every last item of clothing, laughing as Arthur almost fell over and Merlin struggled out of his boots. The cool air barely got a chance to nip at his skin before Arthur pulled him down into the bed, tempting him in with hungry, wet kisses, his naked body limned with gold by the daylight spilling in through the windows.
A sharp moan burst free of Merlin's throat as Arthur sprawled beneath him, connected in a seam from thundering hearts to rutting hips. The rough, humid slide of Arthur's cock against his own ignited a flurry of pleasure, and Merlin buried his face in Arthur's neck, mindful of the injury he had received. If there was any hint of pain, Arthur seemed not to notice, too busy groaning filthy encouragement as Merlin sucked a mark onto that golden skin.
He trailed his lips over all that he could reach: the chine of Arthur's collar bones and the curve of his shoulder, the angle of his jaw and the notch at the base of his throat. He choked on a rough sound, peeling himself back from Arthur as he scrambled for his restraint. Sinking his teeth into his bottom lip, he stared into Arthur's face, feeling flushed and hot beneath the weight of that hooded gaze.
'What do you want?' he rasped, reaching out one hand to press against Arthur's belly, a mere finger's width away from where the tip of Arthur's cock twitched, glossing his skin with pre-come. 'How – how do you want to do this?'
Arthur sucked in a breath, but if he was embarrassed, he didn't show it. His touch brushed over the back of Merlin's knuckles, a dark grin flirting on his lips before Arthur wrapped his own erection in his grasp and spread his legs in invitation. 'You,' he rasped, the single word sending a frisson of molasses-thick need dripping down Merlin's spine. 'You in me.'
Merlin swallowed, his hips jerking in an aborted thrust. He paused, taking a deep breath as he tried to get himself under control. It was that or spend at the very thought of burying himself in Arthur's body, and this could not end. Not yet.
'You're sure?' he managed, snorting a laugh when Arthur writhed against the bed, reaching up to grab Merlin like he could not bear even a fraction of distance between them.
'Yes,' he growled, his voice low and throbbing as he stretched up, claiming Merlin's mouth in the kind of bruising kiss that left him thick-headed and dazed. 'Fuck me, Merlin.'
As if he needed any further encouragement.
A quick, blind scramble through Arthur's bedside cabinet revealed a bottle of golden oil. Merlin tamped down on the sudden flurry of images of Arthur using it on himself, fingers gleaming as he chased his release. After all, what was the point of fantasies when he had the real thing right here, furnace-hot with the strength of his desire and spread open for the taking?
It felt like the easiest thing in the world to stroke down Arthur's sides, hands curling over his hips and lips curving in a wicked grin. He blessed Arthur's chest with soft kisses and the swipe of his tongue. A gentle suck at one nipple had Arthur humming in pleasure, while the flicker of a bite made him jerk and swear, his caresses skittering across the planes of Merlin's back.
He could have happily spent the afternoon teasing those sounds out of Arthur, but the persistent shove of warm hands on Merlin's shoulders, urging him ever downwards, suggested that Arthur didn't have the patience.
Nuzzling against his belly, Merlin blew a hot, steady breath over his cock, huffing a laugh as Arthur snarled something wordless and inarticulate, as demanding in bed as he was out of it. He hid his smile in the crease of Arthur's thigh, relishing the scent of him there, heavy and lush with promise. Arthur's muscles jumped, his belly going tense as Merlin stroked his finger up the thick line of Arthur's arousal. He traced the vein on the underside with a featherlight touch before reversing direction, skimming down and back to press the pad of his thumb over Arthur's hole.
'Yes,' Arthur breathed, cocking his legs wide and tangling his grip in Merlin's hair. 'Yes, Merlin. Come on!'
He breached Arthur with one slick finger of his right hand, using his left to steady Arthur's erection before taking a taste: salt and musk washing over his tongue as Arthur's curse of pleasure echoed in his ears. It was enough to ground him, just a little, teasing him back from the rough edge of impossible ecstasy as he focused on his task: the rake of Arthur's fingers through his hair and the warmth clutching tight around his knuckles as he added more fingers and gently eased him open.
The sounds Arthur made were music to Merlin's ears: soft gasps that hitched into a moan when Merlin crooked his finger just right. The slick oil made filthy noises every time he pushed, and Merlin wet his lips, trying to breathe the too-hot air while clinging to the reins of his faltering restraint.
Clumsy fingers curved over his wrist, easing him free. Arthur's heel dug into Merlin's thigh, a mute command to shuffle closer. It would have been funny if Merlin did not find it so compelling, seeing Arthur spread out for him, his spare hand tight around his own cock as he snarled at Merlin to hurry up.
'Easier on your front,' Merlin managed, his voice little more than a wheeze as Arthur shook his head, catching his gaze with storm-dark eyes.
'Want to see you.'
A choked off curse pulsed in Merlin's throat, and he grabbed one of the pillows before shoving it none-too-gently under Arthur's hips. His hand trembled as he slicked himself with more oil, trying to control the desire to surge into his own fist. He knelt between Arthur's legs and lined himself up, breath hissing between his teeth as he nudged forward, easing into Arthur's tight heat.
'Fuck!' Arthur's voice wobbled on a sob, and Merlin froze, looking up to check there was nothing like pain in his face. 'Don't you dare fucking stop!'
A laugh popped in Merlin's chest, and he bit back a grin, clenching his jaw as he slowed down and admired the sight of himself slipping into Arthur's body. Even better was the way Arthur responded, his hips shifting beneath Merlin's palms: eager and bossy with his longing.
It was only when Merlin bottomed out, his balls against Arthur's arse, that Arthur stilled, panting and wrecked, his lashes fluttering and his body held, bowstring taut, as he adjusted to the pressure.
He hovered there, relishing the hot clutch of Arthur around him, the rasp of their breathing and the sparks of pleasure that shot through him. Air hissed between his parted lips. He moved his right hand, tracing a slow, steadying line down the centre of Arthur's body, all the way down to where the hard length of him still twitched in the curl of Arthur's own fist.
Merlin swallowed, wrapping his fingers over Arthur's knuckles before swiping his thumb over the slick crown of his cock. A gasp escaped him as Arthur jerked and cried out, jolting around him and dragging a hoarse groan free from Merlin's chest. He withdrew slowly before surging in again, admiring the flush that stained Arthur's chest and relishing the greedy grasp of Arthur's hands on his forearms, pulling at him in a desperate effort to get him closer.
'Arthur, Arthur this isn't going to last,' he warned, his breath cracking in his chest as pleasure shot down his spine. Grace and finesse were already long gone. Merlin prayed they would get the chance to do this again and again, slow and fast and every which way, because nothing he had experienced had ever felt so vivid and right.
He leaned forward, feeling Arthur's stomach tense as he lifted his shoulders off the bed to meet Merlin, trading clumsy, open-mouthed kisses. Arthur's cock pressed between them, sticky and shockingly hot, and it was all Merlin could do to reach for it again, stroking from root to tip and back again in a vague rhythm with his own jerky movements.
A keening sound spilled from Arthur's lips to Merlin's, swallowed down as Arthur went tense all over. The slick heat around Merlin spasmed tight, and he shivered in ecstasy, clenching his teeth as Arthur came between the press of their bodies, painting them both in his release. Merlin moaned in appreciation, his fingers digging into Arthur's hips hard enough to leave bruises as he dove in, chasing the aftershocks of Arthur's pleasure even as he pursued the swift punch of his own climax.
It rolled through him like a summer storm, thunder in the pit of his belly and lightning down his thighs. His cock pulsed and twitched, spilling deep as sensation crackled through Merlin from head to toe.
'Fuck, Arthur,' he breathed at last, propped drunkenly on one elbow so as not to crush the man beneath him. A broad palm stroked up and down his back, soothing, and Arthur's low hum of agreement and pleasure reverberated between them, hitching for a moment as Merlin withdrew. They were both sticky and spent, but Merlin could not bring himself to move, still dizzy with release as he lifted his bowed head and met Arthur's soft gaze.
Arthur's hand froze between Merlin's shoulder-blades, arrested in its lazy caress. A hint of a frown pinched his brow as his other palm shifted to cup Merlin's jaw, his thumb resting on the crest of his cheekbone.
'What?' Merlin asked.
'Your eyes.' Arthur's chest heaved as he sucked in a breath. 'They're gold.'
Merlin froze, his heart fluttering as he realised that the blissful warmth still lapping through him in delicate waves was not just the afterglow of fantastic sex. His magic was there too, unfurling like a flower beneath the sun, purposeless and lazy. He had not cast anything, no spell wrought its influence, but his magic wrote its story for Arthur to see.
Shit.
'No.' With a quick shove at Merlin's shoulder, Arthur rolled them, pinning Merlin to the bed. The broad, naked strength of him was a wall of heat over Merlin, and he choked off a sound that wobbled precariously between terror and desire. The need to flee burned in his legs and knotted pain in the hubs of his knees. Every muscle tensed, and he swallowed hard as he stared up into Arthur's face.
'No,' Arthur repeated, pressing his wrists into the mattress in emphasis. 'Don't go. It was you. All the times my life has been saved – all the strange coincidences... It was you. You have magic.'
Merlin swore, screwing up his traitorous eyes as frantic denials withered in his chest. Years of keeping his secret, and it all came down to this. The best moment of his existence rapidly turning into the worst.
'I – it's not...' He drew in a shuddering breath, willing his magic down until he could open his eyes again without displaying the tell-tale gleam of power. He met Arthur's gaze, bracing himself as he slowly nodded his head. 'Yes.'
Arthur stared at him, taking in the lines of Merlin's features. A moment later, his right hand shifted away from Merlin's wrist, releasing his grip to press his fingers to the ridge of Merlin's jaw. If he bucked his hips, Merlin was pretty certain he could break free, but something in Arthur's face made him hesitate.
He expected loathing and disgust, the sneering curl of lips; threats or shouted recriminations. After all, magic was still punishable by death in Uther's Camelot. As prince, Arthur's duty was clear. Yet there was something tender in his touch, achingly so, and Merlin swallowed hard as Arthur began to speak.
'I wondered if it was you. For more than a year, now, it's the only answer that's made any sense. You're always there, every single time. You're always watching out for me.' His thumb swept over Merlin's bottom lip, and Arthur drew in a deep, shuddering breath. 'Thank you.'
The earnest kiss Arthur bestowed on him made Merlin tremble anew, and the anxious thrash of his belly collided with the bloom of tentative, desperate hope. He expected all manner of things when Arthur found out about his magic. He had imagined a thousand different scenarios, but never this: love-wrecked sheets and Arthur over him, strong but gentle and shocking in his quiet acceptance.
'You –?' Merlin stammered when Arthur finally pulled back, leaving Merlin's lips buzzing. 'You suspected me, and you didn't say anything? Didn't arrest me?'
'Gods, no.' Arthur let go of his other wrist, rolling over so that they lay side-by-side and facing one another, freeing Merlin from his weight. There were no grasping hands, now, only the connection of Arthur's fingertips against Merlin's chest, resting against the thrum of his heart. 'When I first suspected you, I didn't know what to think, but it didn't take me long to make up my mind. Besides, if I had any doubts at all, Merlin, you proved yourself today.'
'On the duelling ground?' he asked, confused.
'No, but thanks for that. Vinyer would have slit my throat if not for you. I meant now, Merlin. Right now. I'm naked and completely unarmed. You have all that power, and you didn't even use your magic in self-defence.' Arthur's smile was a curl of warmth, and Merlin could not help but reach up to trace its swell. 'It didn't occur to you, did it?'
Slowly, Merlin shook his head, the pillow rustling beneath him. 'I could never hurt you,' he murmured.
'And you never will.' Arthur said it with quiet confidence. 'I know you, Merlin, and we will talk more about all this, but you need to understand that I won't ever give away your secret or punish you for it. I'll never use it against you.' He paused, swallowing hard. 'Even if this one time together is all we have, you do not owe me anything for my silence.'
Heat flooded through Merlin's chest, a rising tide of sharp surprise and blissful relief. In many ways, this felt like a dream – an impossible fantasy that he'd spun from his own imaginings. Except his daydreams had never involved the realities of wet patches on the sheets and drying come across his belly. His imagination had never conjured that quiet, pained look in Arthur's eyes, as if what they had started together was already coming to an end.
'And if it's not?' Merlin reached out, wrapping Arthur's hand in his own as his heart hammered in his chest. 'If I want more than just this once?'
Arthur looked at him, the hollow edge to his gaze replaced with a loving glow that took Merlin's breath away. 'Then you shall have it,' he promised, draping his arm over Merlin's waist and pulling him close, 'for as long as you wish.'
And there, written in the hum of his magic and the heat of their shared kisses, the truth made itself known. The seed of Camelot's golden age had taken root, and it all began with the prince, his warlock, and a love that would last through the ages.