Archive of Our Own

'What happened to you?'

Merlin grimaced. He must look worse than he realised for Arthur to sound like that: genuinely aghast, as if he thought Merlin might collapse at any moment. It wasn't that bad. He'd wiped the worst of the mud and blood off.

'Gaius needed herbs.'

Arthur blinked, his gaze sliding to the window where a deluge lashed down beyond the glass, darkening the gathering dusk. 'Did the plants fight back?' he asked, raising his eyebrows and standing up. He took the tray from Merlin's hands before reaching across the table and clasping his icy fingertips in his grasp. His calloused palms, well-worn from sword-work, were blissfully warm against Merlin's skin, and Arthur's gentle fingers eased his cuff aside, taking in the swelling around his right wrist. 'Did they win?'

'Very funny, Sire.' Merlin sighed, shifting his weight and sucking in a sharp breath as pain throbbed up his leg from his battered knee. 'I could barely see my hand in front of my face in all that.' He jerked his head towards the window, regretting it as the ache in his temples thudded in protest. 'There was a gully. I fell in.'

All trace of humour left Arthur's features, and he manoeuvred gracefully around the furniture, his palms on Merlin's shoulders as he eased him down into a chair. 'Why do I suspect that Gaius hasn't seen you yet? I doubt he would have let you out of the healing rooms if he had.'

'He's busy in the Lower Town,' Merlin argued. 'I'm fine. Honestly.'

Arthur made a rude noise of disbelief that was very unbecoming of the Crown Prince of Camelot, fixing Merlin with a glare before he headed for his chamber door. Merlin could hear the mumble of his voice but not the words as he spoke to the guards, and he cuffed the heel of his palm against his eye, grunting when the raw, scraped skin protested.

'What's the point of your magic if you can't heal yourself with it?'

Merlin winced. It had been a few months ago that he had been forced to reveal his secret in the act of saving Arthur's life, and they had only just started to reclaim their equilibrium. He was grateful not to find himself on the pyre, but Arthur's cool distance in the aftermath had been punishment enough, at least in Merlin's eyes. Now, they had reached a point of quiet understanding, one where Arthur wobbled wildly between berating Merlin to be more cautious and succumbing to his own, desperate curiosity.

'I can heal others, sometimes,' Merlin pointed out. That was what mattered to him the most, anyway. He was happy to mend his hurts the normal way if it meant he could save Arthur and his knights before they bled out from a gut wound. 'Besides, I'm all right. Just bruised.'

'I think I'll be the judge of that.' Arthur pushed his plate towards Merlin. 'Eat.'

'This is your dinner.'

'Now it's yours. I command it.'

'Prat.' Merlin's shoulders slumped, and he grabbed a fork, grimacing as his throbbing fingers fumbled around the handle. 'Thanks.'

Arthur sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. It would have looked arrogant and condescending if it weren't for the lines of concern bracketing his mouth. 'You could have changed into dry clothes before you brought that up.' He gestured to the meal, giving the dark fabric of Merlin's rain-drenched tunic a critical glare. 'I'm tragically used to you being late by now. A few more minutes wouldn't have hurt.'

Merlin said nothing. The truth was that if he had taken the time to do more than dump the bag of herbs on the workbench in Gaius' tower rooms, he would probably have crawled into bed and stayed there. Arthur would have starved all night and he would never have heard the end of it.

With that in mind, he judiciously left the huge slab of meat on the plate for Arthur to eat. It wasn't like he ever bothered with his vegetables anyway. The pigs got those, if Merlin didn't snatch them first.

'For the pain.' A cup of wine thunked on the table by his right hand, and Merlin glanced at it before squinting up at Arthur. 'Unless you lost consciousness, in which case you can't have it.'

'You know this kind of thing happens to me at least once a month, yeah?'

The sudden clench of Arthur's jaw spoke volumes. 'Maybe you shouldn't be permitted to go and get herbs without an escort. You didn't black out, did you?' He dragged the chair around to Merlin's side, treating him to a narrow-eyed glare, as if he could make Merlin tell the truth by force of will alone.

'No, Arthur. I'm really all right.' He tried for a reassuring smile and pushed the plate over. 'Eat that. I'll get your bath ready.'

He did not give Arthur the opportunity to argue, taking a large gulp of the undiluted wine before wandering over to the cupboard to drag out the huge copper tub. It was far too fine an item to be entrusted to the servants. Some enterprising soul would have it melted down in less time than it took to blink. Instead, it stayed here, in Arthur's chambers, which at least made it much easier to draw him a bath when he demanded one. All Merlin had to do was retrieve it and let his magic do the rest.

Of course, since Arthur now knew that Merlin did not have to drag heavy buckets all through the castle, he requested them on a far more regular basis.

The ache in his wrist increased as he manipulated the tub and grabbed the privacy screen, setting it all up before ducking behind the wood and letting his magic flow. Clean, steaming water rose to his call, and Merlin nodded in satisfaction before scrambling for towels and soap.

'I don't want a bath tonight.'

Merlin straightened up, glaring around the screen in annoyance. 'What?'

'Gaius says too much bathing is bad for you.'

Merlin shook his head in disbelief. 'Liar.'

Arthur pointed his fork at him. 'Merlin, I am the Prince. Princes do not lie. Still, it would be a shame to waste it. Go on. Get in.'

A tight breath hitched in Merlin's throat, and he bit his lip, his automatic protest dying before it could find voice. Arthur had never done this before. Yes, there had been gentle touches instead of rough-and-tumble horseplay, and kind words interspersed with merciless teasing, but he had never looked after Merlin as if he were someone worthy of care.

He shouldn't. If nothing else, there would be talk – more talk – if it ever came to light. The two of them were already the topic of gossip and had been for months. Arthur seemed to feign indifference, and Merlin had perfected the art of confused, guileless smiles when confronted directly by the other servants, but it did not stop the rumour mill from grinding away.

Still, it wasn't as if it could get any worse, and Merlin's aches were now singing in chorus. The chill shrouding his skin had seeped into his bones, and the gentle steam seemed to beckon him.

'It's water,' Arthur grouched, clearly deciding Merlin had dithered long enough. 'It's not going to bite. Bathe, Merlin, or I will throw you in, boots and all.'

Only Arthur could be that bossy when taking care of someone. 'Yes, Sire. Of course, Sire.'

Moving stiffly, Merlin peeled himself free of his clothes, grimacing at the bruises and scrapes he unveiled. He hadn't been lying. It was not like he had broken any bones, but the truth was he may well have done if not for his magic. It had slowed his fall considerably, yet it had not stopped him bouncing down the sides of the gully, hitting every rock on the way. The result was pale skin painted black and blue, a twisted wrist and a bashed knee.

A hiss of pleasure-cum-pain escaped his lips as he sank into the water, wincing as various scrapes stung at the contact. Still, the heat eased some of his discomfort. It would bring out the bruises and probably make some of the swelling worse, but that was a price he was willing to pay to get the stubborn mud, blood and who knew what else off his skin and out of his hair.

For a moment, he simply leant back against the rim, luxuriating in the warmth as it eased aside the chill that had made nests in his joints. Inch-by-inch, he could feel pain-tight muscles starting to untwist, and he allowed his eyelids to flutter shut. Dimly, he was aware of a knock at the door and Arthur accepting something from some servant or other, but it barely penetrated his mind. He was as close to comfortable as his injuries would allow, and he relished the respite.

'Don't fall asleep!'

Merlin jolted in surprise, huffing a curse as water slopped on the floor. 'You arse,' he grumbled, wishing Arthur could feel the force of his glare through the privacy screen. 'I was just resting my eyes.'

Arthur poked his head around, lifting a highly dubious eyebrow that said more than words ever could. It did not take long for it to morph into a grimace as he got a better view of the damage. 'Gods, Merlin,' he muttered, rolling up the sleeves of his blue tunic to his elbows, apparently indifferent to Merlin's nudity as he stepped forward and reached for the soap. 'I've half-a-mind to call Gaius up to my rooms.'

'Don't.' Merlin grimaced. He really did not want to have to face down The Eyebrow right now. It was bad enough that he had to deal with Arthur's worry. 'I'll be fine in the morning.'

'No, you won't. Everything is going to hurt a hundred times worse and you know it. Lean forward, and yelp if I press too hard.'

Before Merlin could ask what Arthur thought he was doing, a wet, soapy cloth swept gently down his back, lingering on the small, biting wounds scattered across his shoulder-blades. Any protests he had that this was all wrong – that Arthur shouldn't be bathing anyone, least of all a servant like Merlin – died on his lips, banished by Arthur's exquisite care. He had never known him capable of being so gentle, and he swallowed hard as warmth twisted beneath his ribs.

It didn't mean anything, Merlin reminded himself fiercely, chewing on his lip. Arthur's hand curved over his shoulder, steadying him as he eased away a stubborn spot of grime, and heat sparked across Merlin's skin, racing down through his chest to pool between his legs.

This was hardly the first time his attraction to Arthur had hit him like a battering ram to the heart, but normally those were brief, stolen moments, easily concealed. Honestly, he was almost certain this was the most Arthur had ever touched him, his strong hands teasing out the knots in his muscles and ushering away the worst of his pain until he was left languid and unmoored. Really, it was no surprise his cock was starting to take an interest in proceedings, and Merlin eased his palms over his lap in a bid for dignity.

'You've got mud in your ear.' A ripple of laughter gilded Arthur's words, little more than a whisper in the peace of his chambers. 'And several leaves in your hair.'

Merlin snorted, glancing up and realising how close Arthur was, leaning over the bath and inspecting a bump at Merlin's hairline. 'I've brought home half the woods with me.'

'And left half of your skin behind.' Arthur took his right arm, pulling it free of the water's embrace. He turned over Merlin's hand, careful of his wrist as he examined his palm, then eyed the scratches across Merlin's skin. 'People are going to think I beat you.'

'That's really not what people think you do to me.'

Merlin froze, a blush cresting his cheekbones and heating his ears as he realised what he had just implied. It had slipped out without any intrusion from his brain, and he couldn't even blame the mouthful of wine, which hadn't been that strong. 'I – I mean...'

He winced, absolutely not wanting to look into Arthur's face. The temptation to simply flee simmered under his skin. Only the fact that he was stark naked swayed him from that particular course.

He did not fancy giving all of Camelot an eyeful.

It was all Arthur's fault, because he was being all attentive and soft, and Merlin had lowered his walls without really thinking. It wasn't as if he watched what he said at the best of times, but now his words were even less guarded than usual.

'Does it bother you? What people say?'

There was something strained in Arthur's voice, and when Merlin glanced in his direction, he saw that Arthur was focused intently on easing away the streaks of blood and grime. The steam from the bath made the hairs at the nape of his neck curl, and the kindly candlelight blessed his profile with deep shadows and a golden glow. Now, wrapped in affection and concern, his blue eyes limpid with the burden of his care, Merlin had never ached for Arthur more.

'Why would it bother me?' he rasped, swallowing hard and staring back at the bathwater, watching the uncertain reflections wobble over its surface. The only reason the gossip ever tweaked at him was because it wasn't true, and most days he really, really wished it was. 'I'm sorry though. I know it's not what you want people to think of you.'

The cloth blotting at his arm stopped in its motion, and he risked a glance from beneath his lashes. Arthur's brow was pinched in a frown, more of thought than annoyance. 'It's been years since I've cared what most people think of me,' he confessed quietly. 'The servants, the court, even my father... It's all become rather meaningless. Very few of them have my best interests at heart. They're not like you. I have begun to realise that if I don't reach for what I want, it will slip through my fingers.'

Arthur's gaze darted up to meet his, and Merlin's breath tripped over itself beneath his ribs, because that was not just a look of lust. It was too tender for that, too vulnerable, as if Merlin held Arthur's bleeding, precious heart in his clumsy hands.

'And what do you want?' he whispered, barely daring to breathe the question. The sensible thing at this moment would be to step back from this precipice – to stay as they had always been – but it was already too late for that. He could feel the balance tipping all around him: nothing so trite as destiny forging a new path. This was not about any of that. It was about him and Arthur, no more and no less.

Arthur drew in a breath, and proved himself to be as brave as his reputation claimed. 'You, Merlin. I want you.'

For one, delirious moment, Merlin wondered if he had hit his head harder than he thought. His brain stuttered on Arthur's words, questioning whether they were the product of his over-active imagination, but no, they couldn't be, not when Arthur was looking at him like that, all anxious warmth and hope.

The bath water sloshed as he reached out, his hand tangling clumsily in the collar of Arthur's tunic. Droplets stained the linen as he leaned up, his eyes darting back and forth over Arthur's face for any hint of doubt. Instead, all he saw was the same breathless awe that filled him to the brim: a giddy, joyful disbelief that this was really happening.

Then Arthur ducked his head to kiss him, and it felt like all the jagged pieces of the world slotted into place.

Merlin had always assumed he would be as bossy and demanding in this as he was in everything else. He was not prepared for the gentle, almost shy pressure of Arthur's mouth on his, pressing forward and retreating before returning once more, like soft waves rolling upon the shore. He had never thought Arthur would treat him with such tenderness, finally skimming the tip of his tongue over Merlin's pout and letting out a heady, satisfying groan when Merlin opened up for him.

It was no sweet, chaste, innocent kiss. Neither one of them were in the mood to play coy games. For Merlin's part, at least, it felt as if he had been hoping for this for months, tangled in his own imaginings and heart-sore because it would never be anything more. Now he had Arthur right where he wanted him, and nothing – not even the grumbling ache in his wrist and the sting of scrapes – was going to distract him from making the most of it.

Arthur's hand slid through his wet hair, cupping his head and changing the angle. Merlin's moan inspired a delicate shiver that he felt through his fingertips, those strong shoulders trembling beneath the drift of his caress. It was dizzying – empowering; he had never believed Arthur could look at him and feel the same desire that Merlin battled against every day, yet here they were, the two of them becoming breathless as their kisses grew hot with hunger.

'Wait,' Arthur rasped at last, breaking away with an audible noise of regret.

Merlin made a rough, questioning sound, pulling back and tracing his tongue over his bottom lip. His mouth felt swollen and sensitive, and he blinked stupidly up at Arthur, admiring the flush high on his cheeks and the way his eyes had darkened to the deep blue of a midsummer sky.

'I had the servants bring some bandages.' Arthur looked as if he were struggling to bother remembering anything so mundane. 'Your injuries...'

'Are fine, Arthur! Come here.'

Arthur lifted an eyebrow, shifting out of reach and smirking as Merlin leaned over the edge of the tub. 'How about you come here instead?' He rose to his feet, holding out an expectant hand.

Merlin entertained various fantasies of grabbing it and pulling Arthur in after him, clothes and all. Still, maybe Arthur had a point, the bath would struggle to fit the both of them comfortably, and either one of them drowning would rather ruin what was turning out to be the best evening of his life, wounds and all.

'Left hand, not your right, I don't want to hurt you more,' Arthur warned, grinning when Merlin huffed and did as he was told, letting Arthur pull him free from the water's clinging embrace. The general soap and grime had, to some extent, been hiding his arousal. Now he left that flimsy veil behind, stepping over the rim to stand, bold and only faintly embarrassed, before him.

Not, it turned out, that he needed to be feel any shame, not if the way Arthur's hungry gaze burned down the length of him, pink from the heat of the bath water and hard with want.

'Merlin.'

His name sounded like a prayer as it fell from Arthur's lips. His body was a wall of warmth as he stepped close once more, his mouth hot and demanding as the fine linen of Arthur's tunic brushed against his bare chest.

There was something intoxicating about it – not just Arthur's kisses, but standing before him wearing nothing but his skin, every secret on display. He had marks enough on his flesh, each with their own stories and secrets. Yet Arthur's fingers neither lingered over them nor detoured around. Their trembling path mapped their boundaries, his touch a maddening brand against Merlin's skin that sent his blood surging wild and wanton through his veins.

His palm clutched greedily at Arthur's hip, fingertips teasing with the hem of his tunic only to dive beneath. Arthur's skin was warm and smooth, his body honed by his years of training as a knight. Strong muscles clenched at Merlin's touch, and no amount of remaining clothing could hide the hard press of Arthur's cock against him as a broad hand splayed at the base of Merlin's spine, urging him closer.

He did not notice the flare of his magic, too lost in the heat of their kisses to realise it reached for Arthur with its own, joyful touch. The clank of a buckle hitting the floor punctuated the leathery slither of Arthur's belt as it fell away, untouched. A hush of fabric suggested that if Arthur did not get out of his clothes soon, they would simply dissolve at the seams, unpicked by eager, instinctive spell-work.

A huff of laughter escaped Arthur's lips, and he claimed Merlin's mouth in a searing, demanding kiss. His fingers curled around the hem of his tunic to skim it up over his shoulders before he wriggled out of breeches, socks and smalls. His boots had been discarded before Merlin even entered the room, and he found himself grateful for small mercies, because it meant Arthur was in his arms again a moment later, hot and wonderful.

'Look at that,' he husked, smirking. 'You can undress yourself after all.'

'Insolent,' Arthur chided, his reprimand too hoarse to sound anything other than wrecked as he pinched gently at Merlin's waist, his palm smoothing away the spark of shallow, meaningless pain. Yet there was a flicker of something in his eyes – a soft uncertainty that Merlin ached to chase off. 'This isn't about duty, is it, Merlin? I couldn't bear it if –'

Merlin swallowed the words with the hot slide of his mouth, his body arching into Arthur's as he ran his fingers through that mop of golden hair. He wished he could pretend Arthur was just being particularly dense, but it was a valid concern. Some lords carried certain expectations of their servants, extending their chores to tumbling in the bed-sheets. Arthur had never been one of them, and if he had, there was a good chance Merlin would have turned around and headed straight back to Ealdor within the first week.

His body was his to share as he saw fit, and he had so longed to share it with Arthur.

'Definitely not, ' he whispered at last, pressing their brows together, taking advantage of the scant inch of height he had over him to emphasise his point. 'This is about us. I want this.'

'It's yours. I'm yours.' Arthur spoke it like a vow, his whisper stirring the air between them as he guided Merlin closer to the soft depths of his bed, dashing kisses over Merlin's cheekbones and stroking his promises into Merlin's flesh. It was a dizzying adoration, as if Arthur, who spent his whole life restraining almost every display of affection, was finally allowing himself free rein. It was the press of skin-on-skin and the tangle of their knees, straining hips and heady gasps that said sonnets without uttering a single word.

The bed welcomed them with a sigh, and Merlin shivered in delight as Arthur's weight settled over him, pressing him down into the mattress, neither one of them able to lie still as they lost themselves to the rush of wanting and being wanted in turn. Yet the frantic edge to Arthur's trembling touches and the greedy rut of Merlin's hips was tempered by the sweet softness of longing. They had, it seemed, both struggled under their quiet desire for too long, and now that it lay exposed, they relished it in every way they could.

A quick tip of his weight sent Arthur sprawling under Merlin, their positions reversing, and he took a brief moment to be grateful for the sheer size of Arthur's bed. If they had attempted this in his narrow cot, they would have both been on the floor in minutes. Instead, he could enjoy the spread of Arthur beneath him, laid out like a banquet.

He pressed his lips over Arthur's eager pulse, tasting the salt of sweat and the heady flutter of life under the veil of his skin. He scraped his teeth over taut tendons, shivering at Arthur's helpless, breathy groan that only deepened to something rumbling and delirious as Merlin skimmed lower.

He knew this body well – had served it for years. He recognised each scar and welcomed the strength of Arthur's muscles like an old friend, but he had never truly thought he would get the chance to caress them. There was a vast difference between the fleeting necessities of tending Arthur as a prince and this, tending him as a lover; Merlin met the new frontier with devoted enthusiasm.

He chased out the secrets in the planes of Arthur's body, enjoying every flex of muscle and shivering gasp. He tasted the shadows that gathered in the dip of Arthur's hips and ran his fingertips through the coarse hairs that gilded his thighs, while his heart beat out a steady litany of yes, yes, yes.

'Merlin. Merlin.' Arthur buried his fingers in his hair, his body tense and trembling as Merlin's mouth hovered over his prize. Here, Arthur smelled dark and rich and tempting, and Merlin swallowed hard, looking up into that face.

The keening sound Arthur made when Merlin wrapped his lips around the head of his cock was a siren song in his ears. It did things to him, unravelling Arthur like this, stripping aside all his masks. This was the man he had come to love, not just because he was a prince, but because he was Arthur.

He licked and sucked and kissed and swallowed, revelling in every noise he drew from Arthur's lips. The friction of the bed-sheets against his own heavy arousal was more teasing than anything else, but that was a price he was willing to pay if it meant he got Arthur beneath him, glossed with sweat and with his kiss-reddened mouth parted around hitching cries of pleasure.

The hands in his hair stuttered before shifting, pushing at his shoulders and cupping his nape, trying to shift down the bed. Merlin managed a rough noise of protest, but it went unheeded as Arthur gasped a command. 'Up here. I want you up here.'

Arthur didn't wait for him to oblige. Instead, he hauled Merlin bodily up the mattress, rolling as he did so until they lay side-by-side, facing one another. Normally, Merlin objected to being shoved around, but here, now, it spawned a fresh wave of shivers, coiling his desire tighter at the base of his spine. Arthur tangled their legs and cinched their hips, dragging their cocks together in a greedy rut that made Merlin see stars, and the noise that escaped him would have been embarrassing if he had half a mind left to care.

'Fuck, Arthur!'

'Later,' Arthur promised, smudging clumsy kisses across Merlin's face and down his neck, scraping with teeth and rasping stubble in a way that Merlin knew would leave marks. 'Can't last. Not now.'

Merlin shifted, wriggling a hand between them and wrapping his fingers around them both, but the sharp spark of pleasure was drowned almost immediately by the protest of his wrist, and his hiss of discomfort brought some focus back into Arthur's glassy gaze.

'Let me,' he murmured, easing Merlin aside and taking his place, his hot palm sending flames of desire ricocheting along Merlin's nerves. He canted his hips, gasping in a breath as Arthur stroked, the muscles in his arm bunching and flexing beneath the clutch of Merlin's fingertips.

It was so easy to lose himself to the friction, pre-come steadily making things smoother as Merlin's toes curled and his body shuddered. Sparks were catching light in every hollow, hidden place, glowing brighter and brighter as Arthur abandoned himself to concentrate on Merlin. He did so with the same single-minded focus he applied to the battlefield, seeking out Merlin's weaknesses and taking ruthless, delicious advantage until he could barely breathe – the air too hot and heavy.

Release bloomed through him, rushing out from the pit of his belly and lighting up everything in its path. His grip tightened fiercely on Arthur's arm, hard enough to leave bruises as wet warmth splashed between the press of their bodies. Arthur stroked him through it, tempting out every twitch until Merlin was shaking and sensitive, dazed and spent.

Arthur's fingers skimmed through the mess, and Merlin managed a hoarse, wrecked noise as he watched Arthur take himself in hand, stroking rapidly, flushed and breathless, before spilling with a moan a moment later. His damp brow pressed against Merlin's, his shoulders shuddering with the aftershocks as Merlin wrapped him in a lazy, limp embrace.

'I wanted to do that,' he mumbled without any ire, too wrung out to do much more than nuzzle his face against Arthur's cheek, seeking out his warmth and losing himself in the rich smell of his skin. 'My left hand still works.'

Arthur huffed a laugh, wrinkling his nose at the mess before seeming to dismiss it and tangling their legs together. His arm draped over Merlin's waist, nestling them close as their racing hearts slowly found a steadier waltz. 'Next time,' he promised, not bothering to hide the bright flash of his grin. Merlin was helpless to do anything but return it, as enamoured with the idea of next time as he was the man before him.

Around them, the deepening evening sent fingers of cold into the room, battling the fire in its effort to conquer the chamber. It did not take long for the cooling sweat to chill them both, and Arthur heaved a sigh, pressing a kiss to Merlin's temple before peeling them apart and getting to his feet. A stab of uncertainty shot through his chest as he wondered if Arthur would send him away, only to fade a moment later as soft words reached his ears.

'Get in, Merlin.'

'Where are you going?'

'Not far. I'll be right back.'

Merlin huffed, shifting uncooperative limbs and doing as he was told, banishing the stains from the sheets and the drying come from his own skin with a simple flicker of magic. Judging by Arthur's gasp of surprise, the spell had paid him the same attentions, and he stifled a grin as he nestled in the decadent depths of Arthur's bed.

True to his word, Arthur returned in less than a minute, a roll of bandage in his hand. He perched on the edge of the mattress, reaching for Merlin's sore wrist and wrapping it with careful diligence. Merlin watched, a weary smile curving the corner of his lips as Arthur checked the tightness and tucked the end of the strip in to keep it in place. 'Thank you. Not just for this. For –' Merlin trailed off, giving a shake of his head. 'For everything.'

Arthur's answering grin was as dazzling as the dawn, and he slipped into bed at Merlin's side, dragging him close and murmuring sweet words in Merlin's ear. They talked until the candles wallowed in their wax, speaking of everything and nothing all at once. The concerns of the kingdom faded, washed away by the rain outside, and eventually, the sorcerer and his prince drifted off, safe in each other's arms.

As they would always be.