Camelot's Crow | ✓ [BOOK 3]

~ 25 ~

MORGANA WAS ALREADY AWAKE when he felt Kit sit up abruptly beside him. The faery's eyes had been open for the past several minutes, staring at the wall in a trance, but he pulled them away to turn and look at the prince when he heard his labored breathing.

"What's the matter?" he asked, hovering a hand over the golden skin of his bare back. He didn't know whether or not he should touch him yet.

Kit buried his face in his hands, threading his fingers through his hair, and Morgana sat up.

"Kristofer?"

"I had a dream," he murmured. "I haven't had dream in a long time."

The faery finally touched him then, tracing gentle shapes into his spine with his sharp nails. "Was it a good dream?"

Kit's teary eyes met Morgana's, and that was enough to answer his question.

"Oh. Want to talk about it?"

The prince shrugged. "I already forgot."

Morgana knew it was a lie, but he didn't press the issue. He brushed a strand of golden hair out of his face and leaned forward to kiss his shoulder. "Your hair has gotten long," he noted.

Kit smirked at him despite the fact that he'd been crying only seconds ago, and it was a relief to know he was still in there. He'd be alright. "You're one to talk."

"Oi," Morgana scolded and shoved his arm. "We Fair Folk grow out our hair as a cultural practice. You're a prince, you're supposed to be put together."

"I can be put together with long hair!" he whined, but he sobered up a moment later. "You think I'm still a prince?"

"Of course you are," Morgana hummed. "You're my prince. And you're going to rule Camelot someday. You can't do that if you aren't a prince."

Kit chuckled and took his hand, kissing his knuckles. "What if I told you I don't think I want to be a King?"

Morgana raised his brows. "Oh? What, do you wish to be a Queen like me instead?"

He kissed his palm. "No," he replied. "I'm starting to think putting one person in charge of everything because they happened to be born in the right family isn't the best way to handle a kingdom."

"I haven't ever seen it done another way," Morgana hummed. "I suppose we've got the Council, but those are also inherited positions. Perhaps you've got a point."

Kit leaned in to plant a brief kiss on his Morgana's lips and his stomach fluttered. It was so small and so simple, but it had him soaring, and he didn't know why.

"Enough boring political talk," said the prince. "I'm hungry. You?"

"I could eat."

Morgana didn't bother with more than a simple silk robe to cover his torso that morning. His wings needed to breathe after he'd crammed them into his leather armor for so long, even though he hated to see them. Even with his newfound power that healed his perpetual illness, his broken wings, much like his mangled leg, would always be a part of him, something that no amount of magic would never change.

Kit met him at the door, holding out his arm. Morgana looked from his eyes to his elbow and back up again, brow raised.

"What?" Kit asked with a defensive laugh.

"Nothing!" Morgana said. "I'm just not used to... all of this, I guess."

"Neither am I, but it's good, isn't it?"

He smiled and slipped his arm into Kit's, leaning against him for support as they left the room in pursuit of the dining hall. "It's good."

Namyra was already there when they arrived, wide awake and fully dressed, breathless as though she'd been running back and forth all morning. And, for all Morgana knew, she very well could have. He hadn't seen her rest in a long time.