Camelot's Crow | ✓ [BOOK 3]

~ 31 ~

MORGANA WAS STILL ASLEEP when he sat up that night. He and Kit were on the vegetated floor of the dungeon, wrapped in each other and a blanket Kit stole from another cell. The faery struggled to wake up, even as he searched for the knife. He found it on the bench, gleaming in the faint light, red crystals twinkling like the fresh, wet blood he craved to see.

No. Not him. He was out of his own control, though, as he straddled himself on Kit's lap, knife raised while his other hand moved to cover his mouth should he scream and wake up the rest of the palace and ruin it.

"Stop it," he hissed to himself, but his body didn't listen. The prince was under him, asleep and helpless and unarmed. Morgana was also two of those things.

The moment he swung his hand down, he expected it to do something horrible, and he was hardly conscious enough to understand what was happening. He was brought back to reality when Kit's hand shot up, colliding with his wrist, fighting against the knife threatening to cut him open.

"Morgana, stop it," he grunted. "Stop. It's me, it's Kit."

He couldn't open his fingers or move his hand. Something in his head was telling him this was the right thing to do, urging him to finish the job, and that something was in control of his body. All he could manage was a weak "help" as he struggled against Kit's restraint.

Kit gritted his teeth and used all of his strength to violently shove Morgana's hand away, loosening his grip on the handle and sending the knife clattering to the other side of the cell. Morgana thought it would stop it, but he was swiping at him now, and Kit strained beneath his vicious claws.

"Hey," Kit hissed, wincing as a claw created a shallow cut on his cheek. "Come on, Morgana. Remember what I said. You're stronger than him."

It took a lot of effort, but soon, Kit caught hold of both his Morgana's wrists, gently humming his name, and the faery settled as the smoke cleared, returning him to himself. He was panting, staring down as the blood trickling down Kit's cheek.

"There you are," the prince murmured, a smile spreading over his face. He started to loosen his grip, but Morgana stopped him.

"Don't let go of me yet," he whispered, focusing on the feeling of Kit's strong hands on his arms, steadying him. He took a deep breath and leaned down, resting his forehead on Kit's shoulder. He let go of his wrists then, instead wrapping his arms around Morgana's back. He held him until his heart stopped thundering in his chest and his breathing slowed. His anchor.

The prince traced his lips over the crook of his neck. "You alright?"

"Now I am."

It was quiet for several moments, nothing but the sounds of their breath. Morgana was the first to break away, slipping from his arms in search of his clothes scattered about the cell.

"What, already?"

Morgana rolled his eyes. "Yes, already. We have a rather important child to rescue. Your child, if I remember correctly."

Kit huffed and ran a hand down his face. "Right. I'd hoped maybe the best sex of my life would've fixed all our problems."

Morgana smacked him with his long dress. "Watch your mouth, Kristofer."

"What? I'm not lying!" he exclaimed, holding up his hands in defense. "Come on, you don't agree?"

"It was great, you're right," he mumbled. "But I didn't hope it would solve everything."

"You always take everything so seriously," Kit said under his breath, but there was a grin on his face, telling him he wasn't angry with him. It was nice, not having everything turn into a fight. It was easier not to hate Kit when he looked so beautiful with his long, messy hair and his thin stubble visible even in the dim light.