MORGANA STARED DOWN AT his new metal hand in awe, clenching and unclenching his fist to get a feel for it. It looked more like armor than a hand, oddly reminiscent of Crane's offer he'd refused. It was sharp and dangerous, but as beautiful as anything made by the Sídhe. To his surprise, the hand was flexible, lightweight, and sensitive. It was a thousand times better than his wooden replacement, it felt better.
What's more, she offered him armor to match for his good hand, just as decorated and effective.
"Thank you," he breathed, taking another long look at his palm. "It's perfect. I don't know how to repay you."
"You don't have to repay me, remember?" Mab told him. "Everything I give you is free, because I want to give. That's the best thing you can do for me, let me be generous."
Morgana gulped, hesitating to accept it. He wasn't good at accepting gifts, it didn't do well with his nature, and it had nothing to do with his faery blood. But if that's what she wanted, he'd try to be okay with it. He nodded and said nothing.
"Well then," Mab said. "You look in need of a bath and a fresh change of clothes, can I show you to your room?"
She took him to the same room he was in last time, ushering him into a washroom where a warm tub of water was already waiting for him.
"Why are you doing all this?" he asked as he slipped his tunic from his shoulders and onto the floor. The Fair Folk had no shame around each other, even when they were royalty. "The hand, letting us stay here, what's in it for you?"
She helped him slip into the water, and he groaned as the warmth settled over his stiff limbs. "You are my charge," she said. "You're one of my own. As your Queen, I am obligated to help when help is asked of me. What's in it for me? I get to be a better Queen than that awful bitch, and I get to go to sleep at night knowing I at least made one person's life better."
As much as he loathed to trust any faery royalty, he couldn't deny how safe he felt with Mab. She was more genuine than Titania by a long shot, whatever her intentions may be.
She didn't leave his side, and truthfully, he didn't want her to. After he was scrubbed clean, she left for a moment, only to return with an armful of garments for him to change into once he'd dried himself enough. It was proper clothing this time, leather and metal and a heavy cloak, not a color in sight. He felt like himself again, as much as he could at a time like this.
"You're not a prisoner to them anymore," she observed. "What changed?"
Morgana raised a shoulder. "We've got a common goal this time. Save the Fair Folk. I don't know what will happen after we save them from this disease, but for now, we'll get more done if we work together."
"Have you thought about it?"
"Thought about what?"
"What'll happen after," she answered. "I assume Kit will try to bring back Camelot anyways, and you still don't want that to happen. What's going to happen when you've saved your people?"
Morgana swallowed. It wasn't something he'd agonized over, but maybe he should've thought about it before he went and kissed the bastard and got attached. He couldn't help himself anymore, even though he knew he was only signing himself up for pain. Their paths were destined to part after this.
"I guess maybe I'd hoped that--" He fidgeted with his new hand. "It's stupid of me, I shouldn't assume. But I figured maybe he'd try to see my side now that we're... whatever we are. He cares about me, Mab, maybe he cares enough not to do it."
The Queen gave him a sad smile. "You're right," she said, much to his surprise.
"Really?"
"You shouldn't assume."
Oh.
She took his arm, leading him to the bed, sitting him down and settling in beside him. "Kit is a determined fellow, as headstrong as you. I don't think he's going to change his mind even if he's madly in love, I'm afraid. If he had to choose between you and the wellbeing of his people... well, he's a bit of a paragon. We both know what he'd choose."
Morgana gulped. As much as it hurt to admit, she was right.
"However," she went on, and he met her ancient eyes. "It's telling that he dropped his entire mission to help your people. Perhaps he's got an ulterior motive, but he still risked his own kingdom to help yours. That's not something to look over."
She made an excellent point. The moment Astyr told them all about the illness devastating the Sídhe, they searched high and low for a solution, even let Morgana out of his chains in the process. Maybe there was still hope, maybe they could come to an agreement.
"Where are they?" he asked after several moments of silence. "The others?"
Without a word, Mab led him out of his room, ushering him down the corridor until they reached the next door. She knocked, and it flew open to reveal a shirtless Kit, hair wet and dripping down his scarred and golden skin. If someone were to ask Morgana what color the walls were, he couldn't have told them.
"He was looking for you," said Mab.
"Not you in particular," Morgana jumped in, frantically trying to defend himself despite the angry blush on his cheeks. "Just... all of you. We only happened to find you first."
Kit gave him a knowing smirk, and Morgana wished he'd had a knife on him with which to threaten the grin right off his face. An icy glare would do for now, not that it helped.
"The others are likely in this same hall," Mab told him. "Come get me when you're all ready. I'm eager to know why you're here."
"Wait--" Morgana called as the woman turned and left. She ignored him, vanishing and leaving him alone with a very tempting Kit.
The prince leaned against the doorframe. "Can I help you?"
He wished he had a cure for his terrible flustered state. "I just wanted to know where you all were. Being alone with a Grand Queen for too long freaks me out, even if I trust her."
"You seem freaked out just being alone with me, should I be honored?"
"I'm not freaked out," Morgana growled. "I'm annoyed. You annoy me."
Kit placed a finger beneath his chin, leaning closer until their breaths mingled. "I know I do."
"Go put clothes on," he mumbled. "We've got a lot to do."
"Fine." Kit dropped his finger, but he didn't move his face until Morgana shoved it away with his metal hand, and he was soon to regret it. The prince took his wrist with a curious expression. "You got an upgrade."
Morgana took a step back. "Yes, I did. You can admire it and the rest of me later once you're dressed. I'll meet you in the foyer."
The prince frowned, but he obediently disappeared back into his room with a nod, and Morgana made his way down each door of the hallway until he'd given the message to all of his companions. They met him minutes later, cleaned and dressed and revitalized. Exhaustion etched itself across all their faces, but it was hard to sleep with so much ahead of them.
"So," Mab began after they'd followed Atla into the throne room. The Queen was relaxed in her seat, brow furrowed and eyes intent. "You came here for a reason. I didn't yet ask why that was, not really."
Her gaze was set on Morgana, and he had a feeling he'd be doing most of the talking.
"Right," he said awkwardly. "We came here seeking shelter. We're not safe in the human world and we're not safe in the Seelie Kingdom. We didn't know where else to go."
Chalice stepped forward next, brandishing the Grail with a polite bow of their head. "And we have this," they went on. "If our theories are correct, this can heal the Fair Folk and stop the disease. We don't know how to use it, I thought maybe you could help us figure it out."
Mab contemplated. "Shelter, I can provide," she said. "The Holy Grail... I'm not sure. That artifact has no ties to the Folk beyond the Gods. I can try my best, but I think the most I can do is helping you with your own abilities, perhaps that's all you need to figure it out for yourself."
Morgana nodded at the Queen. "Thank you, Your Majesty. Let us know if we can do anything for you."
"My dear boy, you know why I do this," she told him. "I'll help you all after you get some rest. You need it before you can do any kind of world-saving."
Morgana didn't want to rest, he wanted to work, but Mab wouldn't have it, and he was in no position to deny the Unseelie Queen. So he ducked his head and did as he was told, trudging up the stairs and to his lonely room.
Sleep would not come easy. He was restless, bored, and perhaps a bit lonely. After so long sleeping by someone else, he didn't want to sleep alone anymore.
And so, like the idiot he was, he rolled out of his bed, throwing open his door and limping down the hall. He leaned against the wall to stay standing, until he reached the door. Just as he'd raised his fist to knock, Kit appeared before him, and they both froze in their tracks.
"Sorry," Morgana stammered. "I was just--"
"No, you're okay, I was about to--"
He knew exactly what Kit was about to do, and it was clear Kit knew what Morgana was there for. No more words were said while the prince pulled him into his room and shoved his against the door, smashing their lips together. All Morgana's self control was gone and he gave in, tugging his hair and pulling him closer with his leg.
The rest was a blur, Kit throwing him onto the bed, Morgana ripping apart the man's poor tunic with his vicious metal fingers. They kissed until their breaths became stale and their lips were too swollen to keep going. Tonight, they didn't want to go any further than that. It did its job, exhausting Morgana enough to finally close his eyes and hold still in Kit's arms.
These beds were too soft for comfort. Kit's chest and Morgana's bony limbs were hard enough to make up for it, though, and finally, sleep didn't run from him like a deer in a meadow. He fell asleep to the steady sound of a heartbeat and the comforting rise and fall of their slow breaths.
He didn't know what he dreamt of, but he woke up with a smile on his face and warm arms around his body.
* * *
Namyra could see her home from this tower. Wrapped in sunlight and green, the palace stuck up like a beacon. Of what, she couldn't say. Hope, however, was not it.
The crown against her brow burned like iron, but it was all her imagination, she knew that. It was made of the finest Seelie silvers, she'd worn it for years. It was hers, her signature, but lately, she felt like it didn't belong to her. She was a fraud, an imposter to the throne, a sellout. Her people would not see freedom the longer she did as she was told, but she couldn't help them if she was dead, either.
The Queen would return again soon, but while she was away, she sang a lullaby, a hymn of the Summer Folk, and pictured herself dancing in their circles with Lords and peasants and elders and children, to the lively music she knew so well. Her people would never get that joy back, not after all this carnage, but a girl could dream.
At least, she could until the Queen came home.