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Merlin wouldn’t look at Arthur. He wouldn’t!
“Are you a child?” Arthur demanded.
“Why don’t you ask Cedric?” Merlin stuck his nose in the air. If Arthur saw him as a child, he’d be a good servant (like Cedric) and comply.
“Well, I don’t want to.” Arthur sat down beside him on the stone entrance steps; Merlin, true to form, turned away, folding his arms. “You’d think I’d married the man, the way you’re acting.”
“What’d Cedric think—” Merlin began, sing-song.
“Enough,” Arthur growled. Merlin, slightly alarmed, found himself being whirled around by a firm hand. “The only reason I hired him was to wind you up for a lark. Now come back.”
Arthur’s eyes belied his command.
“I hate you,” Merlin sighed, caving.
“Fibber.” Arthur leant in. “Now give us a kiss.”
Merlin scowled. Arthur paused, inches away.
“I hate you, too.”
“Fibber.”
Arthur’s answering smile tasted sweet.