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“We have to go!” Rain clouded Arthur’s vision as he gestured in the downpour.
“Why? So you can kill me?”
“He’ll wake up! Whatever your fate, you’re better off with me!” Arthur shouted. He threw a glance at the brigand who had just sailed over his head and hit a tree meters away from him.
“I know who you are. I just threw a man using magic and you think I’m putting my life in the hands of Uther Pendragon’s son?” The sorcerer spat back. Dark circles under his eyes betrayed him. He had no fight left.
Arthur approached the tree while the man drew back from where he’d been fighting his restraints. A rope was tied tightly around his waist. Slipping his fingers around the wet fibers was difficult, but Arthur managed to undo the knot, even with rain still pouring down his face.
“Grab… the key,” the sorcerer panted and he slumped over, hands on his knees now that he could move. His voice had changed from venomous to defeated almost instantly.
“Are you al-?”
“No time. There’s a cave… up ahead. We won’t make it any farther.”
Arthur resisted the urge to point out he was fine. He searched the kidnapper’s belt and found a heavy key with an ornate handle that looked like a bear. Showing it to the sorcerer got a small nod.
He took on the weight of the man as they stumbled through the brush and mud. It seemed he grew heavier with each step, and his footing was uneasy at best.
At last they reached a wall of ivy. The sorcerer muttered something slow and pained. Vines parted in front of the prince’s eyes to reveal a dry, dark cave. Arthur pushed them both forward and shivered as water ran down his back.
The other man tottered for a moment, falling forward and only just catching himself against the wall. He took deep, gulping breaths and sank with his back to the prince.
“Do you want them off?” Arthur asked after a moment of listening to nothing but their huffing echoing on the walls.
“What?” The man snapped.
Arthur raised an eyebrow. This behavior was typical in animals caught in traps, not men who were alive and well. “The shackles. Do you want me to…”
The sorcerer turned slowly and sat heavily, bracing himself on his knees. He muttered again and a dim green fire appeared in the middle of the stone floor.
Arthur stared, amazed. “How is it possible?”
“The key?” There was a sense of urgency and exhaustion in the sorcerer’s voice that told the prince this was not the time for questions.
“Oh. Yes.” He walked over, able to see easily now, and was about to unlock the cuffs when the man jerked his hands back.
“Be careful. It’s iron. Don’t touch it to my skin.”
Arthur stared at him quizzically but lifted the shackles gingerly. He stopped short. There hadn’t been a moment to really look at what the problem was before this.
“I’ve never seen such handcuffs,” he breathed. Where the key had been ornate, these were downright gaudy. Etched scenes of a hunt, ending with men laid in the grass, pools of entrails beside them decorated the entirety of the bands.
“Please take them off,” the man whispered desperately.
“O-of course,” the prince faltered. It was like watching a fox before it decides to gnaw its own leg to escape. He slipped the key in slowly, feeling for the click, and making sure to stop before he touched skin. He didn’t know what would happen if he did. As soon as the second lock turned the sorcerer collapsed. There was no warning. Life fled from him, his eyes rolled back, and he fell. Arthur dropped the key and just caught him before his head met stone. He eased him down, using the low, sickly light to search for injuries. Head first, of course, then abdomen. No gaping wounds or pouring blood. Something else then. He glanced over the limp body and finally noticed the man’s wrists. They were caked in scabs and trickles of blood, still wet and raw. Arthur picked up a hand and studied the wounds. Magic, obviously. No normal set of cuffs would do this.
He’d barely had time to speak to the sorcerer, let alone get his whole story. He’d stumbled upon him accidentally, crying out in the forest and begging to be let go. Something about finding his destiny.
Arthur sighed and hurried to the mouth of the cave. He pulled out his water skin and held it out to the downpour. The rain still pelted down, and he worried about the journey the next day. He captured enough to drink, even if it was slow going, and sat next to the man again.
“I wish I knew your name. I don’t even know what to call you,” he sighed, brushing the hair out of his eyes. He realized how tired he was but wanted to finish one task at a time.
In his traveling sack, he had a small bowl for meals. He pulled it out and dumped as much water as he could spare into it. He dipped a clean shirt in the bowl and brought it to the man’s wrist.
He twitched as it touched his skin but it was involuntary. It made Arthur feel better to know he was alive at least.
After painstaking work, the skin looked better. Arthur rinsed the cloth as much as he could and went over each wrist multiple times to ward off infection. It may have been his imagination, but he thought the flame grew brighter as he worked, getting warmer and less sickly. The idea of magic fire set him on edge but not enough for him to shun its warmth. When he was done, he found his dressings and wrapped the wrists. Then, he pulled out his knapsack, threw a blanket over the man, and slipped into an uneasy rest. It never even occurred to him to be frightened of sleeping next to this sorcerer.
Merlin woke in a haze of pain, relief, and confusion. His memory was fuzzy for a moment until he opened his eyes to see Camelot’s Prince staring at him. His reputation preceded him. He was tall, blond, strong (if memory served), and sullen.
“You’re awake. Finally,” the prince threw a glance at the light fighting its way through the ivy.
“Against your knight code to kill a sleeping man?” Merlin wished he could say he sounded confident, but as he sat up, he put pressure on his hand and gasped at the pain.
“I saved you from a slaver. You could show some gratitude.”
“Your whole kingdom wants me dead. For all I know, you’re keeping me alive to take back to your father as a trophy. Killing me in the town square would make quite a spectacle,” Merlin glared at his rescuer.
“I’m not going to kill you. Would you look around? I untied you, unlocked your cuffs, slept next to you, and woke before you. If I wanted you dead, my sword would have pinned you to the tree yesterday,” Arthur huffed, exasperated.
“That was detailed.”
Arthur glared. “Nothing’s going to make you happy, is it?”
“Probably not.”
The prince scoffed and turned back to the fire, now burning a clear yellow. He stirred the small pot that hung over the flame. “What’s your name, sorcerer?”
“What?” Merlin realized he smelled food. It was what had woken him in the first place.
“You have one, don’t you?”
“I’m… Merlin.”
“Merlin?”
He nodded.
The prince turned around, handing him a bowl of… something. He ate without asking questions.
“I’m Arthur. Uh, Prince of Camelot, but seems like you knew that.”
“I was on my way to Camelot when I got… caught. I’d done my research.”
“A sorcerer was moving into my father’s kingdom? Are you a cabbage head?”
Merlin snorted despite himself. “A what?”
Arthur realized his mistake. He didn’t know this man, he’d only just learned his name, but there was something about him. A curiosity he couldn’t shake. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
“No, um, I just- I just had to leave. Too many mistakes. The town council was afraid I’d draw attention. No one wanted a witch hunt.”
Arthur dipped his chin. He knew his father’s raiding parties were merciless. He’d been on a few himself and lost the stomach for it, much to his father’s dismay. “But Camelot?”
“My mother has a friend. Gaius-“
“The court physician, Gaius?” Arthur jerked his head up to see if this Merlin was serious.
“Yes,” he answered hesitantly.
“Are you insane?”
Merlin stared at his empty bowl. “It was better to go somewhere no one knew me. I could hide then.”
Arthur cleared his throat, moving the rest of his breakfast around lamely. He cleared his throat to break the silence that had stretched too long. “Can I check them?”
Merlin stared at him.
“Uh, your bandages.” Arthur gestured down to his wrists.
“You bandaged me?” Merlin didn’t know who else would have done it, but it struck him that the prince had taken the time to tend him.
“It’s what I was trained to do.” Arthur shifted forward and picked up Merlin’s hand. No blood had seeped through and the skin around was a normal color, no redness or swelling in sight. “They look good,” he nodded after an inspection of the second hand.
Merlin wrapped his arms around himself and nodded. “Thank you.”
Arthur nodded and sat back down. “How long were you trapped?”
“He caught me on the edge of the forest. I think he was filling a quota. I hadn’t used any magic on the road. As soon as the iron burned me, he knew.”
“The handcuffs were enchanted to find magic?”
“Yes. And no. They wouldn’t have affected you. Iron burns fae. I guess I’m close enough,” Merlin rubbed his hand over his face.
“They did something else to you?” Despite his father’s warnings, Arthur couldn’t pull himself away from the sorcerer. He caught himself caring. Deeply.
“The cuffs were enchanted. They dampen magic. Every time I used it, they drew more energy.” He finally saw where Arthur had cast them last night. Their dark enchantment itched at the back of his mind, twisting itself into him still.
“That’s why you were half dead when I found you. How many times did you try to escape?” Arthur reached forward, touching Merlin’s shoulder.
The sorcerer glanced down before staring back into the prince’s eyes.
“A lot. More than I should. You found us as I was using the last of my strength.”
“That’s not true. You lit that before I unlocked you.”
“I did?” Merlin turned to the fire and watched it. “It worked?”
“It burned all night. Without wood.”
“I couldn’t see what you were doing. I was scared. I needed to see. I didn’t trust you.”
Merlin’s mistrust rolled off the prince without a sting.
The sorcerer’s eyes flicked to him again, taking a long time to study something. “I can’t believe it lasted.”
“It was … impressive,” the price muttered as one not used to complimenting magic.
“So what are we going to do?” Merlin edged closer, growing bold.
“I’m going to get you to Camelot. I’m not convinced Gaius is your best bet, but I will get you to the city. I’ve saved you so far. It would be a waste to leave you in the forest,” Arthur smirked.
Merlin rolled his eyes to hide his gratitude. He had no idea how far he’d traveled off path. It would take an extra day at least for him to find any road, let alone one that led in the right direction. He moved to stand and felt pressure on his wrists as he pressed on the ground. He lifted himself despite the pain but fell against the wall, dizzy and winded.
Arthur steadied him as worry danced across his face.
Merlin hated to have anyone see him like this, let alone a man sworn to wipe out magic. He was in no position to fight back and wasn’t convinced of the prince’s change of heart, not entirely at least. “Why were you in the forest in the first place?” He grit out, sidling away from Arthur’s touch.
The prince drew his hand back quickly, fiddling with his sword instead. “I was afraid you would ask that. My father received a letter that one of his hunters had found a large gang of sorcerers. He wanted to make sure they were… taken care of properly. He sent me to prove I was up to task.”
“Why would you need to prove that?” Merlin skepticism spiked, and he edged closer to the mouth of the cave.
“My father wants his hatred of magic to be Camelot’s legacy. I’ve disagreed in the past. He tests me occasionally. My success is Camelot’s, he says.” Arthur’s voice darkened.
“There were others with me. I didn’t kill him. He’s probably on his way to your father now.”
“It’s a long trip back to track him,” Arthur said doubtfully.
“I can make it. We have to help them. Please, Arthur.”
The prince’s heart jumped at the sound of his name. No one had ever said it like that, gentle, pleading, but free of demand. “We’ll find them. Can you walk?”
Merlin stepped forward, forcing himself to stand straight. His body begged for sleep but he could push through. He would have to.
Arthur nodded and packed his things while Merlin exited the cave with careful steps. The prince paused as he came to the handcuffs laying forgotten by the fire. His hand hovered over them before he stuffed them in the bottom of his bag along with the key. Merlin was still a mysterious sorcerer after all. And years of his father’s voice echoed in Arthur’s mind. Danger, deceit, death. He shook off the guilt and met the other man in front of the ivy. They took off in the direction they’d come, both hoping they were making the right decision.
The walk drew out with little conversation and no ease between the men. Arthur ended up ahead of Merlin, scouting the path for footprints or any signs of travel. The rain had soaked the ground and left everything a soppy mess. Even their footsteps from the previous night were untraceable. Arthur had the vague idea that he should be wary in putting Merlin to his back. But he wasn’t. He wondered what his father would say if he could see him.
“Stupid move. He’ll kill you as soon as you let your guard down. Better to spear him now and get it over with. None of them are worth the dirt they tread.”
He shivered and cast Uther’s voice from his mind.
“Are you alright?” Merlin wondered, trotting to catch up.
“Fine,” Arthur said, more shortly than he’d meant to. Merlin glared distrustfully and fell behind again.
Finally, they reached a familiar clearing. Merlin edged closer to the tree he’d been bound to only a day ago. The rope lay limp at the base of the trunk and he gave it a halfhearted kick.
“I need to find them, Arthur. They’re in trouble,” he murmured as he dug his fingers into the soft soil. “I can feel them. They’re so close. And they’re so scared.”
His pleading nearly brought Arthur to tears. No one was so earnest in Camelot. Court was full of knights and royals, all waiting to claw their way up another rung. But Merlin hid nothing.
“We will. They will be safe, I swear to you.”
Merlin studied him with dark eyes, the blue swirling like last night’s tempest. “A prince’s word is his bond.”
“Consider me bound,” Arthur said, unable to hide a crooked smile. This sorcerer was so different from anyone he’d met before, serious but weak, powerful but afraid. He seemed a million contradictions rolled into one lanky man. It made for quite the image.
“This isn’t funny,” Merlin scoffed but a small grin appeared on his lips. “You’re not what I expected, Arthur.”
“And what were you expecting, Mer-lin?” The prince drew his name out, teasing.
“Someone harder, meaner. More like-“ he snapped his head up and mouth closed.
“My father?” Arthur finished.
The sorcerer nodded.
“Have you ever met Uther? Or seen him?” Arthur challenged. He stalked closer, towering over Merlin who still kneeled in the mud.
“No.” Unable to hold eye contact, he dipped his head.
“Uther is a king who pulled Camelot out of a dark age. An age ruled by fear and control. Instead of lifting those stains, he transferred them to his own legacy. He is a force beyond reckoning. He taught me everything I know about survival. But everything I know about beauty, love, kindness, I learned from others. I strove to cast off his hardness. I still can’t shake it sometimes.” Arthur knelt next to Merlin and clasped him on his shoulder. “Can you understand that?”
Just as Merlin lips formed ‘yes’ a snap came from the trees.
“How touching. The prince has feelings. I’m sure your father would be overjoyed to hear that little spiel.” A ragged man with an overbite and moppy hair, thin at the top, stepped from behind a trunk. A dagger gleamed in his hand. “Uther would pay double for the sorcerer who killed his son.”
“Kosmos,” Arthur growled, recognizing one of his least favorite of his father’s mercenaries.
“I don’t want him dead,” Merlin spat.
“He won’t know who brandished the blade if I’m the only one alive to tell the tale,” Kosmos taunted. He lunged at Arthur immediately. The prince drew his sword and blocked the stab, trying to draw him away from Merlin.
“They’re close! That’s why he’s here! Keep looking, Merlin!” He shouted, parrying blow after blow. Kosmos was a skilled fighter and kept Arthur off balance. The sound of their blades set Merlin’s teeth on edge, but Arthur was right. His friends were close. A bit longer and he would know exactly where to find them.
Suddenly a yell broke his concentration and he whipped around to see Arthur stumble to the ground. At first, Merlin thought he’d been hit, but on closer inspection, he realized Kosmos had sliced his rucksack, sending its contents flying. As if on cue, the smuggler picked up the handcuffs. They had fallen first and he hadn’t missed his chance. He grabbed at Merlin before Arthur could even get back on his feet.
The sorcerer tried to run but his body was stuck between magic and danger, exhaustion and fear. Kosmos clapped the iron around his wrist and muttered a crude incantation. A ring of blood red fire lit around Merlin’s wrists and dripped onto his sleeves. Kosmos stood over him as he writhed in pain, a smile taking over his face.
“You kept them?” Merlin repeated over and over, trying to find Arthur in all the blinding pain. “You-you kept them?” He panted.
Arthur couldn’t look at him. But he knew he had one hope. Kosmos was distracted and hadn’t found the key. The prince shuffled through the grass, trying to be discreet, but the villain turned to him. “Looking for something?” He crooned over Merlin’s gasping screams.
“Found it!” Arthur goaded, jumping to his feet, key in one hand, sword in the other. Kosmos was a fool if he thought the son of Uther Pendragon would drop his weapon. He launched himself at the slaver, battling him back into the trees, dodging every swipe, and getting the upper hand. He pinned him to a tree with his own knife which he expertly knocked out of his hands. Kosmos chuckled weakly, eyes darting around for an escape. But Arthur knew this man, so hated by everyone else in his trade he was forced to work alone. He had no one to call for, no one to turn to. The prince almost pitied him. Almost. With Merlin’s cries still ringing in his ears, Arthur took his sword and ran the mercenary through, feeling only shame at not having done it sooner. When he was sure the slime had breathed his last, he rushed back to Merlin.
The sorcerer’s face was streaked with dirt and tears as he glared up at the prince.
“Stay- stay away from me! Don’t touch me!” He choked, still writhing from the pain.
“I have the key?” Arthur tried to reach forward but Merlin flailed away, backing himself against the tree. His shoulders and legs shook. When he realized he was trapped, he scrambled up the trunk and braced against the rough bark. His whole body was on fire now, the spell having spread. It cast a hot, red glow under his skin and ate at his magic.
“I have the key,” Arthur repeated flatly. He backed off and held it out with an open palm.
Merlin grit his teeth as another wave of the spell rocked his body. “You kept them,” he hissed, weak but violent. Suddenly he faltered and scraped down the tree. Arthur winced, forgoing hesitation and catching Merlin once again. The sorcerer fought weakly but with his hands bound the energy to move both of them and the heavy chains just wasn’t there.
Arthur unlocked the cuffs quickly, still avoiding touching the key to Merlin’s skin. When the second lock clicked he ripped them from Merlin’s arms and cast them into the trees. They landed with a dull thud and a spark as the spell ended. Without contact with magic, and the caster dead, there was no conduit anymore. Merlin went limp against Arthur’s chest for a moment and the prince cradled his head up at a more comfortable angle.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. I should have left them in that cave.”
Merlin shuddered. Arthur maneuvered him to the tree and propped him up gently. With a pained groan Merlin opened red eyes to glower at him.
“Obviously, prat.”
Arthur was taken aback but too happy to see Merlin’s attitude come back to care.
“Did you find your people?” Arthur asked cautiously.
“No. I almost had them but then…” Merlin trailed off, staring at Kosmos’ dead body.
“We’ll keep looking. They’re close. I know it,” Arthur rushed, hoping to draw Merlin’s attention away from the gruesome scene. Blood dripped down the front of he worn leather in a growing puddle.
“Did you kill him because he used magic?” Merlin’s voice was detached as he blinked past Arthur.
“What?”
“Did you decide to kill him after you heard the spell?” Merlin challenged, cold and hard.
“I… I don’t know. He attacked me. I defended myself.”
“You didn’t kill him the first time. He attacked you then, too,” Merlin argued.
“You threw him against a tree! I wasn’t worried about him then!”
“Why did you keep the handcuffs, Arthur?” Merlin’s voice rose as he pushed himself up, storming past the prince unsteadily.
“Is that what this is about? I don’t know, okay? It was a mistake. I never meant to use them!”
“But you would take them to your father? Or return them to their owner? Or sell them to Camelot’s finest? What did you expect to happen! For a prince you are really dense!”
“For someone whose life I’ve saved twice, you are really ungrateful!” Arthur shouted back, still ready to catch the swaying man.
“I will be grateful when Uther is dead and my people are no longer hunted for sport!” Merlin exploded. A beam of golden energy shot towards the prince and scorched a jagged line directly to his feet. He jumped back, but it proved fruitless. The surge stopped exactly where he had been standing and fizzled out. Merlin gave him one last withering glance and fell forward.
Arthur hurried to him, now more tentative than he had ever felt around this sorcerer. “Merlin?”
The other man grunted painfully but couldn’t get words out.
The prince picked him up slowly, checking for any hurt from the fall. Merlin squirmed but hadn’t broken anything. “You are thick, Merlin. Really thick,” Arthur chided. He supported the other man’s shoulders and hauled him to the same tree once more. “Rest. I’ll keep watch.”
Merlin’s eyes barely flicked over him, before the lids fell heavily. He slumped against Arthur’s neck as the prince sat stoically.
The sun moved inch by inch across the sky and Arthur continued to sit, calm and quiet. The birds flitted and squirrels chittered. All things considered, it was a peaceful time. Then, from far in the forests Arthur picked up a low cry. First one and then another and then many. Human voices, all struggling to be heard. Merlin hadn’t stirred and still looked pale. Arthur gently shifted so he could lay the sorcerer down in the moss and investigate. He followed the growing cries. And then, not too far from the clearing, he found it, a large covered trailer with horses nickering unhappily and hands reaching out of the barred windows.
“Hello? Is someone there?” A woman called.
“Please! Our caravan was attacked!” An old man’s voice echoed amongst others.
“Hold on. I’m here to help,” Arthur hurried to the door which was secured by a heavy lock. It had the same engraving as the cuffs and the sight of it sent his blood boiling. He raised his sword and smashed with the hilt in one powerful swing. It shattered pathetically and a crowd poured out of the small wagon.
“Thank you,” reverberated from them as the battered mass shook Arthur’s hand and clapped his back.
One man stood apart, though. Even in the swamp of people, Arthur recognized his voice from earlier.
This man studied him and his face fell with realization. “Prince Arthur,” he muttered, despite himself. Everyone froze.
“Er, yes,” Arthur started awkwardly. Once again, he felt no discomfort with these people, even though he noticed Druid symbols and markings on every one. “It’s alright. I, um, Kosmos is dead. I heard your yelling. I wanted to… help,” he finished lamely. It all felt performative when reflected back at him through their eyes. He was the crown prince sworn to carry out his father’s whims. Merlin’s previous anger made sense now that it met him tenfold. These were people. Men and women his father wanted dead. A small girl huddled behind her mother who sported two black eyes and dried blood under her nose. He looked down ashamed.
“I will give you any help you need. I have few resources with me now, but what I can do, I will. Where were you going? Before.”
The old man stepped forward. “I am Beltane, the leader of this tribe. I knew your father once. Long ago. You do him a dishonor by speaking to us like this. For this, we are grateful. We know there is someone missing from our band. He joined us for only a short time. That is because his destiny lies elsewhere. He is waiting for you. We know the way. Go to him. That is what we request of you. And take this with you.” His eyes shown a dim copper and a delicate flower of the same color appeared in Arthur’s hand. “He will know what to do with it. Go to him. And thank you. We will not forget this.” The man stepped forward, the group following close as they disappeared into the trees. Some of them glared at the prince but others whispered small thank yous and a few children even hugged his leg. He gave each a warm smile and nodded solemnly at their parents.
When they had disappeared into the brush, Arthur traipsed back to the glade, hoping Merlin would still be there. Something deep in him needed to see him again, make sure he was okay. Any fear was unfounded as he stepped into the sunlight and met Merlin’s sleepy gaze. He had just awoken to the sound of footfalls and was ready to fight whatever was coming. Instead he was greeted with Arthur shining golden in the late afternoon sun. He seemed different somehow and Merlin wondered how long he’d been asleep. Arthur walked to him, slow and measured, and bent down to meet him in the warm, damp grass.
“I found them, Merlin. They’re safe. Beltane gave me this. He said it was for you.” Arthur held out the shimmering copper spell and Merlin picked it up gently. He recognized the bloom from his mother’s remedy book. It was a delicate blossom that she had drawn painstakingly with the name Pasqueflower scrawled in tidy handwriting at the top of the page. She used it in cures and told him it held a little bit of destiny in each petal. The sorcerer reached for it slowly and as soon as it touched his skin, the wounds from the past few days were erased. The skin around his wrists was pale and unmarred and the aches that had plagued him moments ago vanished. He sat up straighter and met Arthur’s piercing blue eyes which hovered on him like a hawk.
“I’m alright,” he assuaged, waiting for the fear that was sure to come when Arthur saw the spell take effect. It never did. Merlin continued with a weight lifted from his chest. “They left, didn’t they? I thought I was supposed to be with them. That maybe meeting them was my real destiny.”
“They spoke of your destiny,” Arthur whispered. He felt as though he would break some sort of spell if he spoke louder. “But Beltane was clear. It lies elsewhere.”
Merlin grinned. “Camelot. It’s where I have to go.”
“I’ll get you there. I’ll introduce you to Gaius. You’ll be under my protection,” Arthur swore, picking up Merlin’s hands and clasping them in promise.
“Under your father’s nose?”
“It’s safer than hiding. He’d never suspect.”
“It’s insane.”
“It’s the only way.” I can keep you with me, Arthur didn’t finish.
Merlin seemed to understand. He stood without pain. “I’ll hold you to it. I’m sorry for what I said before.”
“Don’t be. We understand each other now. That’s important,” Arthur nodded. A crack made him whip around but it was only horses. Each bore a thin halo of shining copper around their head and Arthur knew Beltane was offering one last peace.
Merlin walked over to them and pet the blaze on the chestnut stallion. Arthur mounted the other, a black mare.
“Should we bury him?” Merlin asked suddenly, just before following Arthur.
“Do you want to?” Arthur raised an eyebrow and avoided looking at the tree where the body lay. He never liked killing but he was a soldier.
Merlin didn’t say anything but Arthur heard the earth churn for a moment. When he finally peeked at the spot, a fresh mound of dirt covered the corpse. Merlin looked at him with eyes fading from gold to blue. It took the prince’s breath away.
The sorcerer mounted his horse and they took off in the direction of the castle, destiny on their heels the whole way home.