Morgana’s fingers tightened protectively about her wrist.
“Just during the day, while you are awake.” He coaxed gently, hesitating slightly before adding, “there is the possibility that she may have used a magic spell or charm to block your dreams. I’m not saying that all magic users are automatically dangerous or to be feared or hated, but you just met this woman, my lady. And you are the king’s ward. There are a lot of people who would use you to get to Uther, and I don’t want to see you hurt.”
She had frozen, poised for fight or flight, when the dreaded word magic had come out of his mouth. He took a step towards her, long fingers curling about her own to loosen her grip.
“You asked me, once before,” he murmured. “If I thought you had magic.” Looking up, he met her gaze squarely, dark sapphire colliding with emerald green. “I know you have magic. You are a Seer, Morgana, and your powers are strong. By blocking your powers away, they will only build up, and the next time you take the bracelet off they will come crashing down, like an avalanche.”
She drew in a sharp breath, suddenly aware of how close they were standing, of the intimacy of the moment. They were nearly of a similar height; she could lean up with very little effort, and touch her mouth to his…
“Let me help you. My best friend was a sorcerer; in Cenred’s kingdom, magic wasn’t outlawed as it is here. If Gaius can’t dissect the spells, then…I might know someone who would be able to.” The half-truth slipped easily from his lips. He knew he was walking a fine line, especially with Arthur’s explicit instructions not to go near the subject of magic with Morgana, but he couldn’t help it.
From day one, she had intrigued him, enthralled him, even before he had been aware of her gift. Perhaps it was like with Arthur; the magic thrumming through her veins like a siren call to the warlock.
It took a moment for the words to sink in; when they did, the implications of what he had just done hit her like a blow to the heart.
Not only had he acknowledged and confirmed her deepest fear and desire, he had also just admitted to the third most powerful person in Camelot that he had consorted with sorcerers in the past and was still doing so in the present, right under Uther’s nose.
She exhaled slowly, looking down at his hand on hers. More contrasts, she mused abstractly; his hand with those long, elegant fingers looked somehow still very masculine and large against her own pale slim hand.
“Very well.” She whispered, finally yielding.
He withdrew his hand and backed off, and she mourned the loss of warmth his touch had provided.
“I will let Gaius know, and will come by tomorrow morning—“
“No.” Steeling herself, she turned her wrist over to fumble with the clasp, cursing her sudden clumsiness.
“Here,” he said gently, and she could only watch as he deftly undid the clasp, only to frown darkly at the two tiny punctures revealed underneath. “What happened?”
“The bracelet—there must have been a sharp edge from the clasp. It’s nothing,” she insisted, but let him smooth his thumb over the dried flecks of blood, not noticing that the miniscule holes disappeared, or that his eyes flared gold briefly.