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Chapter Text

Rows upon rows of candled chandeliers illuminated the dining hall, making it far too bright for Gaius’s liking. The music was too loud, too. Various lutes, chimes and drums, a lonely harp or two—and coupled with the tenor voices of Camelot’s best singers, their shrill melody mixing with the excessive talking of the guests like deadly waves on a lake—ensured that there was nothing in particular Gaius could fully focus on except for his growing headache.

That, and one other person in the room.

The cream of the crop: the young king, Uther Pendragon.

Gaius wouldn’t be here if he had had a choice. In a perfect world, where nothing stood in the way of his heart’s desire and kings did not necessarily have to marry queens, Gaius would already be down on one knee. In a less perfect world, where duty and responsibility did not exist, he would be allowed to miss this feast, crawl into bed in his secluded tower, and cry, and cry, and cry. In this world, which was not perfect by any means, he had to face his heartache and spend the evening here. This was one of the most important moments of Uther’s life, and despite everything—despite all the bitter hope and agony that resided in Gaius’s chest—Gaius would always be there for him. Always. Ever since they had become friends nearly four years ago, Gaius had known he would never be able to leave his king, no matter what.

He would never be able to quell the terrible hope that had taken root in his heart that day. Never be able to stifle his love for the king enough not to let it guide all his actions.

But the king had recently been engaged.

And this was the ostentatious celebration in honour of that engagement. In honour of the king and the young bride-to-be, Ygraine de Bois, who sat dutifully beside her future husband at the head of the long table, clapping politely to the rhythm of the dreadful music.

Gaius watched the couple from over the brim of his cup, sniffing the watered-down wine. He didn’t drink often, but the occasion—and the suffocating feeling in his lungs that seemed determined to be his constant companion tonight—called for it.

The king was smiling, as happy as Gaius had ever seen him. A mere performance for the audience, perhaps? Gaius doubted it. He knew well that the king adored his lady. As for the lady in question, Ygraine was as beautiful as a white lily flower in full bloom, as gentle as soft morning light, and as nervous as any future queen was expected to be. Gaius could see it in the small, uncomfortable quirk to her lips, which occasionally manifested itself between all the polite smiles and nods.

Gaius took a swig of the wine and forced his eyes away from the soon-to-be newlyweds.

He would never marry.

Would never find anyone to share his life with.

And deep down, he knew the reason why. There was not a man or woman in the whole of Camelot that didn’t look at him and see only the bare, personality-stripped crux of his person: a physician. Someone to help, someone to avoid in case of a fever outbreak, someone professional, someone unfeeling. He didn’t mind it most of the time—since his heart had already chosen its unfortunate target—but he did wonder, sometimes, if it wasn’t his own fault. If he himself wasn’t to blame for this unfortunate disconnect between him and the citizens due to his failure to show them that he was more than just his courtly function.

That he was a person, with wants and needs, just like everyone else.

Uther, on the other hand, had always seen him as more than that. To Uther, he was a physician, yes, but he was also a friend and an occasional advisor.

Gaius could still remember the day the first spark of affection had ignited in his heart. Two years after Uther had conquered Camelot, Gaius had still only been a student of medicine. He was far older than all the others (older than the king, too), more careful in his examinations, and more determined to see his studies through and make something of himself when all else had failed.

On one of the last days of spring, he had been ambling through the east woods with a piece of parchment in his hand—his own copy, sketched from a page in a book—comparing the drawing to the various flowers he found beyond the east gate of the city.

It was never a bad idea to return to the basics and practise the simple identification of medicinal herbs from the textbook, especially to prepare for his final medical exam, no matter how knowledgeable he thought he had already been. If nothing else, it was a welcome respite from all the days he had spent with his nose buried in the books To spend an afternoon walking through the comfortable silence of the woods and twittering of the birds, to witness the murmur of the warm breeze through the freshly budded leaves and growing twigs, to marvel at the scintillating light that filtered in through the green treetops, casting near-golden shadows on the ground . . . All of it was much more welcome than the dusty sunbeams in his stuffy chambers, where a breath of fresh air was but a dream.

As he was crouching by a fine specimen of Matricaria chamomilla that matched his sketch almost perfectly, sudden, lone footsteps, quickly followed by many others, interrupted Gaius’s musings. Quite frankly, it had sounded like a small army, so Gaius didn’t hesitate to get up to his feet, his bad knee squeaking a little as always—only to spot a familiar face at the edge of the glade as the source of the commotion.

Uther had been deep in thought, one hand rubbing at his chin as he marched through the clearing, each step as purposeful as if even now, he was leading an army. But as soon as he noticed Gaius standing in his way, the tension seemed to have bled from his body and a beautiful smile replaced the pensive look on his face. They had not been friends back then, not quite yet, but they had crossed paths on many occasions, and were familiar enough that Uther had, at least from Gaius’s observations, stopped feeling the need to act overly royal around him.

“Gaius,” Uther had greeted him.

The small yet intimidating army behind him came to a stop, then formed a protective circle around the two of them. Gaius could barely breathe with so many people bearing witness to the sudden hammering of his heart, but he forced the anxiety away and returned the proffered smile, swiftly following it with the appropriate bow of his head.

“My lord.”

Uther raised his hand, sighing. “None of that,” he said. “I have had too many people call me lord today, Gaius, I hardly need another one.”

“Sire?”

Uther narrowed his prematurely-wrinkled eyes, calculating, deciding something, and then warmth filled his features, as pleasant and unexpected as a light spring shower. . “Today, you are permitted to call me by my name, Gaius, like I do to you.”

Gaius nodded his understanding, though it would take a while yet before he truly grasped the meaning of this request, before he realised just how this moment would soon elevate their relationship

“You do me a great honour, my l— Uther.” Gaius bit his lip, then bowed his head again, as etiquette dictated. “I am– I am honoured.”

Uther didn’t immediately reply. A few tired lines returned to his face that Gaius only now took note of, and with them came the realisation of what day it was. The anniversary of the king—Uther—taking over Camelot was almost upon them, and that, like last year, signalled the preparation of treaties and various proposals to the neighbouring kings and queens. One more chance for them to accept Uther’s ownership of Camelot. An allegiance—perhaps even friendship—rather than year-long stalemates and threats of war. As a result, Uther had been locked inside his council chambers since very early that morning, discussing . . . whatever it was that needed to be discussed. Gaius wasn’t privy to such information—not yet—but he could imagine that after endless hours of speculation, of making plans and squinting over maps, one would be as exhausted as one could possibly get.

“Walk with me a while,” Uther had requested, then spotted the spare pages in Gaius’s hands. A distraction, as Gaius understood it. “What are you doing here? Is your final examination soon? Will I have a new court physician after all?”

It was right then that Gaius’s cheeks had warmed for the first time in response to anything his king had said—something shifted in his heart, something new and almost dizzying emerged from the forgotten depths of his chest—and with it, came the doomed realisation.

Oh, why had Gaius’s heart chosen so unfortunately? Only tragedy awaited him at the end of this cursed longing.

But back then, Uther had taken an unexpected interest in Gaius’s studies and, unbeknownst to Gaius, had already planned to secure him a place as the court physician. He would be nearly permanently by Uther’s side, giving the newfound feeling in his chest space to breathe and to grow.

“Yes, only a fortnight hence, my— Uther,” Gaius told him.

Uther nodded, wringing his gloved hands together. The soft late-spring ground beneath their feet barely made a sound as they crossed from one end of the glade to the other, making the beat of Gaius’s heart that much louder in his own ears.

“I am sure you will be the best of them,” Uther commented.

And there it was again—cursedly reddened cheeks. Gaius inclined his head to hide the betrayal of his body. “Only time will show.”

“Hmm.”

Uther’s hand twitched by his side, but he seemed to need a moment to consider his next words. Gaius would never understand how he could appear so comfortable with so many eyes on him—when he couldn’t even take a stroll through the woods in privacy, be alone with his own thoughts. But the moment Uther laid a hand on Gaius’s shoulder, a gentle smile on his face, nevertheless felt as private as it could possibly be. As if everyone else had disappeared and only the two of them remained in the entire world. As if nothing but them mattered.

And it was with that moment that Gaius finally understood: he was lost.

Half agony, half hope. Nothing better would ever come of it than the eternal and torturous oscillation between the two.

“No need to be so modest, friend,” Uther had said, squeezing Gaius’s shoulder and dooming him ever more to the black hole of affection in his chest. “There is none better I could imagine replacing the old physician than you.”

Four years later, Gaius tore his eyes away from the still surface of his wine, returning from the bittersweet memory to the riotous celebrations around him. When he looked up—his heart almost stopped. Uther was watching him.

Half agony, half hope.

Nothing better could ever come of this.

Uther only allowed a few seconds of eye contact before he redirected his attention to his wife-to-be, and Gaius, as miserable as he had been since Ygraine had been invited to court, returned to his sad drink.

His presence was required here tonight—out of respect, support and friendship—but perhaps, once the conversations around him had quietened and the candles needed changing, he could find the courage to leave early.

Then someone—a woman his age—switched chairs and sat down next to him without warning. She had a kind smile and big, eager eyes, and as soon as she was seated, she devoted all her attention to Gaius.

“Gaius? The court physician?”

Gaius nodded, a little wary. He was afraid he would not be a good conversationalist tonight. “That would be me, yes.”

Her eyes gained another spark. “I think we might have something in common to talk about.” She extended her hand like commonfolk did, taking Gaius by another surprise. “I’m Alice. From the Lower Town.”

With teeth clenched behind his lips, Uther forced himself to look away from Gaius—the closest person to a friend he had at court, if kings were allowed such things—and turned back to the one that deserved all his attention tonight, the object of all his future adoration and worship: Ygraine.

By gods, she was beautiful.

And though he was not yet in love with her, he could feel the familiar seed of love had already been planted in his chest, and that soon—perhaps within a few short weeks even, hopefully before the wedding—he would grow to love her as much as he could ever love anyone.

She would make an excellent mother and wife, he knew.

Her smile could brighten the entire room, her voice was as melodious as any singer’s; her entire being was as delicate and sinless as a spring flower. (The ones he and Gaius had collected four years ago specifically, though he could not let himself dwell on the thought.) Aside from a mother and a wife, she would also make an excellent queen and secure his position in the land.

But as much as his heart yearned for her, there was something else—a doubt, a desperate want—tugging him in an entirely different direction. It wasn’t until quite recently that Uther had realised just where that feeling was leading him—and he was determined to squash it with an iron fist so as not to let it interfere with the wedding.

Gaius was his court physician. His subject. At the best of times, when Uther permitted himself to see past their titles, he was a friend. A good friend. But that was all he could ever be. Ygraine did not deserve an unfaithful husband. The tryst with Vivienne half a year ago that Uther seldom remembered in a good light was the last time he had been—and would be—with anyone else but his future wife. Ygraine had to be the only person he would dedicate his heart to.

(As if he could force such things. As if a heart was not the one ruler more powerful than any king.)

Uther clasped his future queen’s hand gently, returned the smile she sent his way and offered her a few grapes, which she accepted. Then—because he just could not help it—he turned his gaze back to his court physician.

The man looked so sad, sitting on the other side of the long table among the more common of the nobles, mulling over his wine and not engaged in conversation with anyone. Uther’s heart tugged a bit more urgently in Gaius’s direction, as a memory leaped in front of his eyes, unbidden; the moment of realisation—as strong a motivator then as it was now—forcing itself up his throat like a sob.

It had been a year ago.

In the throne room. All of the court had been in attendance.

Uther stood, imposing, on the dais and Gaius was down on his knees in front of him.

In his right hand, Uther clutched a rolled piece of parchment, complete with the royal seal, the other hand firmly at his side. There had been a suspicious feeling growing inside his chest that day. A feeling too strong to ignore, impervious to any attempts to keep it from spreading through all his thoughts.

That terrifying feeling—affection—had poisoned his mind as he realised that the sight of Gaius kneeling in front of him made him feel a certain—and decidedly not unpleasant—way. It brought forth a flame in his heart that he could not put out, no matter what he did. With anyone else on their knees, Uther would be just an impartial king, but with Gaius . . . There had been no need for him to give orders, no need to suppress his humanity and act like an unfeeling, authoritative figure, a father of the realm.

There was just him and Gaius in that moment.

The trust in Gaius’s eyes. The pride.

And Uther had felt almost honoured for having Gaius kneel in front of him like this.

That realisation had been as foreign as snow in mid-summer.

Wrong and yet so enticing. And ever since then, Uther could not drive it out of his mind. He could do nothing but watch, with a morbid sort of fascination, as that mortifying feeling turned into something large and snarling that showed teeth if he tried to chain it, yet exuded love and understanding, stars and beauty and all the spring flowers he could imagine, when he invited it into his heart instead.

He had driven the beast back to the best of his ability, and kept it on a leash since then, ignorant of its slowly increasing strength and desperation.

He was about to marry.

He knew he could learn to love Ygraine properly and produce an heir with her if that beast inside him would just vanish and not return.

And if anything, a tryst with his own court physician was unthinkable. He was the king and so he should act like it.

. . . Should he not?

Involuntarily, his eyes returned to Gaius one more time. The physician was talking to someone now—a woman that Uther did not know. Entirely uninvited—and negligent of his beautiful bride-to-be, the future love of his life and the mother of his son—an arrow pierced Uther’s heart, and his lungs nearly failed him.

He did not like the eager look the woman was showering Gaius with, nor the intrigued one Gaius gave her in return.

But Uther’s hand was still clasped around Ygraine’s, just as it should be, and he had a duty. Gaius was his court physician and a friend. Nothing more.

Uncertainty filling the hollow of his chest, the leash on the beast stretched taut, Uther clenched his free hand into a fist and looked away.

Ygraine should not have agreed to such a tight dress.

It felt like a vise around her body, a fist squeezing the last remaining air out of her lungs. Yet in contrast, everyone else in the hall was celebrating. She should be too; this was her engagement feast, after all. She did like Uther, and maybe she would learn to love him as well—at the end of the day, this was exactly what she had been raised for, she knew the role she was meant to play in the world and she adhered to the rules—so maybe she should just forget all her fears and properly join the festivities, just like everyone else.

And yet, she couldn’t.

Her hand was shaking.

The other hand was protected by Uther’s firm palm, which she quite welcomed for the stability it offered, but it did nothing to settle her nerves nor the anxieties about the future that weighed down her gut.

She was to become queen.

She had grown up a princess, she had had some responsibilities—though not nearly as many as her older brothers Agravaine and Tristan—but she imagined a queen had far more of them. A queen was the heart of the kingdom. She would become the heart of Camelot. As her duty would command, she would stand by Uther’s side every day, on every formal occasion. She would bear his son (or daughter) and raise him to be a better person than all the men before him.

She had hopes. So many hopes. Nearly as many as her fears.

But the nerves still squeezed her lungs and dried her throat, even as on the outside, she smiled and waved, clapped along to the music and held people’s eyes for short moments of kinship, then accepted grapes from her future husband as some sort of a reward.

Out of all her suitors, she knew she could do far worse. Uther wasn’t the worst person in the world, and indeed, she could grow to love him—she had even seen him be kind, a time or two—but nothing could change the fact that with this wedding, a certain door would close and could never be opened again.

A door which she had dared open merely a week after arriving at Camelot half a year ago, and had since regarded with fondness.

Her eyes found her brothers with a twinge of disgust and jealousy—like most men, they were boasting with other courtiers around the room, clinking wine goblets together, mindless of the spillage that servants would have to clean up later—then circled the room for the one person she rely on to make her feel better; the one responsible for that door in her heart opening.

Nimueh.

The high priestess and court sorceress of Camelot.

But Nimueh was far ahead of Ygraine, as always—her piercing blue eyes already pinning Ygraine with longing so dire that Ygraine had to suck in a breath. She squeezed the hem of her lacy dress between two fingers under the table, knuckles turning white, and tried very hard not to think about a future without Nimueh in her bed. Tried to banish the irresistible memories of their meeting just a short week ago.

Unable to stop herself, her eyes were drawn to Nimueh’s red lips across the room—a smirk there, ready just for her, as a chalice recently emptied of wine withdrew from view—and with it, the memory resurfaced.

Ygraine, alone in her guest chambers, sprawled on the spacious bed in the middle of the room in nothing but her silky nightdress.

Her heart had squeezed nervously at the thought of the future she would have within these walls—the life she would lead once Uther had proposed to her. She could tell that only a few more days of freedom remained before he ushered her aside into one of the alcoves in the royal garden, and in view of the chaperones, asked for her hand.

She would say yes.

She would have to say yes.

And indeed, she was not entirely opposed to it, but—a knock on the door.

Her sweet salvation.

Without a doubt, she knew who stood on the other side of the door. There was only one person brave enough to enter her chambers this late at night uninvited, only one person who could slip in without anyone noticing with the aid of her magic.

Ygraine’s heart had leaped into her throat. She sat up, her back propped on the many embroidered pillows as she cleared her throat.

“Come in.”

The door opened and Nimeuh—as beautiful as ever in her bejewelled red dress, her long, dark hair falling around her face, red lips parted on a whisper, blue eyes just turning back to blue from shiny gold—stepped into the room. She leaned against the closed door, keeping her distance, eyes on the future queen.

But it was just an act. Ygraine was already familiar with this game.

Her cheeks flushed in anticipation.

“My lady.” Nimueh inclined her head. “Would you once more accept my company for the night?”

Ygraine was entirely powerless against the thundering urge inside her heart. She outstretched her arm towards her visitor, pale moon-light painting the floor between them. “I would. You know, I would.”

With a relieved grin, Nimueh leaped from the door and crossed the room in a few swift steps. In the next moment, she was removing her shoes and climbing into Ygraine’s bed without a second thought, without hesitation, with only one thing on her mind. And indeed, that same thing—that same terrible want—was on Ygraine’s mind, too. With her hand shaking in eagerness, unable to hide the new rush of blood on her face, she reached for Nimueh’s strong arms and pulled her on top of her, their mouths colliding.

The sense of relief Ygraine had felt in that moment—the way all her fears and anxieties abated at the contact—was unprecedented.

Could she grow to love Uther like this?

Could she ever summon such raw desire for him, like what she felt for Nimueh?

She was not sure. Could not be sure—not now, with Nimueh’s lips on her own.

But maybe, in time.

She banished those thoughts. It was only her and her enchanting lady now—hot mouths, wandering hands, the soft rustle of clothes being rucked up and blankets being shoved aside, warmth, a rush of sudden love and desperation for more and then, finally: bliss.

In the present, across the table and on the other side of the hall, Nimueh sat with the chalice still to her lips. She brought it down now and raised her eyebrow at the future queen. In defiance maybe. A challenge.

But Ygraine could not do it.

Soon, she would be married, and to be unfaithful was unimaginable. It would be a betrayal to both her husband and her future kingdom, and she would be shunned by everyone—including her own family—if the word were to get out.

Better not to risk it at all. There was a chance she could be happy with Uther too, after all.

Ygraine averted her eyes, sipped her own wine to clear the sultry memory from the forefront of her mind, and returned to her future husband—

—whose attention was completely taken by his court physician on the other side of the long table, a look on his face not unlike that on Ygraine’s own.

It took her a beat or two to realise. But when she did—when she put the puzzle pieces together and found they fit favourably—there was nothing in the five kingdoms and beyond that could stop her from giving in to the sudden sense of determination, a plan already formed in her head at the speed of lightning.

Could it be? Truly?

A spark of hope in the sea of uncertainty?

“My lord,” she found herself saying, her palm atop her future husband’s hand. The king tore his gaze away, a guilty gleam in his eyes: a confirmation. Before she could think better of it, a lump in her throat, Ygraine said: “I have a proposition for you.”

Uther raised his eyebrows at her in surprise. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, like gentlemen were supposed to do, in invitation.

“Whatever it is you desire, my lady.”

Ygraine took a deep breath. She really hoped she was right about this.

Chapter Text

The use of magic in medicine—and healing magic in general—had always been topics that fascinated Gaius, but he had never been able to rely on his magical talent enough to attempt to combine the two. If anything, his experiments would most likely lead to disaster or no progress at all, and with a city full of patients and so many ills to cure, he had nary a moment to afford to lose by useless tinkering. Alice, however, had seemed quite eager to try.

She had been right, of course—they had had a lot in common to discuss—and so they did, late into the night. Finally, for the first time that evening, Gaius had started to enjoy himself. But when the music had nevertheless drifted into quiet, soporific tones shortly before midnight and the king and his bride had retired, so departed Gaius’s talkative mood as well. He liked Alice quite a bit—the only person so far to see him not only as a physician but a fellow scientist, which was rare and always welcome—and indeed, he might like to visit the Lower Town and seek her out to continue their discussion someday, but nothing, not even her wild theories on the fusion of dark magic and autumnal herbs could keep his heart afloat.

The same heart that had been gradually sinking since Ygraine had arrived at court half a year ago. After tonight, Gaius felt as if it had sunk to the deepest pit of his chest, never to rise again.

Ygraine was not to blame, of course. She was lovely. Very bright for her age, always kind to everyone she met regardless of their status, and she seemed to value Gaius’s advice no matter the topic. She, too, perceived him as more than a mere physician, he realised, though she was hardly anyone he could talk to openly. She might be able to see past their differing social statuses with relative ease, but he could not. He would always be a servant to the crown, while she, someday soon, would become that crown.

Nevertheless, he had drowned his heart tonight—in tears and in wine—and though, in his professional opinion, he could not call himself drunk, his head ached as if he had drunk thrice as much. With a deep sigh and a goodbye to Alice, Gaius had left the great hall and entered the lonely maze of corridors outside it, humming a sad, reassuring melody on his unhappy way back home—back to his tower, to his meagre bed, and the unavoidable future of loneliness.

Maybe he should have drunk more. He was the court physician—he knew well what spirits did to the body—yet today, he was past caring. At least it would have numbed the sorrow in his chest.

He visited the privy chamber briefly, then adjusted his robe and took a calming breath.

The feast was over. All that awaited him now was blessed silence. He might mix up a sleeping draught for himself—that would help him avoid another sleepless night and forget his heartache faster, if only for just a couple of hours. One of the advantages of being the court physician and living in his own workshop was always having enough potions and ingredients on hand, at no cost to himself. Surely, no one would blame him for using them to help mend the cracks in his sunken heart.

What was Uther doing now, he wondered?

Gaius knew the bitter truth. After the celebrations, the king was undoubtedly in his own chambers with the lady Ygraine. And Gaius wished them well—he truly did—but in order to protect himself, he banished the thought of them together quickly and with practice, and with only a dismissively small, new crack added to his heart.

No more pain tonight.

Only sleep.

It was just then—as he was rounding the corner of one of the west corridors, nearly at the stairs that descended to the courtyard—that he heard hurrying footsteps behind him, and someone called his name.

“Physician! Gaius!”

Gaius turned towards the noise, wincing slightly at the guard’s loudness. “Yes?”

It was close to midnight. No one had the right to be so lively at this hour unless it was an emergency.

Judging by the guard’s face, it might have been.

“What’s happened?” Gaius asked.

The guard took a gulp of breath, his arm clutching his stomach. Poor lad must have run through half the castle in search for him.

“The king,” the young guard said. Gaius’s eyes widened in alarm, his headache dissipating.

“He requires my assistance?”

“Yes!”

“What’s happened to him?” Gaius barely finished the question before he was already hurrying down the corridor with the guard at his side. The young man gave him a brief puzzled look, then grimaced.

“Apologies, master Gaius,” he said, “the king is in fine health! He does not require your skills as a physician, he merely . . . he requires your presence in his chambers.” His grimace tightened with guilt. “His orders were to hurry.”

Gaius arched his eyebrow—a habit that was becoming more severe as the years went by. He slowed his steps a bit, if only to save his poor knee the trouble, and sighed in relief. Uther was not hurt. Good. But then what did he want?

He nodded at the guard. “Waste no breath then, boy.”

The young guard nodded and ran ahead, and Gaius—at a steady yet somewhat brisk pace—followed. If it was a true emergency, he might have attempted to run, but after the emotional tax of tonight, not even Uther could make him risk his bad knee.

Uther was in his chambers alone, pacing. From the left to the right, from the West to the North side of the room, then back again. He could not stop. He could not keep the swirling, amassing thoughts out of his head as the leash on the beast inside his heart kept loosening, dangerously close to freedom now.

His betrothed’s words kept replaying in his mind on a loop.

My lord, I have a proposition for you.

Whatever it is you desire, my lady.

Uther had not considered the possibility that Ygraine’s proposition would have to do with his caged desire instead of her own. And how could he have? He had spent the better part of the year containing it as much as he could, denying himself even the freedom of his own thoughts.

By gods.

Left to right. West to North.

This felt nothing like the tryst with Vivienne.

This felt like his impending death. Like the moment there was a knock on the door, the person of his deepest desires waiting on the other side—the person the beast in his heart had yearned for ever since that day in the throne room—something would crumble inevitably inside him and there would be no coming back. And indeed, once the door opened—once he looked into Gaius’s eyes with the knowledge that Ygraine had asked him for this, that he had her permission—the floodgates of his affection would crack open and taking it back would cease being an option. Even if he uttered no words or offered Gaius only lies and excuses upon opening that door, something would change, deep inside him, and there would be no leashing the beast again.

Something unnervingly light and fluttery ignited in his gut—hope.

Hope was a dangerous thing for a betrothed king.

Who was to say that Gaius even felt the same? That he burned for Uther just like Uther burned for him? With bitter jealousy climbing up his throat, Uther recalled the woman Gaius had been speaking with mere hours ago. His hand shook with barely contained rage at the thought that Gaius might choose her over Uther.

But was Uther even offering?

A groan left his mouth as he paced towards the window, then set his hands firmly on the windowsill and stared out into the starless night.

What was he doing?

Why had he promised Ygraine anything?

She was to be his wife, not his commander.

Before he could try to calm himself with deep breaths, there was that fated knock on the door. A murmur from behind the thick wall of wood, then light footsteps of the young guard leaving, a familiar presence staying behind. Uther turned to the door, heart in his throat—beating even faster than when he had proposed to Ygraine, than when he had first kissed Vivienne’s inviting lips behind Gorlois’s back—then something else washed over him and settled in his gut.

Determination.

He was the king, after all. He could do anything he pleased as long as it did not endanger his kingdom, and allowing Gaius into his heart could never—would never—do such a thing.

He swallowed and loosened his collar with cold fingers.

“Come in.”

The door opened with a creak and in peeked the familiar, concerned face with light wrinkles around his eyes.

“My lord?” Gaius asked, then closed the door behind him with some caution, looking around the chambers as if in search of something. “I was told you required my presence. Is anything wrong?”

Uther very nearly nodded—nothing was wrong yet everything was, he could not stand the desperation in his chest any longer—but managed to stop himself. His treacherous eyes roamed over Gaius’s face and settled on his lips before he tore his gaze away with some force, one hand balled into a fist.

“My lord?”

“My w-wife, that is—” Like a besotted fool, he stumbled over his words. He cleared his throat. Gripped the windowsill behind him. “Lady Ygraine is very observant.”

“My lord?”

“Just Uther, please.”

Gaius arched his eyebrow—by now a familiar and soothing sight. He did not ask Gaius to address him by his first name often, it was a rarity even among the few people he could consider close friends, but if today and what he was about to do did not by the very definition require it, then he might as well have Gaius call him his lord for the rest of his sad life.

“Uther, then.” Gaius nodded. He was still not smiling. Not that Uther expected him to, but he did so wish to see that smile. Hopefully, soon. “What is the matter? Is Lady Ygraine alright?”

“She . . . she is.”

Uther clenched his teeth and tried to drive away the thoughts of his court sorceress in his future wife’s bed, but it had been Ygraine’s request and part of the deal. Uther’s freedom to pursue the interests of his heart with no effect on their marriage in return for her own freedom to do the same. Since neither relationship could bear children the natural way aside from him and Ygraine, it was the ideal proposition. And there had been no doubt about what person she might want to invite to her chambers—not after the look Uther had witnessed pass between the two women at the feast.

“She is well,” Uther said, then cleared his throat again and finally peeled his tight fingers from the windowsill. He was the king, for gods’ sake. He should act like it. More, he should invite authority back into his posture and embody the very concept, like he was used to.

Yet with Gaius, he had seldom had the urge to do so.

Uther loosened the leash in his heart deliberately and steeled himself for what was to come, then took a careful step in Gaius’s direction. He would not plead. He would not order or command. He would simply confess and ask.

“Lady Ygraine had offered me a deal,” he began. Gaius’s eyebrow remained up near his greying hairline. “My freedom to pursue a particular romantic interest outside our marital obligations in exchange for my permission to allow her the same.”

A furrow of Gaius’s brows replaced the curious arch. “Are you not to be married properly?”

“We are. And we will. But as a future husband and wife, we had come to an understanding to secure our own happiness.”

Gaius seemed to mull this over, then nodded, the furrow smoothing over. Yet still no smile. “I see.”

Uther would have to be clearer, then. He closed his eyes and as a king should, finally found his words.

“Gaius, you have been a close friend of mine for many years now.” He did not dare look at his friend, keeping his eyes to the side, his throat tight. “I have heeded your advice when I could, and every time, I have enjoyed your company, even when I was ill and you tended to me. About a year ago—“ a deep breath, “—that friendship grew into something more for me.”

A soft gasp parted Gaius’s lips. And was it just the nervousness that coursed through Uther’s veins or did Gaius sound suddenly expectant? Perhaps even hopeful?

“Uther?”

There was definitely hope in that voice. His doubts abandoned, Uther braved meeting his friend’s eyes and took another step closer. “Gaius. Do you understand what I’m saying? Do you . . . Do you share these feelings?”

Gaius thinned his lips in consideration, yet his eyes were red-rimmed and full of longing. Uther’s heart lurched in his chest—it could not delay any longer. With fascination, Uther watched as something broke through on Gaius’s face. Hope mixed with happiness mixed with something disturbingly familiar: caged desire.

A nod, and Gaius’s eyes filled with hot tears.

“I do. I do, Uther.”

And that was really all that Uther needed to hear. He moved forward, propelled by something stronger than gravity, stronger than love: just a deep-set need. His hands caught Gaius’s older ones, thumbs stroking over the back of his work-worn hands.

“So, you think I should follow Ygraine’s advice?”

“If she will permit it—“

“She will. She already has.”

Gaius seemed unable to stop himself as he started nodding, a tear now rolling down his left cheek; a watery laugh. A second later, he leaned in. Ever the faithful servant, he waited for Uther to make the first move. Uther was the king after all—he should go after his price, not be the price of someone else—and despite their friendship, their blooming relationship, Gaius was still Uther’s subject. But tonight, perhaps Uther would serve Gaius instead, and find it agreeable.

He had never trodden this path before.

The leash in his heart broke in half, the beast let loose.

Uther could barely prepare himself for the wave of want that flooded his entire body from the tips of his hair down to his toes—and no sooner had Gaius given him another inviting look than Uther stepped forward, hands on either side of Gaius’s head, and did what he had longed to do for the past twelve months—pressed their lips together.

Gone was the jittery need to pace his chambers.

Gone was the fear, the nervousness, all the doubts.

Gaius’s lips were warm, his arms wound around Uther’s waist as desperately as Uther’s own, and the passion of his actions matched Uther’s exactly.

The beast was out. His heart opened, inviting. A new future was shaping in front of Uther’s very eyes.

And indeed, there was no coming back from this.

But Uther found that he did not mind.

On the other side of the castle, in the candle-lit warmth of Nimueh’s chambers, the future queen and her lover lay tangled in rich, red sheets, their happiness permeating the room.

Ygraine couldn’t believe that this was the direction the headache-inducing evening—the sorrowful anticipation, the fake smiles—had taken. She still couldn’t believe that not only had she been right about Uther’s desire for his court physician, but that despite the rings on their fingers, he had agreed to her proposal and let her climb back into bed with his own court sorceress.

Banishing the lingering thoughts about her future husband, Ygraine instead focused on the here and now.

[skip smut]

She and Nimueh were kissing like they had never kissed before, desperation melting into loving tenderness then turning back to sweet desperation. It felt both familiar and entirely new. Like tonight, something had unlocked within them: a possibility. The perpetual sense of doom that had followed them for months had dissipated from Ygraine’s lungs like morning fog, and the only real thing in the entire world was Nimueh’s soft, milky skin under her hands, the way Nimueh’s hot palms glided over Ygraine’s breasts, and the giddy relief she felt at the knowledge that Nimueh had sound-proofed the room with a spell.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you all night, my love,” Nimueh murmured into Ygraine’s skin in between hot, open kisses generously laid all over Ygraine’s throat.

Ygraine laughed when Nimueh’s lips reached her ear. “Likewise, Nim. Likewise.”

Nimueh suddenly sat up, her grinning face entering Ygraine’s field of vision, and with sparkling eyes, she said, “I like this new arrangement that you’ve struck with the king. I still cannot believe he agreed to it, but I'm glad.”

Ygraine placed her hands on either side of her lover’s face, traced her thumbs over her ruddy cheeks, then brought her down for a deep, loving kiss. When they broke apart for breath, without hesitation, Ygraine took Nimueh’s hand and guided it down under the covers—under the half-buttoned dress she still wore—and between her thighs.

“I’m glad, too, my love, believe me.” She used her own hand to seek out the warmth between Nimueh’s legs, then pressed in, drawing out a delicious gasp from the otherwise-so-impervious sorceress. “Now stop talking, please. There is so much I want to do tonight, after all.”

Nimueh gave her an incredulous look, which soon turned into a laugh—and Ygraine swiftly transformed it into another gasp as she moved her fingers, a cheeky glint in her eyes.

[return to smut]

Ygraine had never been so happy.

She didn’t know if she would come to love Uther—and if such a day indeed came, it could never compare to what she felt for Nimueh, that she was sure of—but perhaps life in Camelot would not be so bad, after all.

Perhaps, the gods had smiled on Ygraine, and her future would be bright.