“I’m blushing just thinking about it.”
His laughter is a raspy dragon wheeze.
Soon, we’re landing in the same spot as last time. I look around curiously as Sigurd shifts to his human form. The frost is still on the ground here, and the castle ruins look lonely andstark. Yet for all that, there’s an atmosphere here, one that I cannot explain but I can still feel. It’s why the Arthurian legend still has such a hold on people.
“Walk with me, Cary,” Sigurd says, and I fall into step beside him. His arm falls over my shoulder like it usually does, and we walk slowly across the cliffs. Down below, the water booms in Merlin’s Cave, and above us, a few gulls cry, swooping through the sky on their way home.
“This is a special place to you, isn’t it?” I say quietly.
He’d been looking ahead thoughtfully, but at my question, he turns and smiles down at me, dropping a kiss on my nose and tucking me further into his side. The wind roars, but next to him, I’m always snug.
“Yes. It was the first time that I’d felt accepted for who I was and not what I was. Does that make sense?”
“Perfect sense. To others, you were something to be studied or…”
“Feared?” he supplies as I hesitate. “Aye, I was feared and rightly so. You know my past.”
“I do.” He’s told me in fits and starts over the years, and I know he renounced those old ways many centuries ago, seeking knowledge rather than warfare.
“But here with Arthur and the knights, I was a part of something. Something incredible. Those were heady times, Cary. I was young and so were they. The blood pumped in our veins, and each day was a new adventure. It is strange to live through times that you know are going to become tales of boldness and myths.”
“Tell me more about Arthur?”
He thinks for a moment. “He was a bold tactician and a lover of knowledge. He liked truth and beauty. He was a loyal friend and a terrible enemy. I wish you could see Camelot as it wasthen. Not this windswept ruin.” He pauses. “But mayhap you can.” He tsks. “I am stupid, my heart.”
He waves his hand and speaks in a language I can’t understand. Each word is weighted down with so much magic that the air feels choked with it, and my hair rises on my neck. A twinkling mist blows around me, and I lose sight of him. “Sig?”
“All is well,” he says, looming up next to me suddenly and making me jump. He blows into his cupped palms and then makes a sudden throwaway gesture. Pink and gold sparks shoot out, coalescing into a sparkly cloud that blows the mist away. They swirl in the air, and there’s a low hum of magic. I close my eyes against their brightness, and when I open them, I gasp.
A castle stands in front of me where the ruins stood, but it’s not made of stone. Instead, it’s formed from the pink and gold lights of Sig’s magic. The lights trace the lines of the majestic building right up to the flags flying on the turrets.
“Oh, that’s sobeautiful, Sig.”
The castle shimmers for a few seconds more, and then one by one the lights twinkle out until we’re left in cold stone ruins again, with only the bright stars above us.
“Camelot,” Sig says, and there’s a wistful yearning in his voice. I hug him tight and eventually hear his familiar chuckle.
“I shall have no ribs left,elskling.”
I grin up at him. “Thank you for showing me. It was beautiful.”
He strokes my curls back. “Nay, that is you.”
“Was Arthur really good friends with Merlin?”
“They were like brothers. One could read the other’s mind. Their destinies were so entwined they could not separate.” He huffs, amused. “Which led to some mighty battles. I remember one such battle where both sides had to wait to engage while they roared at each other.”
His levity fades. “But he was foremost a soldier, and as such, he thought like one. His processes were clear and steady, which didn’t prepare him for court intrigues and marriage.”
I sigh, thinking of Lancelot and Arthur’s wife. “Well, what does prepare you for marriage?” I say lightly.
That seems to startle him because he’s silent for a second. “You do not like marriage, Cary?” he asks hesitantly.
There’s an odd note in his voice, and I reach up to kiss him. “I like marriage,” I say, pulling back. “I grew up seeing my parents’ relationship, so I have good experiences of it. And isn’t what we have a marriage?” He stops, and I turn to him. “Sigurd?”
He sounds winded. “Aye, ’tis a marriage. I like that you see us as that. A true mate is a relationship that will last for eternity, but still, it is not marriage according to your race, and I know you like your human customs.”
“I like yours just as much. Sigurd, what are you doing?”
