CHAPTER NINE

Illusion...and Love

"You sent for me, Sire?" Sir Abersol inquired sleepily, entering the large throne room and heading toward the dais where Odin sat reading a scroll in his hand. The knight had been roused from his bed by a servant bearing a message that the king required his presence immediately, and thus he'd not even had a chance to break his fast.

Odin gave him a cursory glance, and resumed scanning the unfurled parchment in his hands, a satisfied grin spreading across his hard features. "Camelot has fallen to my army!" he exclaimed jubilantly. "I just received this missive from one of my commanders. "

Abersol smiled broadly, now fully awake. "Such excellent news, Sire! And what of the citadel itself?"

Now Odin looked at him more fully. "Breached, thanks to my agent within. My men are in complete control there now. The Pendragon banners have been taken down and replaced with mine!"

"Congratulations, Sire! A momentous victory! And what now of Arthur Pendragon? Shall I finish him off?" the knight asked.

Odin rolled up the scroll and set it aside, then stood. "No, my friend, that's one task I personally shall enjoy performing myself," he replied, stepping down from the dais. "I want to watch the life drain from the little bastard's eyes when I slit his throat….after I tell him his kingdom and throne are now mine."

When Odin and Abersol stepped into Arthur's cell they could see his shadowed form hanging from the wrist chains. There was no sound coming from the prisoner, and the king looked at his knight questioningly.

"You haven't already killed him?!" Odin demanded.

"Nay, Sire!" the other man hastened to assure him. "He was alive when I left him late last night. He even drank some of the water I gave him. He must merely be unconscious."

The two men walked over to stand in front of Arthur's suspended form, which seemed unnaturally still. The youth's blond head hung down, and he did not seem to be breathing.

"Something is not right here," Odin muttered, and tentatively reached out a hand to touch his captive…but his hand went right through Arthur's body. "What witchery is this?!" he exclaimed in shock, turning to stare at Abersol.

Equally unnerved, the knight moved closer to Arthur and also tried to touch him…and his own hand merely passed straight through the young man's body.

Suddenly there was a strange sound, almost a crackling hiss, and ever so slowly Arthur's form began to dissolve right before the astonished stares of the two men, the ankle shackles falling noisily to the stone floor while the overhead now-empty wrist shackles swayed on their chains.

Merlin came into the small bedroom to check on Arthur, and stopped in the doorway, watching Alice as she tended to him. The girl had worked tirelessly over him for the past two days as she tried to heal his injuries, seldom leaving the bedside.

Merlin could see that her remarkable healing gifts had mended Arthur to where almost all evidence of the terrible damage done to his face and body were gone, and he looked much like himself once more. Yet his coloring was still too pale, and he had not regained that indefinable vibrant glow which had always emanated from him, adding to his charisma. But Arthur was still very ill, Merlin knew. Earlier Alice had confided that she was worried about his internal injuries, which had been so severe and extensive and, therefore, harder for her to heal.

Looking up, the girl smiled over at Merlin when she realized he was there. She was wearing her long auburn hair loosened but pulled back and fastened with a simple clip at the nape of her neck. Her form-fitting garment was a shade of green which matched her remarkable eyes, he noted with admiration.

"When will he finally awaken?" he asked anxiously. Arthur had been in a coma-like state since they'd rescued him from the cell.

"Not for some time yet," she replied, tucking the covers more tightly over the king. "As you can see, he's vastly improved, but the spells are still trying to heal his internal injuries and broken bones." She felt Arthur's brow. "The fever is still there, though, which troubles me…but at least the swelling and abrasions on his body and face are mostly gone." Looking down at her patient she commented, "I'd heard he was very pleasing to look upon. He truly is that."

"Most people seem to think so," Merlin replied, adding with a crooked grin, "But I work hard at helping him stay humble about his looks, among other things. He's been given everything since birth, so it helps to keep him grounded in reality. He calls them my *surly comments*, but he actually enjoys them, even when I tell him he's behaving like a prat or that he's getting a little soft around the middle. Oddly enough, it's one reason we get on so well."

He'd told her all this in order to hide the unexpected sharp pang of jealousy he'd felt at her remarks about Arthur's striking good looks. Jealousy was truly something he'd never felt about Arthur's undeniable physical appeal until that moment. He had long recognized that beneath the surface beauty of his friend's face, as well as his sometimes arrogant or demanding demeanor, was a man of deep integrity and feeling who truly was not vainglorious about himself. If anything, Merlin had seen that Arthur often found his golden looks to be something of a drawback and nuisance at times because they drew so much attention to him wherever he went, thus making him so recognizable. It was also hard for him to slip unnoticed among a crowd, or enter a tavern incognito just to relax and enjoy an ale or tankard of mead like anyone else. Sometimes covering his bright blond hair helped, but not always since his unmistakable large blue eyes, aristocratic features, confident body language, and cultured voice could still give him away.

Arthur had even once confided to Merlin that because of how he looked he always felt he had to prove himself—prove his manhood and masculinity, really—as he was growing up in order to gain the respect of not only his father but that of other hardened knights and warriors as well.

But at that moment, something was different for Merlin when he'd heard Alice take note of Arthur's looks. He realized he had never before experienced a jealous reaction to a woman's admiration for Arthur, and often found it amusing, in fact, because women usually got so silly and giddy in his presence; but this time was different. And yet he also felt ashamed of his jealousy, given how brutalized Arthur had been as Odin's captive.

Alice had straightened up and moved away from the young king's bedside to join Merlin by the doorway. She had sensed his chagrin at her comment despite his effort to cover his reaction, and staring up into his face and soulful blue eyes she reached up and tenderly laid her hand against his right cheek.

"Arthur may have the face of a young god, but yours, Merlin, with its expressive eyes, kindly features, and dazzling smile is the sweetly handsome face my gaze falls the most favorably upon."

He was stunned by her words, her touch, the look in her emerald eyes, and how close she was standing to him. He could smell the rose-scented water she used when she bathed, and his breath caught in his throat as he stared down into her mesmerizing gaze. And then he lowered his dark head and kissed her, thrilling to the taste of her soft mouth and her arms sliding up to wrap around his neck to pull him closer.

When the kiss ended, Alice took his hand in hers and began to lead him toward her bedroom.

"What…what of Arthur? What of your father?" he asked, flushing a little as he realized her intent, his heart pounding.

"Arthur will not awaken, as I told you, and has no need of me at this moment. And my father has gone into the village for supplies. He won't return for hours yet as he will most certainly go to the tavern to sit with friends and down an ale or two as he catches up on the latest news."

With that she pulled him into her chamber…and softly shut the door.