Whispers Of The Wind

by abst0ries

Arthur meets a special someone who flips his world upside down by making him question everything he thought he knew – and that is just the beginning of the turbulent ride that ensues. – Updated every Saturday!

3. What Matters And What Doesn't

Arthur's brain felt as if it were spinning inside his skull and slamming against the walls of it, producing a nauseated feeling in his throat, and causing his limbs to tingle with a slight numbness. He took note of the firm, yet comfortable, surface beneath his back, and of the faint scent of smoke in the temperate air, and of something soft cradling his head. A small groan pushed past his lips, and he opened his eyes, finding that his vision was slightly blurred. He scanned the rock-textured dome above him and determined that he was inside some sort of cave. With another groan, he tilted his head to the side. His breath hitched when he saw a figure in a golden cloak with its back to him, kneeling before a campfire. The figure was small and slim. Beside it was a straw basket that carried multiple herbs. He focused his hearing and was able to make out a few whispered words, none of them known to him. A bright golden glow made him gasp, and he saw the figure tense up. He swallowed thickly.

"Magic is illegal, you know?" he croaked out.

The figure's head snapped towards him, and his eyes widened at the sight of a girl. A beautiful girl, if he's honest with himself. Most likely a bit younger than himself, with light brown hair that cascaded down her shoulders in waves under the hood of her cloak, and stunning golden-coloured eyes that made him think of a sunset.

Just as quickly as she'd turned her head towards him, she returned her attention to whatever sort of darned magic she was performing. "Turn me in later," she said in a low voice that barely surpassed a whisper. The softness of it, so contrasting with her evil practices, caressed Arthur's ears and eased the spinning in his head.

"Who are you?" he demanded as he attempted to sit up, only for a sharp pain on the left side of his stomach to cause him to cry out and fall backwards again.

"It doesn't matter," the girl responded in the same soft tone that pacified Arthur's nervous system.

She said a few more unintelligible words. A spell, Arthur acknowledged. And she recoiled slightly when another bright golden spark appeared before her.

Arthur's heart started to race as he fully came to understand that he was in the company of a sorceress.

He tried to sit up again so that he could get away from her wicked ways, but the pain in his body knocked him back down in an instant, and he let out another involuntary cry as he squeezed his eyes shut.

"What did you do to me?" he interrogated.

The girl stood up and began to walk slowly towards him. She carried a jar that contained a green paste. His breathing grew erratic, and he forced himself to sit, and he tried to back away while ignoring the searing pain in his torso, but it wasn't long before he met a cool wall of the cave. He inhaled sharply.

"What do you remember?" she asked in response.

Arthur didn't take his eyes off her, lest she try to hurt him, as he thought back to the moments before he lost consciousness. His brow furrowed slightly, and he swallowed thickly. His heart-beat accelerated, and he feared it would spring out of his ribcage. He remembers being on patrol with his knights. Settling down for the night. Being woken up by crunching footsteps. Fighting the starved people of Aetherburg. Watching his knights be slaughtered one by one. Awful pain. A cloaked figure …

"I saved your hide," the girl revealed when he took too long to reply. Her voice was slightly louder this time, at the cost of it turning stoic. Emotionless. Just like the blank expression on her face. He found that it suited her corrupted nature much more.

"Why?" he questioned through a lump in his throat.

"Because I could."

"Who are you?" he asked again.

"It doesn't matter," she repeated.

He let out a shaky exhale. "You are a sorceress."

"I suppose so."

"Do you know who I am?"

"A knight of Camelot."

"So why did you save me?" he tried again.

She ignored his inquiry this time as she kneeled beside him. His lungs cowered, and he stopped breathing as he tried to move away before she could hurt him in some way. She retained her blank expression as she watched him struggle against the pain in his side.

"Are you going to kill me?" Arthur questioned.

She frowned. "No."

"Are you going to hold me for ransom?"

"No."

"Then why did you save me?!" His nostrils flared as he stared at her with a piercing look that is usually enough to intimidate knights and noblemen. But the sorceress didn't even flinch.

"Because I could," she said once more, meeting his stare with golden eyes that burned into his irises. "May I tend to your wound?"

Arthur admitted defeat, knowing that he would never be able to get away from her in the state he was in, and he let his shoulders slump as he averted his gaze. The sorceress moved closer to him, and she kept the jar in one hand while her other reached towards him. He felt his body tense up again, and she paused for a moment. Then she continued. He started to breathe heavily when her fingers skimmed the hem of his red tunic, and she paused yet again.

Her voice was soft and whispered once more as she promised, "I won't harm you."

Likely against his better judgement, Arthur forced himself to relax as much as he could, and he nodded. The sorceress slowly lifted his tunic until it reached the bottom of his ribcage, revealing a bloody hole in the side of his stomach that caused him to get nauseated all over again, and he pressed his fist to his mouth in an attempt to keep down the bile that threatened to rise up in his throat. How the hell is he still alive?!

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as the sorceress dipped two fingers into the jar, coating them in the green paste. He was able to detect a fresh earthy scent that cleared his collapsed airways ever so slightly. Her hand inched closer to his wound, and she paused while lifting her gaze to his. As if silently asking permission. He nodded, and she returned her attention to the bloody hole. Arthur held his breath yet again and he clenched his teeth in preparation for the sting that was sure to come. His eyes widened when he felt no pain. Only a cooling sensation that restored his lung function entirely, and he let out a long sigh. He watched as the girl's chapped pink lips curved upwards a barely visible amount while she continued to apply the mix gently to his injury until it was entirely covered in the green paste.

"Hold. I need a bandage," she instructed once she was done while motioning towards her other hand with her head, and he immediately complied with holding up his tunic.

Whatever sorcery she has cast upon him, he cannot deny that he feels a lot better now.

She hurried towards the basket that lay near the campfire, and she pulled out a bandage. She dipped it into a wooden bowl containing some clear liquid that sat nearby, and then she returned to his side. Her hands never lost any kindness as she carefully wrapped the bandage around his torso with a precision that could rival that of Gaius – Camelot's court physician.

"All done," she said as she stood up again with her jar in hand. She returned to the basket, and she retrieved a small glass vial that contained a dark green liquid, which she then handed to him. "Drink this. It will help."

Arthur knows that if his father were ever to find out that he accepted things – potions! – from a sorceress, he would be in a raging world of trouble. And he certainly would hunt down the enigmatic girl before him. However, no matter what her undoubtedly rotten motivation may have been, she did save his life. And she eased his pain. So, after a few seconds of silent contemplation, he took the vial from her. His fingers brushed hers, and a warm tingle travelled up his spine. He decided to ignore that, and he swiftly gulped down the contents of the vial. His face scrunched up from the bitter and somewhat spicy taste that tickled his throat.

He was promptly handed a warm cup of something else.

"Mint tea," the sorceress said.

Arthur nodded in a silent show of gratefulness, and he took the cup from her.

The sorceress sat down on a small knitted cushion that lay on the ground nearer to the campfire, and she crossed her legs. She grabbed a pot that sat on the ground, and poured some of its contents into another cup, then she began drinking from it whilst contemplating the flames.

Arthur rested his back against the hard wall of the cave as he observed her. Her back was to him, so he could not see her face – a fact that he found himself disliking with a sense of unease. Her body was somewhat tense, and she seemed restless as she kept shifting on her seat every so often, and fiddling around with rocks on the ground, and he could see the unevenness in her breathing.

Why would a sorceress save a knight of Camelot? Why would she even risk engaging in the forbidden practice? Especially if she's truly not seeking to profit off kidnapping him. Who is this girl who saved his life?!

"What is your name?" Arthur asked. He didn't miss how her body jolted at the sudden sound of his voice, but she didn't turn to face him.

The increasingly more familiar response didn't surprise him, but it did make him feel frustrated – "It doesn't matter."

"I am not going to turn you in, if that's what you're afraid of," he offered without thinking, surprising himself. His words go against everything he has been taught since birth – that sorcery must be met without mercy and ripped out from the roots of the Earth. But this sorceress saved his life. He feels honour-bound to return the favour by keeping quiet about her evil practices as long as she keeps her promise not to harm him.

"Thank you," she responded.

Silence reigned inside the cave once more, and Arthur felt himself growing uneasy once again. He's in the presence of a sorceress, and that's all he knows. He can't figure out what she's thinking. Who she is. What her reasons for doing this might be. And he refuses to believe that 'it doesn't matter'. No one goes out of their way to save a complete stranger and heal them if not for a reason – even if it's something as simple as a righteous moral compass. But how can a sorceress possess a righteous moral compass?

An even more puzzling question flashed through his mind, and he couldn't stop himself from spewing it out – "Did you fight off the men on your own?"

He heard her sigh. "No."

Arthur tensed up and he gazed around the cave as a rush of paranoia caused his heart-rate to speed-up again. "Are there any more sorcerers around?"

"No."

"Then how–"

"It doesn't matter."

Arthur clenched his jaw and demanded through gritted teeth, "Stop saying that."

"Stop asking questions."

"How dare you speak to the P– to a knight of Camelot in that way?!"

All he got in response was a shrug of her shoulders, and he felt anger and exasperation pooling in his stomach like a stream of lava. Either this sorceress is a complete idiot, or she has a death wish!

"Tell me your name," Arthur commanded.

The sorceress stood up and headed to a corner of the cave. He tensed up, fearing that he might have crossed a line and that she might attempt something against his person. He relaxed when he saw her retrieve a few pieces of wood, which she promptly threw into the campfire. The fire swelled and it warmed up the space in a matter of seconds. She sat down again, keeping her back to him once more, and his command fell without a response.

Arthur huffed and shook his head. This little sorceress sure is stubborn! Unfortunately for her, he is as well. And he refuses to let her win the battle of wills he presumes they are having. So he changed tactics in his personal challenge to discover who the girl is, and he asked, "Where did you learn magic?"

"It doesn't matter," she said in her mastered emotionless, stoic tone.

Arthur swallowed a groan. "Do you live here?"

"It doesn't matter."

An irritating acid began dripping into his lungs. "Do you have a family?"

"It doesn't matter."

He fisted one of his hands and he punched the ground. He groaned when his injury protested the brusque movement, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a few moments as he waited for the wave of pain to pass.

"It's midnight. You should rest," the sorceress said, speaking softly again.

"How do I know you will keep your promise not to harm me while I sleep?" Arthur questioned.

"Fine, then don't," she responded and, with another shrug, she shifted and lay down with her head on her knitted pillow. "Wake me up if you need anything," she added, surprising the soul out of Arthur. She reached for a blanket, which she pulled over her body as she curled up on the ground.

Arthur sighed and looked down, only then realising that he was sitting atop a double-sized mattress that had another blanket and another pillow on it. He gazed back at the sorceress, registering that she's sleeping on the hard, dirty ground, and he gazed back at the surface beneath him. Whoever this sorceress is, she doesn't seem to be the greedy, corrupt, selfish, evil kind that his father speaks about. She saved his life. What she is, is a girl. And he refuses to let his manners fall, even if she is infuriating and cryptic.

"Here," he said as he carefully scooted off the mattress. "I will sleep on the ground."

"I'm fine," she mumbled sleepily.

"You must be uncomfortable," he insisted.

"It doesn't matter."

He might've considered fighting her on it for a while longer, but her use of that phrase caused any sparks of chivalry in him to dwindle away with irritation, and he scoffed before lying down on the mattress and getting himself into a comfortable position. If she wants to be that way, he will allow her to be that way.

꧁ 𓃗 ꧂

Arthur's eyes opened the next morning, and he hummed as he let them adjust to the vibrant stream of sunlight that was reaching towards him through the mouth of the cave. He was pleased to find that he felt surprisingly well-rested, and that his head no longer hurt, and that his wound hurt much less than it had the last time he was awake. He propped himself up on one arm, and scanned his environment. His brow furrowed at the realisation that the sorceress was nowhere in sight.

Was she just a dream? But that doesn't explain how he got to the cave. Perhaps he dragged himself to it after miraculously surviving the attack from the men of Aetherburg. But that doesn't explain the comfortable mattress below him, or the cool salve that's still working against his wound, or the bandage around it. Maybe she decided to leave in the middle of the night. However, all her belongings are still inside the cave.

He sat up fully and groaned at the painful reminder that he does have a hole in the side of his torso, even if it doesn't hurt so much anymore. He leaned his back against the wall and took a deep breath before scanning the space around him again. Thanks to the sunlight, he was able to make out more objects. A long wooden table stood beside the wall across from him, atop which sat a few kitchen utensils, a small pile of blankets, and some clothes. Underneath the table were a few wooden buckets and a pair of straw baskets. Beside it was the pile of firewood from which the sorceress supplied the campfire last night. And lined up further into the cave were a quartet of wooden barrels.

The sorceress must, indeed, live here.

"Look at that – you survived a night with me."

He jolted at the unexpected sound of her stoic voice, and turned his head to see her entering the cave. She no longer wore the hood of her cloak, which, along with the sunlight, allowed him to get a better look at her face. Her skin is light pink with rose-tinted cheeks that are littered with freckles, forming constellations that he feels he could observe for hours and not get bored. Her nose is Grecian in shape, not quite speaking of a supreme feminine delicacy, but it's not a sharp or vulgar attribute in the slightest. Her lips are thinner than they are full, fleshy pink in colour, and slightly chapped. He noticed a long scar running down the right side of her forehead. Her eyes are a bit bigger than average, round and intelligent. The golden colour in her irises took away his breath again.

Not seeming to acknowledge his stare, the girl kneeled beside the unlit campfire, and she set down the basket that she was carrying. Arthur straightened up so he could peek into it, and he noticed an assortment of wild berries. The girl stood up and she grabbed a pot from the table before walking towards the barrels. She scooped something into the pot. Oats, he realised. Next she poured in some water from another barrel. And then she returned to her spot beside the campfire. She lit it with a single whispered word, which caused Arthur's lungs to freeze for a moment, and she hung the pot over the fire.

While the food cooked, the girl walked towards another corner of the cave, which Arthur couldn't see from his position as it was partly hidden by a natural wall. She remained there for a minute or two, then she returned with his acquainted jar of green paste in one hand, as well as a clean bandage and a wet towel. She halted by the fire to stir the pot for a moment, then she walked towards him.

"May I change your dressing?" she asked softly.

He raised a challenging eyebrow. "Would it make a difference if I refused?"

"Yes, but I doubt you want an infection," she pointed out, her demeanour stoic once more. Her frustrating constant switch between soft and gentle, and cryptic and stoic is beginning to tire him.

"Go on, then," he breathed out.

He did not miss how she rolled her eyes before she kneeled beside him. Already knowing what this is about, he lifted his tunic to give her access to the wound, and he fixed his eyes on the side of her remarkably beautiful face as she began to gently unwrap the bandage she had put on him last night. Tingles shot up his spine every time that her fingers brushed against his skin, and he had to swallow a grunt when her wrist grazed his hip-bone in the midst of her movements.

Arthur allowed himself to breathe while she discarded the old bandage, and he detected a sweet scent on her person. Like a mix of honey and flowers.

The girl grabbed the wet towel, and began to dab gently at the skin surrounding the injury, slowly cleaning up the leftover stains from the now dried paste that she had applied last night.

She stood up and moved to stir the pot again before returning to him.

Like she did before, she grabbed some of the fresh paste with two of her fingers, and she cautiously smeared it over his wound. He sighed at the cooling sensation of it, which reduced the pain he was still feeling.

The girl wrapped the clean bandage around his torso. Then she collected her utensils, and disappeared from his sight again for a minute or two.

When she returned, she grabbed a ladle, two wooden bowls, and two wooden spoons from the table across from him. Then she poured a serving of oatmeal into each bowl, and she topped them off with a fistful of wild berries and some almonds. She handed him one bowl and kept the other one for herself as she settled onto her knitted cushion.

He scanned her figure for a moment, wondering if she could have poisoned the food somehow. Any such thoughts faded away when she began eating. He sighed and ate a spoonful of the meal. His eyes widened for a moment. This girl can cook! If she wasn't a sorceress, he might have considered offering her a position in Camelot's kitchen! That would be a much more desirable lifestyle than living in a cave, wouldn't it?

"You don't talk much, do you?" he asked after a few silent minutes.

"There's nothing to say."

At the risk of annoying her, he tried to press the subject again – "You could tell me your name …"

He couldn't help but smirk as she sent a narrow-eyed look towards him. Now feeling safer that she most likely doesn't want to kill him, he no longer found the burning stare intimidating, but somewhat … not adorable. She's still a sorceress. But it was … engaging. Especially when coupled with a barely-visible pout that made his eyes stray to her lips, where they lingered for a few seconds longer than they probably should have.

"You could also ask my name," he suggested.

"It doesn't matter," she grunted.

He gritted his teeth at her renewed use of that darned phrase. "Does anything matter?"

"I suppose so," she replied, her tone stoic again.

"Like what?"

She shrugged in response.

He sighed and took the last spoonful from his bowl, savouring it in his mouth, before he cast the utensils aside. "So you have no family, you live in a cave–"

"Those are bold deductions."

"You do have a family?"

"I didn't say that."

Arthur is aware that he shouldn't care this much. She is a sorceress. Hunted by the law. He should be dragging her back to Camelot and bringing her before his father. But her enigmatic behaviour and heroic actions – she saved his life! – have him sizzling with a burning need to know her. An urge that only grows with each cryptic word that she utters. He will figure her out, even if it costs him some of his sanity.

In a courageous move, he revealed, "Well, my name is Arthur."

"I didn't ask," she grumbled. A second later, she straightened up and turned to look at him. She scanned him for a few seconds, making his heart-rate accelerate. She raised an eyebrow. Then she returned her attention to the front of her.

In an even more daring move, he added, "Arthur Pendragon."

"I figured," she stated, once again stoic.

He clenched his jaw. It's impossible to get a true reaction out of this girl!

"Does that not scare you?" he challenged.

"No."

"My father, the King, would kill you without a second thought if he found out you have magic," he continued probing.

"I know."

"Does that not matter to you?"

She shrugged.

Arthur scoffed and shook his head.

The sorceress stood up, and she collected the empty bowls before disappearing further into the cave yet again. She returned some minutes later, and he noticed that she had cleaned the utensils. She set them back down on her table, and he watched her sigh. She grabbed a bucket.

"I'm getting more water," she informed Arthur as she pulled on her hood. "Don't touch anything."

He heard her whistle when she exited the cave, and seconds later he watched as a black bird perched itself upon her shoulder. She reached up to stroke its back and, against all odds, a smile formed on her lips. His heart skipped a beat at the sight and he dropped his gaze as his lips produced a smile of their own.

꧁ 𓃗 ꧂

Arthur's body shivered with a force he'd never experienced before as he sat on the mattress with three blankets wrapped around his body, but that wasn't enough to sway away the bone-gnawing cold that was flooding the cave through vicious howling winds and occasional whooses of snow. The campfire had gone out about an hour prior, and, without flint and steel, he had no way to light it again.

His eyes were fixed on the entrance as he worried where the sorceress might be. He doubts she can survive out there. Not without proper winter wear, and all she was wearing when she went out was her cloak and a cotton jacket over a linen shirt. Perhaps she found shelter elsewhere. Perhaps she truly has abandoned him this time. He just hopes, against his father's strict teachings, that she is alive. Only because she saved his life.

He curled up further, remaining mindful of his wound, as more wind crashed against the cave. It swirled around and rattled the dirt on the ground. He closed his eyes as some of it flew towards his face, and he turned his head away from the icy particles.

The freezing air entered his airways, making him cough. He gazed at the remaining three blankets in the cave. He left them untouched, knowing that the sorceress would need them if she returned. But about five hours have gone by since he saw her last, and he knows that he might not survive if he doesn't get warm. It would be irresponsible to leave the throne of Camelot without an heir.

He stood up, groaning a reminder of his wound's existence, and he grabbed one more blanket. He returned to the mattress and curled up with the added warmth. Four is certainly better than three. But he is not sure that it is enough. Still, he decided to leave the remaining two alone a while longer. Just in case she comes back.

Arthur's eyelids started to get heavy, and he lay down on the mattress, no longer having the energy to remain upright. However, he refused to let his eyes close. He kept watching the cave entrance. Hoping – wishing – for her to return safely.

The wind screeched.

"Thank you," he heard a soft voice in the distance. He lifted his head again and squinted his eyes.

The sorceress rushed into the cave, and he let out a long sigh of relief, his lips curving upwards ever so slightly.

Without acknowledging him, she dove straight for the pile of clothes atop the table. He didn't miss how she was entirely damp. And, even in the darkness of the stormy night, he could see that her skin was frighteningly pale. She ran towards the unseen corner of the cave. Arthur stared in the direction she'd disappeared in. Words bubbled in his throat, so he restrained them, pondering whether they would be welcome, whether he would be met with her infuriating answer, and whether he should let himself show that he sort of cares about the well-being of the enigmatic girl.

As if they had a mind of their own, the words broke past his lips after a few moments – "Are you all right?"

He held his breath until she responded, "Just cold."

Despite the fact that she probably just went through a frozen hell, he noticed that her voice sounded a bit more lively than before, with a melodious tinge to it.

Who did she thank before she came in? Did she lie when she said there aren't any other sorcerers? Are they the reason for her change in mood? Is she going to harm him, after all? Has this all been some part of a malevolent plan? Perhaps a plot against his father?

He shook his head as if to rid himself of the spinning thoughts, and asked, "What happened to you?"

"I lost track of time."

Arthur's eyes widened in surprise at the actual answer that she gave, however brief, and he smiled to himself a little bit. Whatever happened, it seems that she really is in better spirits. Perhaps he can get some answers now if he's smart about posing his questions.

She returned to his sight shortly after, now wearing dry clothes, though her hair was still wet, and she hastened to wrap herself in the remaining two blankets before she worked quickly to place more wood in the campfire and light it. Arthur sighed in relief when the warmth reached him. She walked towards him, and offered him a hand.

"I'll move you closer to the fire," she said.

He kept one hand fisted around the front of the blankets he was wrapped in, and his other he placed in the girl's hand. A buzzing sensation travelled up his spine at the contact. Her skin was terribly cool, in contrast with how warm it'd been when she changed his bandages in the morning. And still, against all sense, he found himself not hating her touch. She let go as soon as he was standing up, and she rapidly dragged the mattress closer to the fire. He lay down again, not without a pang of guilt from how he's still using her mattress, and he watched as she took her usual seat on her knitted cushion.

Arthur still shivered, but it wasn't nearly as bad as it had been ten minutes prior, and he felt eternally grateful that the sorceress had returned. Maybe it's somewhat of an exaggeration, but she might have saved his life again simply by lighting this fire.

If magic is evil, she is the exception to the rule, he decided.

Wait, no. There is still the possibility that she might be upholding a façade while hiding a more sinister plot. He can never discard that possibility. He must remain vigilant. He must honour the values that his father raised him on.

His lips parted with the intention to advise her to abandon all magical practices, or leave Camelot, lest she be discovered. But the words halted on his tongue when he noticed how much her body was shivering. The hand of guilt reached into his stomach and twisted it once more. He should have remained considerate regarding the blankets.

Arthur shrugged off the fourth blanket he'd borrowed, and he stretched it towards the girl. "Here. You're freezing."

"I'm fine," she claimed through clattering teeth, not making a single motion to grab the piece.

Arthur huffed, and carefully stood on his knees to move closer to her. He draped the blanket over her shoulders, making her jolt for a second, and he gave her a small grin when she cast him another ador– engaging glare. Then he sat back down, and pulled his remaining three blankets more tightly around himself.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"You saved my life. I am just repaying the favour," Arthur replied.

"What would the King say?"

"Maybe the King is wrong about magic," he dared to pose in a barely audible tone.

Her eyes jumped to meet his, and he offered a little grin. His heart skipped a beat as he gazed directly into those gold-coloured irises again. The wideness and clarity of them make her seem so innocent. So free from life's burdens. Maybe the thorns of sorcery's corruption haven't yet reached her. If he could bring her back to the castle with him … Steer her away from her dangerous ways …

She averted her gaze just as quickly, and she stood up, going to retrieve another piece of wood. He watched her tense up, and he heard a little growl of annoyance.

"What's wrong?" he inquired.

"We're almost out," she responded. She returned and threw the piece of wood into the campfire, and she let out a long sigh before sitting down again.

"Can you not … get more?" Arthur asked.

She raised an eyebrow at him and responded monotonously, "Sure. I'd be happy to freeze to death."

"I mean with … you know … magic," he specified. "Can you not create more wood?"

She snorted, and her lips curved upwards in the ghost of a grin, an enticing dimple forming to its left. Then she shook her head. "Magic cannot create things out of nothing," she explained, surprising him once more with her substantial answer. "At least not the kind of magic I know."

Arthur knows that his father would have him in the stocks for a month if he learned that he is openly chatting with a sorceress. He knows that he would lock him in jail for a week for daring to learn more about magic. And yet, he could not help the curiosity that rose within him. So he prayed for forgiveness in his mind, and then he asked the girl, "There are different kinds of magic?"

She nodded.

He didn't miss how she was still shivering, and he was as well. But they might as well get used to it and carry on as if it weren't happening.

"Like what?" he pressed.

Their eyes met again, and she raised an eyebrow as she regarded him with an expression he couldn't decipher. It made his heart-rate accelerate. Not with fear, he reflected, but with a certain eagerness that her attention provoked in his soul.

Is he honestly enjoying being the target of a sorceress's gaze?!

"I don't know much," she finally said. "There is natural magic, which I … was born with."

His eyes widened. He didn't know that people could be born with magic! Could she be bluffing? Her hesitation to speak makes him doubt it. And if she is bluffing, then she is a damn good liar.

"There is also fairy magic," the sorceress continued. "And there is dark magic …"

"So … natural magic is … good magic?" Arthur asked slowly when she trailed off, the words tasting funny in his mouth. Like a forbidden fruit. A forbidden fruit he can't help but reach for. Bite into. Just to test its flavour.

"That depends on the user," the girl stated with a certainty that left no space for Arthur to doubt her. She saved his life. "Dark magic, however …"

"No one in their right mind would mess with it," he concluded.

"I don't think so," she responded.

The conversation ended with that, and the howling winds were the only noise that filled the otherwise silent cave.

Arthur let a small triumphant grin spread on his lips at the realisation that he was finally able to actually converse with the girl and learn a bit more about her life. Even if it came at the expense of the values that his father has instilled in him. His brain felt as if it were locked in a battle. Two sides fighting furiously for the throne. One side argued that the little sorceress is playing tricks on him as part of a grand plan to bring down the Pendragon dynasty. The other side swears that she is being truthful, and that his father is wrong about magic. His head began to ache a little bit. Never has he felt so uncertain about the world around him. He had always been grounded in his father's teachings. He's the King, so he must know the truth, no? Can a King as strong and fearsome as Uther Pendragon be so wrong about a matter as important as sorcery?

The cave continued to grow colder as midnight claimed Albion, and the campfire was slowly growing weaker. Only one log remained in the girl's pile after she got up two more times to add the rest, and Arthur calculated that they would most likely be left with nothing in a few hours.

He gazed towards the girl again, and took note of how badly she was still shivering. It probably didn't help that her hair was still damp from the time she spent out in the snow storm. She seemed indifferent to it, however. He supposed that this is nothing new to her. After all, snow storms aren't an outrageous occurrence this time of the year. Especially near the Aetherburg range.

"Is this how it always is during these storms?" Arthur asked, his teeth clattering again after the motion had rescinded for some time.

"Usually I have more wood," she answered.

Arthur nodded in understanding, and he dropped his eyes to his lap. He recapitulated how he is using three of her blankets, and he rapidly concluded that she probably usually has all six of them to herself.

Guilt twisted his stomach again. She is doing so much for him … Sacrificing her safety … How can he ever hope to repay her for it? Not turning her in is the bare minimum. She deserves a lot more.

"You should come back to Camelot with me," Arthur blurted out. Her eyes widened as they jumped to him, and he could've sworn she blanched a shade or two. Still he added, "I have no doubt you could find work easily."

The girl scoffed and shook her head.

"I'm serious!" he pressed.

"I can't," she said.

"You would be safe as long as you don't practice magic," he stated.

She shook her head again.

"You would be safe from these sorts of storms there," he continued. "Besides, I'm sure you get lonely out here."

"I'm fine." There was a perceptible sharpness to her words that let Arthur know that he should drop the subject, even if he really wanted to press it. He will find another way to persuade her. She saved his life. The Prince's life. She shouldn't be living in these nearly animalistic conditions. He will not allow it.

The temperature continued to drop, as did the campfire's will to remain alight. Arthur watched as the girl curled into a ball, and she rocked her body back and forth while she continued to tremble, the shivers growing more violent with every passing minute. His sense of chivalry lit up again, and he decided that it is his duty to protect this enigmatic sorceress from the cold to the best of his abilities.

"Lie beside me," he demanded as he scooted over on the mattress, being careful not to strain his wound. Everyone who knows anything about survival knows the value of body heat, and that's all there is to his request. "We will be warmer if we share all the blankets."

She turned to face him and raised an eyebrow, staring at him as if he'd grown a second head and a bunch of tentacles. Her eyes travelled down to the mattress, then they scanned his body for a moment, then they returned to his eyes. She shifted slightly on her spot. She bit on the inside of her cheek and looked down at the weakening flames before her. She let out a long sigh and finally complied with his request as she sat down beside him.

Arthur promptly extended his three blankets to cover her significantly smaller body, and she slowly returned the favour with the other three blankets, her movements hesitant as an almost fearful look appeared in her eyes while she gazed at him for a moment. He felt his stomach twist. Is she repulsed by him and the thought of being so close to him? He supposes he shouldn't be surprised. After all, his father persecutes her kind without mercy.

She lay down, and curled up into a ball once more, keeping her back to him again.

Arthur instantly felt much less cold.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"It is the least I can do," he responded in the same manner.

"You don't have to do anything."

He decided not to respond to her statement, knowing better than to engage in another battle of stubbornness. His duty now lies in repaying her to the best of his abilities. In preserving her life through this apocalyptic storm.

A mighty gust of wind blew into the cave, bringing with it an unforgiving breeze and some flakes of snow. The fire went out, leaving them in almost complete darkness, save for a faint stroke of moonlight that powered through the storm and reached towards them with a placating hand that implored them to hold on.

The cold inside the cave instantly grew tenfold.

He heard a muffled groan coming from the girl, and she sprang up from under the blankets, racing to get the final piece of wood before throwing it in the campfire. She whispered a spell, and a small spark was ignited. Only for a moment. And then it went out. She tried again, and obtained the same result. She reached forwards with her hand and touched some of the wood.

"No!" she cried. "I-it's all wet! I-it's no good!"

Arthur sat up, keeping the six blankets around him as he suggested, "Let us move deeper into the cave."

The girl nodded, and she moved to help him stand up. He transferred three of the blankets onto her shoulders before moving to use the wall for support, and he watched with a sinking feeling of uselessness as her shivering figure hastened to drag the mattress further inside the cave, rounding the corner that takes her out of sight. She ran towards him moments later, and helped him walk to the chosen spot.

Arthur sat down while the girl retrieved something from a cupboard. A moment later, a faint light went on, and he was able to make out a candle. She placed it down on the ground, near the mattress, and repeated the process with more candles until it was surrounded. It was not as warm as the campfire, but it was certainly better than nothing.

Without exchanging any words, the pair lay back down on the mattress, now huddling much closer together to the point where Arthur could almost feel her back pressing against his chest and her damp hair tickling his face, and they hurried to rearrange the blankets so that they could share all six.

Arthur fixed his eyes on her shivering figure. His heart started to burn with a need to fight Boreas himself if only to spare the girl from such misery. Because, while he was also shivering, he was well aware that she was in much worse shape.

He risked inching closer towards her. Just a tiny bit. And then he stopped all movement, including his breathing, as he awaited a reaction. There were no approving motions made, but no protests came either. So he tried moving just a little bit more. His chest made contact with her back, a touch that was barely perceptible, but he could feel her breathing. It was slow and short, in comparison with the violent trembling of her body.

A brush of wind rounded the corner towards the hidden chamber, and the girl's breath hitched as she recoiled as if to escape its cool claws. The wind tousled her hair ever so slightly, and she rapidly turned onto her other side. Arthur stopped breathing again when they came face to face. A mere two inches separating their noses. A single cool exhale from her fanned against his lips, and his heart-rate accelerated. She rapidly ducked her head to where her forehead was nearly touching his chin.

"Sorry," she said in a barely audible whisper.

"It's all right. You need to get warm," he assured her in a gentle tone.

He heard her sniffle. Is she crying? He had to fist his hands to keep them from reaching to touch her.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought you here," she claimed, still whispering.

"You saved my life," he reminded her. He dipped his head slightly, seeking eye contact, but she turned her back to him again, and let out another sniffle. He stared at the back of her head for a moment as he pondered what to do in this entirely unfamiliar territory.

Another sniffle prompted him to tentatively place his hand on the side of her shoulder. She tensed up for a moment, so he removed his hand. Then she sniffled again, and she let out a shaky sigh. Her arm relaxed. He tried touching her again, and he kept his hand in place when she gave no signs of wanting it off. He couldn't help but take note of how frail her arm seemed under his hand. Small and delicate, if surprisingly muscular. But certainly not the arms of a dangerous criminal.

"What's wrong?" he asked in the most tender tone he could dress his voice in.

Her shoulders shook slightly, and he heard her whimper softly. His heart twisted. He ventured to gently rub his thumb against her covered arm. She let out a shaky breath. She reached upwards and cleaned something off her face. Tears, he deduced.

Before he could press his question, she said in a strained whisper, "I should've taken you home, and none of this would be happening."

His eyes widened for a few moments. She saved his life! Why is she doubting her choices now?! She must really be repulsed by their proximity!

"I doubt I would have survived the journey to Camelot," he pointed out softly.

She shook her head and sniffled again. "I meant my home."

"You do not live here?" he asked.

"Not really."

She whimpered again, and he tried running his hand up and down her upper arm for a moment, just to see how she reacted. He paused, and when she didn't shake him off, he continued. He was marvelled to find that her shivering receded. Only a little bit. But it was enough to make his lips curve upwards in triumph.

"I live in Duskend," she continued, her voice barely audible. "With my Aunt. We got in a fight, so I've been staying here."

Arthur's vocal chords froze all of a sudden, along with his movements. He is finally getting the information he wanted, and now he's not sure how to respond to it. Mostly because he doesn't want to upset her further. Also because he's afraid that he will say the wrong thing and make her close up again. And a little bit because he doesn't want to interrupt if she simply needs to get things off her chest.

Who would've thought it? The irritating and stoic sorceress is really a little girl who ran away from home. Only the Lord knows how many times Arthur has thought about running away after fighting with his father. But he doubts he could survive living in a cave on his own, away from the luxuries of the castle.

She didn't speak again. She simply continued to cry. He could tell that she was trying to be silent about it, but he could hear it – he could feel it – all the same. So he resumed the soft movements of his hand against her upper arm, and he tested the waters by shifting closer to her again. His chest made a barely palpable contact with her back.

"The storm is hardly your fault," he told her softly after some minutes, when he finally felt her start to calm down somewhat. "You saved my life, and I am grateful. And we will get through tonight."

"Yeah …" she breathed out.

A subtle movement of her body caused his chest to make complete contact with her back, and a small smile formed on his chapped and cold lips. He took a deep breath and let his lungs savour the sweet scent of her still damp hair. He allowed his eyes to close, and he let his senses continue to take in the feeling of the girl lying so close to him, not minding the fact that his father would kill him if he ever found out about this.

As the minutes passed, a faint layer of heat began to form between their bodies, and Arthur's shivering receded almost completely. The girl continued to tremble, but not nearly as much as she'd been when they first lay down together, so he decided to consider that a victory.

"Zephyr," she suddenly said in a soft tone.

He opened his eyes and scanned the back of her head for a moment. "What?"

"My name. It's Zephyr."

His lips curved upwards as he echoed, "Zephyr."

Finally!

꧁ 𓃗 ꧂

Arthur woke up alone the next morning, and he sat up more quickly than his wound deemed it sensible to. He grunted when the gash protested, but that didn't stop him from gazing around the cave. The candles surrounding the mattress were out. There was a surprising warmth in the atmosphere. And he could see rays of sunlight reaching towards the isolated chamber of the cave. An unusually sunny winter day to contrast with last night's apocalyptic snowstorm.

There was a bowl of something set on the floor near him. More oatmeal with berries and almonds. Traced on the dirt was a single word: 'Breakfast'. He was slightly surprised by the revelation that the girl from a peasant village can apparently write. His lips curved upwards, and his heart warmed up.

He certainly felt hungry. But food didn't make him as eager as the thought of interacting with the girl again. With Zephyr. He repeated her name in his mind a couple of times. As if to engrave it into the deepest corners of his memory. He quickly decided that he likes the name. It's unique. He has never met anyone else who wields it.

"Zephyr?" he called out. The name caused his tongue to tingle. He likes the taste of it.

No response came, and he frowned.

He waited a few moments. Then he called out to her again. "Zephyr? Are you here?"

He let out a puff of air. He supposes that he shouldn't be surprised that she is gone. She seems to do that a lot. He can't imagine that spending time in a cave is too entertaining, and she has the vast expanse of nature outside to explore.

His stomach clenched. What if she's attacked? Like his patrol group was? He knows, through reports that he has read, how desperate the people of Aetherburg are to get any sort of relief from the misery that King Grimaldo puts them through. Starvation. Needless beatings. Public humiliation for his own beastly entertainment …

He shook his head to get rid of those thoughts. Of the recollection of what his own knights went through thanks to the cruel chaos that plagues the neighbouring kingdom. And he grabbed the bowl of oatmeal.

It was just as delicious as the one he had yesterday. He really should commend the girl's – Zephyr's – cooking skills at some point.

Arthur straightened up when he heard footsteps approaching. "Zephyr?"

A second later, the little sorceress rounded the corner. An involuntary smile formed on his lips, and, much to his surprise, she gave a small grin in return. A small, dimpled grin that caused his heart-rate to accelerate. How are her teeth so perfectly straight? So white?

He took note of the fact that the rosy colour had returned to her skin. Her hair was once more nicely combed, parted in the middle, and cascading down her shoulders in shiny waves of acorn. Her eyes were bright with a glimpse of a golden sunset somewhere on a beach far away. And her body seemed relaxed and energised, shivers long cast away.

"How are you feeling?" Zephyr asked. In contrast with the either whispered or stoic tones that he'd grown to expect, her voice was lively and melodious this time. Soft and warm like a gentle caress to the cheek. Not that he would know what that feels like. But now that the thought has entered his mind, he would not be against finding out if it comes from her.

Dear heavens! What has this little sorceress done to his mind?!

He cannot help it. She is unlike anyone or anything he has ever seen before. An enticing challenge to everything that he has ever been taught.

"Much better," he responded before too long.

"Good," she said. Then she turned around without another word, and disappeared from view once more.

His smile faded and his brow furrowed while he tilted his head slightly. She is the incarnation of sunshine one moment, and the next she's like a violent gust of wind to the face.

A part of Arthur wanted to fight to stand up, perhaps test what his injury might have to say on the matter, and he wanted to chase after the little sorceress. Savour her presence before he inevitably has to return to Camelot. Let his lungs fill with her sweet scent. Gaze into her entrancing eyes. Run his fingers through her beautiful hair. Make her smile. Learn as much as he can about her. About magic? No, that would be outrageous.

He forced his thoughts to halt. She saved his life. He should be searching for a way to reward her. Not yearning to take more from her.

The Prince of Camelot cannot consort with a sorceress.

Zephyr returned and, once again, he involuntarily smiled at the sight of her. He took note of the jar of green paste in her hand, and of the fresh bandage being held between her index and middle fingers, and of the wet towel in her other hand.

Arthur straightened up and compliantly lifted his tunic to reveal his wound to her.

Yesterday's process was repeated as she unwrapped the old bandage and cleaned up the dried paste. She halted after that, and his heart skipped a beat again when a grin curved her lips. His eyes lingered on that place for a few moments. No, he should not let his attention be drawn to her lips.

"Give it another day or two," she commented before she began to apply a new round of green paste.

"So soon?" he inquired. He has sustained less grave wounds that have required a much longer time to heal! Is it wrong that he wishes he could stay here a while longer? Away from his responsibilities as Prince? Away from the expectations of his father? And in the company of this fascinating little sorceress?

"Magic can be used for good," she responded, and she shot him a small smirk.

A tingle ran down his spine. That smug grin. Those shiny eyes. He is not sure if he would like to wipe them off her face with a bold discourse that discourages the use of magic, or if he wants to pause the movement of the luminaries in the sky and stare at her until he melts under the golden sun behind her irises.

She walked away as soon as she was done tending to his injury, and he had to fist his hands to keep them from reaching out and stopping her from leaving his side. In any case, she returned only moments later, and she helped him to stand up, claiming that she should return the mattress to its original place near the campfire.

He sat down on the mattress as soon as she put it in place, and she sat down on her knitted cushion.

He watched as her hands began to fiddle with some rocks on the ground, piling them up, arranging them into patterns, drawing on the dirt with them … His eyes strayed towards her face. Her thick dark brown eyebrows were knitted into a pensive frown, and her bottom lip was curved outwards ever so slightly. He doubts anyone else would've noticed the alteration, but he did. He can't not notice.

"Your aunt – is she a sorceress, too?" Arthur asked, his tone cautious as he probed at the wreckage of the presumed broken barrier between them.

Her shoulders tensed up for a second. Then she let out a long exhale. "I had hoped that conversation was a dream," she muttered.

"Have a little faith in me, Zephyr," he requested, once again marvelling at the taste of her name. "My father will not find out about you. You don't have to be afraid to talk to me."

"Why do you care?" she posed. She turned her head and raised an eyebrow in his direction for a moment before she returned her attention to the rocks below her.

"Perhaps I am curious about the sorceress who risked her life to save mine," he responded with a slight shrug. Trying to appear indifferent against how desperately intrigued he feels by everything about her.

She sighed. "I suppose if you're going to turn me in, you already have enough information to find me."

He almost protested in outrage – how dare she think that he would break his promise and turn her in?! Go against his honour?! But then she turned to face him with a playful grin. A grin that warmed his insides and sent lightning through his veins. A grin that let him know that she was only joking with him. And he smiled widely. To the point where his cheeks hurt.

"Right, so you might as well confess to everything," he tried a jest as well.

Her lips released a glimpse of what a giggle from her might sound like, caressing his very soul and making him yearn for more.

"No, my aunt is not a sorceress," Zephyr finally answered. "She's against magic."

"Is that what your fight was about?" Arthur inquired softly.

"No."

"What happened, then?"

She dropped her head, along with her gaze, and started playing with the rocks once more. "That is not my crime to confess to."

He could feel the foundations of the broken barrier starting to be rearranged on the ground between them, and he refuses to let the wall be erected again, so he dropped that particular subject. However, he refuses to let the conversation die so easily. He wants to squeeze it for all the juice it can give. He wants to talk to her. Get to know her. So he asked, "Will you return to Duskend?"

She bit the inside of her cheek and paused her movements.

"You know, so that I know where to send my guards to seize you," he added playfully.

Zephyr gifted him with another glimpse of a giggle as she gazed towards him for a moment. Then she sighed heavily, and her ghost of a smile fell. "I suppose I will have to, eventually."

"Is your aunt the only family you have?" Arthur inquired.

"It's complicated …" she said, her voice almost a whisper. He understood the hint that that subject should also be left alone.

"Is she good to you?"

"Yes," Zephyr responded without a moment of hesitation. "She has dedicated her life to taking care of me."

Arthur shifted closer to her at the edge of the mattress, leaving only about a metre of separation between them. Just to make the conversation more accessible, of course. No ulterior motives. Although there is the added bonus of getting a whiff of her sweet scent.

"She sounds like a remarkable woman, then," he commented in a low tone as his eyes traced the side of her face. The sunlight hit it directly, making her eyes shine brighter than the stars, and providing a clear contrast between her rosy skin and her abundant freckles.

"Yeah, she is," Zephyr said softly. Her shoulders slumped slightly, and she released a heavy exhale.

Arthur took a chance and reached forwards to place a hand on her left shoulder. She did nothing to acknowledge the motion, but she didn't shrug it off, and so he kept his hand in place as he offered some sympathy, "I fight with my father more often than I probably should admit to. It always seems bigger than it really is."

"I suppose," Zephyr mumbled.

"I'm sure that everything will be all right," he added.

"Thank you," she whispered.

꧁ 𓃗 ꧂

Night claimed Albion yet again, not a minute too early nor a minute too late, and the cave was soon swarmed by cool winds again. Nothing to the extent that last night brought. Arthur is certain that he will never have to survive a snowstorm as violent as that one again. But these winds were still enough to cause him and Zephyr to be uncomfortably cold once more.

In another reassuring display that she isn't an evil sorceress harbouring a twisted plot beneath her surface, Zephyr prepared another delicious meal, and Arthur didn't forget to commend her on it this time. Much to his surprise, the mention caused a faint blush to appear on her cheeks, and he could've swooned at the sight.

They settled into a peaceful silence until Zephyr, once again surprising him, cut through it with a softly-uttered comment that brought him a bone-crushing sense of unease – "There must be people looking for you."

He had not thought about that.

"Yes, my father must be very distressed," he realised in a low tone. He noticed the apprehension in her features, and he couldn't stop himself as he put a hand on her shoulder yet again. "If they happen to find us, I will not let anyone hurt you."

She snorted. "I wouldn't be stupid enough to reveal my magic to them."

"You revealed it to me," he pointed out, a drop of playfulness illuminating his tone once more.

Zephyr actually blessed him with a giggle this time, and he would bet that the sound could break the enchantment of a siren's song by rivalling it with its beauty and soothing tune. The fact that he caused it made it even more hypnotic.

She rattled his nervous system further by nudging his arm with her elbow as she replied, "You were meant to be asleep."

Her words caused a troubling thought to run through his mind, and he tensed up for a few moments.

"How long was I unconscious after you found me?" he asked.

"Only a few hours."

He sighed in relief and let his shoulders relax.

"I wasn't sure that you would survive," she added in a quieter tone.

"I wouldn't have, if it were not for you," he pointed out gently.

"I don't want to sound arrogant, but no, you wouldn't have."

"You are a hero, Zephyr," he humbly admitted aloud as his eyes scanned her face carefully. "It is not arrogant to acknowledge it."

She grinned again, a playful glint shining in her eyes as she stated, "If the Prince of Camelot approves, I won't argue."

"Good," he said.

His heart-rate accelerated yet again when they shared a small smile.

As selfish as the thought may appear, he would gladly endure another snowstorm if it caused another barrier to break between them, because this is so much better than talking to a wall with a single phrase carved onto its bricks.

The night advanced within another bout of silence until Zephyr announced that she was going to sleep.

Arthur watched with a restless heart as she settled down on the ground again, using her cushion as a pillow, with two blankets covering her small body. Like they did two nights ago, his eyes travelled down to the mattress, then they raised to scan her figure, then they went back down, then they returned to her.

They already spent one night in questionable proximity – so what harm would a second one bring?

"This is ridiculous, Zephyr," he said. She turned her head to look at him, appearing puzzled and somewhat displeased as she narrowed her eyes. "The mattress is big enough for the two of us. Come on."

She snorted, and her lips curved upwards a barely visible amount as she responded, "Thank you, but I am fine," before turning around again.

"That is an order from your Prince," Arthur tried, with only a slight hint of playfulness behind his words.

"Noted," she said, not making a single move.

"Zephyr, I'm serious."

"I can hear that."

He narrowed his eyes at her stubborn figure. He won't let her overpower him in this battle of wills!

A smirk formed on his lips as he formulated the perfect plan to force her to comply, and he did not hesitate before putting it into motion – "Is it because I make you nervous? Is my presence too overwhelming? Are you afraid that you won't be able to keep your hands to yourself?"

Her head snapped around to look at him, her golden eyes widening in obvious horror. "Why would you think that?!"

"It's all right, Zephyr, you can admit that you're attracted to me," he said, purposely making his tone arrogant as he kept smirking at her. "Most girls are."

"Then I worry for humanity," she replied through gritted teeth before turning back around.

"I'm flattered, Zephyr. Really."

"I am not attracted to you, you ass-faced cockroach!"

"Prove it and come onto the mattress with me," he challenged.

"Fine," she grumbled. She stood up, gathered her blankets and cushion, and nudged him backwards before settling down beside him, with her back to him once more.

Arthur smirked in triumph as he watched her, and he didn't care to restrain a soft chuckle.

"Shut up," she growled.

"I did not say anything," he stated while carefully rearranging all the blankets so that they would cover both of them.

She sent him a momentary glare over her shoulder, then she curled into a ball.

You are something else, are you not, Zephyr? he thought to himself.

꧁ 𓃗 ꧂

Arthur was pulled out of his sleep by some shifting beside him, and he opened his eyes to see Zephyr walking away from the mattress. Her body shivered slightly as she headed straight for the table across the room, and she rapidly wrapped her golden cloak around her shoulders. He saw her sigh, and the shivering stopped. Then she pulled on her shoes, and she grabbed a straw basket from underneath the table

"Going somewhere?" Arthur questioned, his voice somewhat groggy.

Zephyr started and she swirled around to meet his gaze. Then she relaxed. "I need Echinacea for the salve," she answered.

"It's winter," he pointed out. "You will not find any herbs."

"We'll see," she responded cryptically, a hint of a smirk on her lips, before she walked towards the mouth of the cave.

"May I join you?" Arthur asked as he sat up. He instantly noticed that his wound hardly protested the movement anymore.

"I'd rather you wouldn't," she said under her breath.

"Right – because I make you nervous," he teased.

No reply came as she exited the cave, and he decided to count that as another victory for himself.

He stood up carefully and shifted on his feet for a few moments, testing the feel of his torso. He walked a few metres, and grinned to himself when he found that he could move without the pain knocking him down. The remaining sensitivity was annoying at most, but nothing that could keep him from chasing after Zephyr.

Why his soul is so set on doing that, he couldn't tell you. All he knows is that her presence pulls him like an opposing magnet. He supposes that must be the reason why. The Prince of Camelot and a sorceress. There is nothing more opposing than that.

He put on his shoes, which lay near the table across the room, and he hastened to go after the enigmatic girl.

He halted at the mouth of the cave for a moment to observe his surroundings. There was nothing but a monumental rugged blanket of white for miles, adorned with endless rows of coniferous trees. Beyond the forest he could see the peaks of the Aetherburg range, which made his stomach feel queasy. He fears to think what would happen if King Grimaldo learned that he is so close to his lands without any sort of protection.

Shrugging off those anxiety-inducing thoughts, he dropped his gaze to the ground and instantly found a trail of Zephyr's footsteps. He grinned to himself once more, and he carefully began to follow the path, making sure not to overexert himself.

He found her only a few minutes later, kneeling on the cold snow with her eyes squeezed closed and her hands fisted over her thighs. He heard a bird cawing, and his gaze strayed towards a raven that was perched upon a tree. The animal seemed particularly interested in Zephyr. It cawed again. Arthur tilted his head as he saw Zephyr's body relax. She stretched an arm forwards, and he heard her talking in unintelligible whispers.

His mouth fell agape when a vibrant green leaf appeared on the ground before her. It began to stretch upwards. Soon, it split into two leaves. Then a flower began to take shape. The flower grew, and it sprouted white petals. It continued stretching towards the sky, and the petals gradually acquired a faint magenta colour.

She is using magic to birth the plant that she needs!? The plant that she needs to heal him! If magic were all evil, it would bring only death! Not life! Not healing!

Zephyr stammered, and her body hunched over as she let out a cough. Her breathing was heavy. The raven cawed again, and she gazed at it for a few moments before she turned her attention to the front. She straightened up, and Arthur watched as a big, radiant smile formed on her lips.

Arthur stepped forwards, deciding to make his presence known. "That was impressive."

Zephyr's smile shrank a little, but it did not disappear, as she turned to face him.

"It was magic," she pointed out.

"I am well aware," he said.

"You're not going to arrest me for it?"

"I told you – you don't have to be scared of me," he assured her once more while offering a gentle smile.

Her smile grew again, and she returned her attention to the flower. "You're not like the stories I've heard," she said in a soft tone.

He took a few more steps closer to her, testing the limits of how much he could decrease their proximity before she put a stop to it.

"What do the stories say?" he inquired.

"That you're arrogant, and a brute. Like your father …"

"Careful – you are talking about the King."

She faced him again as a frown took over her features. "You asked."

He chuckled under his breath. She got him there.

Cautiously, not wanting to make any wrong moves, he kneeled right beside her. Less than a metre away. And he let his eyes fall onto the flower. He forgets what she called it earlier, but it is certainly a beautiful display of nature. Of natural magic. Magic that can be good, if used by the right hands. Such as Zephyr's.

"What am I like, then?" he inquired, his voice barely above a whisper as he reached to touch the petals of the flower – to touch the magic – with hesitant fingers.

"An ass-faced cockroach," Zephyr deadpanned without hesitation.

His eyes widened as he turned towards her, taken aback by her statement. She grinned, and he felt his heart swell within his chest, pushing the walls of his ribcage.

"But you're also kind," she added in a soft tone while returning her gaze to the flower. "And you're just, and compassionate."

He was rendered speechless, as if his tongue had frozen in his mouth, and he stared at the side of her face while she continued to contemplate the flower. No one had ever called him any of those things. His father has made sure that he learns courage, and strength, and dominance. The traits that Zephyr named have hardly, if ever, been uttered in court.

Unsure of how to respond, he chose to turn playful again as he claimed, "I knew you were attracted to me."

Zephyr suddenly shoved him to the side, and he barely caught himself before he could fall on the snow.

"I take it back – you're an arrogant brute," she spat.

His smile faded. He never meant to make her truly upset.

She shot him another grin, and he relaxed while breathing out a chuckle.

Zephyr grabbed something out of her basket, and with a sigh that seemed almost sad, she promptly cut the stem of the flower. Arthur felt a pang in his chest at the sight of something so beautiful – something that she birthed – being cut away. Just so that it can be used to heal him. She carefully placed the severed plant inside her basket, and she stood up.

"Come on, Prince Cockroach," Zephyr said, sporting a grin on her eye-catching lips once more, as she offered a hand to help him stand up. "I should change your dressing."

"You know that I could put you in the stocks for calling me that, right?" he grumbled, taking her hand and trying not to think too much about the sparks that lit up his nervous system as he stood up.

"Do it," she challenged.

He simply rolled his eyes playfully and gave her a gentle shove to the side.

She returned it with a soul-igniting giggle.

Arthur followed Zephyr back to the cave, and he sat patiently on the mattress while he watched her prepare the salve for his wound. He was entranced by how her small and delicate fingers pulled apart the petals of the flower with an expert precision, and the gentle way in which she handled the herbs, almost as if they were sentient beings, and how her bottom lip curved outwards and her eyebrows knitted in concentration.

He could sit here and watch this sorceress for hours, he decided.

Once Zephyr finished preparing the salve, a familiar ritual ensued as she removed the old bandage and the dried paste, and she applied a fresh layer and wrapped a clean bandage. However, unlike the previous three times, he couldn't help but take note of how her eyes continuously sought his. No questions behind them, no wary glances. It simply seemed as if she were searching for a connection. And every time it happened, he offered her a grin. And every time, she mirrored it before returning her attention to her task.

Arthur's hands burned with a need to touch her. To further the connection that their eyes created. He wanted to trace the constellations of freckles on her cheeks with his thumb, and he wanted to feel the softness of her hair under his somewhat calloused palms, and he wanted to encase her small hands in his … But he didn't dare to do it. He has already been coarsely greedy with Zephyr. He must not ask for more. She saved his life.

"If the weather is good, you could endure the journey back to Camelot starting tomorrow," she commented as she retreated to put away her supplies.

Arthur's heart turned upside down, and a lump formed in his throat.

Of course he misses the comfort of the castle, and he misses his father, and his father's ward Morgana (who is like a sister to him); and he knows that everyone must be worried out of their wits about him, and that he has a responsibility to the kingdom.

He knows that he really shouldn't let the following thought flash through his mind – but he wishes that he could stay with Zephyr just a bit longer. She is the most interesting thing that has happened to him in a very long time. Perhaps ever. And he is not ready to let go of her. He does not want to.

However, he suspects that prolonging the inevitable will only make leaving her all the more painful. It's best if they part ways before his attachment grows stronger.

"Sounds good," he replied, trying to appear indifferent.

No response came from the little sorceress, and it made him wonder if she might be having similar thoughts.

"I'm sure you cannot wait to have me out of your hair," he probed.

Zephyr returned, now with some supplies to prepare food. "You have no idea," she said under her breath.

What is that supposed to mean!?

꧁ 𓃗 ꧂

Arthur's senses slowly returned to the world after a very comfortable sleep, and he decided to keep his eyes closed and remain on the mattress for a little longer. Even if he could feel that Zephyr was no longer beside him. But he just wasn't ready to get up, knowing that, when he did, all of this would be over and he would have to return to his real life. In Camelot. Where there are no enigmatic little sorceresses that drive him crazy.

This is not the first time he has thought of it, but it is the first time that he truly wishes he could stop being a Prince and just be like everybody else.

He wonders what life in Duskend is like. He knows that it is a generic peasant village just like many others in the kingdom. Nothing relevant about it, beyond the fact that it's dangerously close to the Aetherburg border on the northern end. Or, rather, there was nothing relevant about it until he learned that Zephyr lives there. Now he could swear that it is the most interesting place on Earth. One that he wouldn't mind visiting often. Would she welcome him, or send him away?

The familiar scent of oatmeal reached his nostrils, and his eyes opened without his permission. A few metres away from him sat Zephyr, busy preparing the meal.

He remained quiet and observed her for a few moments. Or rather, her back. And the light brown waves that cascaded down it. And the barely visible rising and falling of her shoulders as she breathed calmly.

She turned to glance at him a few minutes later, and she recoiled.

"You're awake," she realised.

"Good morning to you, too, Zeph," he said in a soft tone that was hardly audible through the lump that was still obstructing his throat.

She raised an eyebrow and echoed, "Zeph?"

He simply shrugged in response. Then she grinned, and the constriction in his chest eased for just a moment before she turned back around, and his heart felt heavy again.

"Are you feeling well?" she inquired.

"Never better," he lied.

"Good. We can leave after breakfast if you agree …" She shot him a little momentary smirk. "… Prince Cockroach."

Arthur's tongue froze in his mouth again as his brain felt stunned by the several puzzling points in her statement.

Number one – no. He doesn't find that plan agreeable at all. But he doesn't have much of a choice. His duty to Camelot must come first.

Number two – 'Prince Cockroach' is certainly an interesting alternative to his name, though he wishes that she would just call him by it. He wants to hear it coming from her lips. In that lively, melodic voice. Just once.

Number three – "We?" he questioned.

She turned her head yet again, and her golden eyes collided with his. "You're not going alone," she stated.

A smile formed on his lips before he could even feel it coming. Her lips curved upwards slightly, and she went back to preparing the food.

Zephyr packed some supplies into one of her straw baskets, only what she claimed was essential, and she grabbed a small leather pouch from the cupboard. The jingling sound that the item emitted as she threw it in the basket led Arthur to suspect that it might contain coins, but he didn't ask.

The weather outside was not exactly ideal. Of course, they already faced the worst of it and they survived it without any after effects. But the cool wind and snow-littered ground still made Arthur wish they didn't have to leave the cave. Then again, his judgement might be askew due to his desire to remain close to Zephyr, so he didn't say anything.

A particularly icy gust of wind hit his neck, prompting him to cower into his frame as a shiver shook his body.

The same gust caused Zephyr to stammer, and she bumped into him. She instantly jumped away, as if she'd touched fire, while apologising.

Arthur's heart twisted at the reaction, and he averted his gaze while speeding up his pace. Clearly, the connection he feels to her is one-sided. The sooner they get to Camelot, the sooner he can forget about it.

But he could never forget about it. He could never forget about her. He will not let himself do it. He needs to remember. He needs to remember that magic can be used for good. He needs to remember the divine kindness that she has shown him. How she saved his life. And he must remember to always honour the gift of a second chance in life that her actions gave him by striving to be how she sees him – kind, just and compassionate.

His heart-rate started to accelerate.

How can he face his father again after everything that has happened? How can he face him, when he knows the ruthless ire with which he persecutes sorcerers? How can he ever go back to living under that regime?

Zephyr has shown him a whole new reality. He can't close his eyes to it again. His father is wrong about magic. And he will not follow in his footsteps. He will not be part of a culture that would see the little sorceress burn to death.

The heaviness of his own thoughts caused him to halt, and he let out a long, shaky exhale. He clenched his jaw. Nothing is ever going to be the same.

Zephyr caught up with him, and he could feel her golden gaze illuminating the side of his face.

"Do you need to rest?" she inquired in a gentle tone.

A gentleness that his father would throw into the flames.

He met her gaze and let his eyes scan her features. Her beautiful features. Beauty that his father wouldn't think twice about scorching off.

"What's wrong?" Zephyr pressed.

"How can I go back there, Zeph?" he asked through gritted teeth, a lump in his throat weighing down his words once more. "After what you've done to me …"

She tensed up, and she swallowed thickly while taking a step back. "I-I only did it to save your life."

He reduced the distance between them again. He will not allow her to back away from him. Not when she may be the only thing that still makes sense.

"You did so much more than that," he replied, his tone sharpened by frustration and an overwhelming feeling of helplessness. "You opened my eyes to the truth about everything. You showed me just how wrong my father is! You– You turned everything I knew upside down!"

She backed away again as she shrank into her small body. Her delicate body. A body that should be protected fiercely. Not burnt at the pyre.

"S-sorry?"

Arthur faltered at her meek squeak, and he stopped trying to step into her space, giving her room to breathe. She seems scared. He is scaring her. Why is he scaring her? He doesn't want her to be scared of him!

He let out a shaky breath, forcing his shoulders to relax, and he took a step backwards.

"Do not apologise, Zephyr," he said, consciously softening his voice, as he let his eyes trace her features again. Taking note of her widened golden eyes, and her blanched skin, and her tense muscles. He never meant to get emotional and make her uneasy. "I promise you, you did nothing wrong. My father is the criminal in this land."

"It's not so black and white," she whispered.

He hesitantly stepped closer once more, wanting to be able to hear her more clearly. "What do you mean, Zeph?"

"Camelot was almost destroyed by dark magic before the Great Purge. Your father wasn't wrong to take precautions, especially with what happened in Aetherburg," she explained softly, not meeting his gaze. She gulped. "But he took it too far."

Arthur sighed and let his body relax some more.

"Your father is not a monster," Zephyr continued. "He's just afraid."

"I will make him see reason, Zeph," Arthur promised. "I will not let anyone hurt you, or others like you."

Her lips produced a small smile, and he could feel the exaltation in his veins easing up, and the screaming voices of infernal tumult in his head were reduced to mere whispers of caution. She finally met his gaze again, and he couldn't restrain himself as he stepped closer to her, but he stopped before his hands could cross a line and reach to touch her.

"Don't worry about me," she said.

"Things will be different one day," he vowed.

"You will be a great King one day," she stated.

"Well, if the little sorceress approves, I'm not going to argue," he whispered.

He almost leaned down his head, wanting to feel her exhales against his skin, and the vibrant energy radiating off her presence mixing with his, and the sun in her eyes warm up his soul. But that impulse faded when she turned away with a small grin and continued to walk. Arthur sighed and followed her, soon catching up and matching her pace.

She's beautiful, interesting, kind, brave – and she's also wise. This girl might just drive his heart mad.

꧁ 𓃗 ꧂

"Sorry – it's the only one I had," Zephyr said in a sheepish low tone when she was done extending a bedroll inside the small cave they found to spend the night in.

Her words caused Arthur to recoil. She certainly apologises for the strangest of things. Sure, the item isn't in the best of conditions, and it's smaller and way less padded than the mattress in the other cave. However, considering that he would be dead right now if it weren't for her, he wouldn't dare to complain.

"You can take it," she added.

"I am not having this conversation with you again, Zeph," he said. "We can share."

"B-but it's half the size of the mattress," she argued while shifting on her knees.

He smirked and went to tease her, but she beat him to speaking.

"Start with your nonsense, and you will sleep outside, Prince Cockroach."

Arthur chuckled at the adorable – yes, he'll admit it – glare that she cast his way, and he sat down on the bedroll before patting the spot beside him. "Come on. We can share," he repeated.

She rolled her eyes, then she kneeled beside her basket, seemingly ignoring his request. He was about to protest her blatant disobedience, but the words halted on his tongue when she retrieved a pot and a bag of something. More oats.

She hung the pot over the campfire, and she poured the oats into it, along with some water from her canteen. She stirred it for a moment, and then she finally sat down beside Arthur while releasing a sigh.

"Sorry," she said again, and he raised an eyebrow. "You must be tired of oatmeal."

He scoffed and shook his head. "One more needless apology out of you, Zephyr, and I'm going to give you something to be truly sorry for."

"Like what?" she inquired, not sounding the least bit worried.

Arthur froze for a moment.

Like what, indeed?

He is really not used to people challenging his words in this way. Usually, they just lower their heads and submit. But this girl is clearly not that type. She is not any type he could categorise. It must be her magic. Perhaps it has corrupted her, to some extent, and it has erased her social skills and any sort of sense on how to properly address a Prince.

"Empty threats aren't clever," she quipped before moving to stir the pot once more, an air of nonchalance to her movements that stunned Arthur further.

"I will put you in the stocks," he finally said.

"Really?"

Again, he was left speechless.

She cast him a taunting smirk, and he had to fists his hands to keep himself from doing something to wipe it right off her face. Not a violent move. He knows that he could never harm her. No – for a moment, he wanted to press his lips against hers, and kiss her until that impish look fades and she's left breathless and asking for more.

He felt his face warm up at the thought, and he averted his gaze from her.

Perhaps this little sorceress has enchanted him.

"Keep cooking, Zephyr," he finally spoke in a grumble. "My stomach isn't going to feed itself."

He almost expected her to slap him, or to dump a spoonful of hot oatmeal on his crotch, or to kick him out of the cave. But instead, she laughed. A sight that forced his eyes back onto her, and he sat almost paralysed as he regarded her radiant smile, and her shaking shoulders, and the sound. A song that could please the very gods at Mount Olympus and placate all of hell, if only for a minute.

Soon, the oatmeal was ready, and Zephyr served two bowls.

"Dig in, Prince Cockroach," she said as she handed him his.

He decided to be the bigger person this time, and he simply responded with a smile and a "Thank you."

They ate in silence, and when they were done, Zephyr took care of rinsing and drying the bowls before returning them to her basket. Then she sat down beside Arthur again, and silence kept reigning as they contemplated the campfire.

Arthur couldn't quite relax thanks to the reduced proximity between them. His leg was almost touching hers. He could hear her soft inhales and exhales. He could smell her sweet scent. He could feel the warmth radiating off her skin. And he could see some goosebumps on her neck if he fixed his gaze on it. But every time he did, he got an itchy urge to go near it, and he had to remove his stare before long.

"What will you do when we reach Camelot?" he asked in a low tone. "Will you stay?"

He felt a pang in his chest when Zephyr shook her head, and he felt a corner of his lips turn downwards – but he promptly forced a stoic expression back on.

"I should go back to Duskend," she responded softly. "I need to fix things with my aunt."

"Might she not be searching for you?" he inquired.

Once again, Zephyr shook her head. "It's not the first time I've left home. She knows I'm fine."

Arthur moved only slightly, just to see how she would react if he let their legs touch. She didn't seem to acknowledge the movement as she kept playing with a loose thread on her cloak. In the meantime, his spine was set alight.

"You're a little troublemaker, aren't you?" he challenged as a teasing smirk formed on his lips, and he gave her arm a gentle nudge with his elbow.

"I just don't like being confined to the house," Zephyr answered, her tone serious in comparison with his playfulness, and the fact caused him to drop his smirk, letting it morph into a gentle grin. "But if anyone were to find out that I …"

She trailed off. Her eyebrows knitted and her jaw clenched while she fixed her stare on her fidgeting hands. Her breathing became slightly heavy.

He cannot imagine how difficult it must be to have been born with magic and have to hide who you truly are from everyone.

In an attempt to make her feel more at ease, Arthur carefully placed a hand on her forearm, and he rubbed his thumb against her dark brown cotton jacket.

"Out here I can just … be," she finished after some moments, and she released a long exhale.

"I understand what you mean," he offered. His hand slowly inched down her forearm, seeking contact with the skin at the end of her sleeve. "When I'm in Camelot, surrounded by knights and courtiers, I feel like I can hardly breathe. It's not easy to get away, and I treasure the moments when I can get some semblance of freedom."

"We're not as different as we might think," Zephyr murmured.

"No, we're not," Arthur whispered.

His hand finally reached hers, and he allowed his fingers to brush the back of it. Her skin was cool, obviously due to the weather, and he was surprised to find how remarkably smooth it felt. He would've expected someone who spends so much time in nature to have rougher skin.

She surprised him further when she turned her hand upside down, and his palm met hers. He gently ran his fingers up and down hers for a few moments before tentatively lacing them together. Her hand disappeared under his much larger one, and he felt it warming up under his touch. She closed her fingers around his hand in a gentle grip, and he returned the favour, then he gently rubbed his thumb along her index finger.

If only he could stop time and never have to leave her …

Zephyr shifted closer to him and she rested her head against his shoulder while letting out a long exhale. A spark travelled up his spine, and he tightened his hold on her hand just a little bit.

If only he could make the night eternal and stay in this position until the Rapture comes to take them both.

"Will I see you again?" he asked in a whisper.

"If you want to."

He rested his head above hers, letting her sweet scent fill his lungs. "Of course I want to, Zephyr," he said.

"You know where to look for me," she responded.

"Do you want to see me again?" he inquired.

She tilted her head to look up at him. His breath hitched when her nose skimmed his for a fraction of a second.

Her golden eyes stared into his for a few moments. Their warm mint-laced exhales mixed in the small space between them, and Arthur's heart started to race at a speed that could make it burst out of his ribcage.

A faint wind reached them, and it caused a strand of hair to fall in front of Zephyr's left eye. He promptly reached up with his free hand, and carefully tucked the strand behind her ear, letting his fingers linger on that spot for a few moments before he let his hand slide down and drop.

"Yes," she finally replied. "But I'm not sure if it would be wise."

He averted his gaze and sighed. She is right. Nothing good could come out of the Prince of Camelot consorting with a sorceress. He would be putting her life at risk. More than her mere existence already does.

"I wish things were different," he said.

"Yeah," she responded in a barely audible tone.

He returned his eyes to hers, and dared to lean in closer to her. Their foreheads made contact, and he suddenly felt a pang in his heart. A lump formed in his throat. How will he ever have the strength to walk away from this enchanting creature?

"How can I ever repay you for saving me?" he asked.

He raised his free hand again and rested it on the side of her face while caressing her cheek with his thumb. She leaned into his touch, and their noses brushed again. He shifted closer to make that motion intentionally this time. She also raised her free hand to the side of his face, and she traced the side of his jaw with a soft touch that sent an eager chill through his veins.

"You can keep this noble heart of yours," she answered.

"I will keep it for you," he promised.

His attention was stolen away by her lips when they curved upwards, and his veins started to burn. He knows that he shouldn't. It's dangerous territory, and he won't come out of it unscathed. But he needs to have a taste of her before they go their separate ways.

So, in another subtle movement, he closed his eyes and skimmed her lips with his from top to bottom. Unlike her smooth hands, her lips were somewhat chapped, but the feeling of them still made sparks ignite in his nervous system.

He resumed their previous position and opened his eyes to search hers for a reaction, only to find them softly closed. He repeated his actions, except that this time he locked onto her bottom lip for a few moments before releasing it and awaiting a response.

She released his hand to wrap that arm around his neck, and she brought him in for another kiss.

Her lips felt slightly warmer and softer this time.

He wrapped his freed arm around her waist, and drew her closer, wanting to feel her small body against this chest as he continued to pour gratitude, and amazement, and care onto her lips, praying that she could absorb all of it into her heart and feel how incredibly much she has changed his world in a matter of a few days.

They separated to get a steady flow of air, and their foreheads connected once more. Their exhales mixed in the air, and Arthur almost whimpered at the thought of never being able to experience this again.

This is what is so dangerous about wanting 'just a little taste'. It can be addicting. And now he wants to keep Zephyr all to himself.

"Promise me I will see you again," he begged.

"You will see me again, Arthur," she responded.

His name on her mouth caused a rush of blazing fire to run through his nerves, and he urgently connected their lips again, channelling every scorching fibre of his being into the kiss. He wondered if perhaps she might be feeling the same way he is.

If the ready response he received as she kissed him back and tightened her grip on him is anything to judge by, he could be led to believe that she does feel the same way.

꧁ 𓃗 ꧂

Not many words were spoken the next morning during breakfast, or while Zephyr changed the dressing on his rapidly fading wound for a final time, or when they set off towards Camelot for the final stretch of the journey.

Arthur doesn't feel there is much else to say. Everything they needed to convey was conveyed through the kisses they shared last night. And he feared that he, the warrior Prince, would go as far as tearing up if he tried to speak what swirled around in his mind. So he settled for taking her hand and walking with her in silence, savouring the last few hours they might ever spend together.

No, they won't be the last, he assured himself. She promised that they wouldn't. And he is going to do everything in his power to ensure that promise is kept.

He was startled out of his thoughts when a black blur dashed towards them. A raven. And it perched itself upon Zephyr's shoulder. She giggled as she looked up at it, and used her free hand to reach up to pet its side. Arthur's lips parted when the raven seemed unbothered by the touch, and his eyes strayed towards Zephyr's as he raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"I suppose that introductions are in order," Zephyr said, a glint of amusement shining in her golden eyes.

The raven cawed, and it stared at Arthur with a penetrating gaze that made him feel uneasy. As if he were being judged.

"Arthur –" Oh, there's his name on her lips again … "this is Mavros. Mavros, Prince Arthur."

"You have a pet raven?" Arthur inquired.

The raven cawed again, and it extended its wings for a moment, its polished black feathers rising.

"He is not my pet," Zephyr said, and she caressed the animal once more, making it relax again, though it didn't take its hardened brown eyes off Arthur. "He's my friend."

"Your friend?" Arthur echoed.

She nodded. "He was left behind during a snowstorm. I healed him, and now he tracks me everywhere."

Just when Arthur thinks that nothing about the– his little sorceress can surprise him anymore, she goes on and reveals another fascinating fact about her life.

"You enjoy rescuing helpless souls, don't you?" he inquired, and he gave her hand a gentle squeeze, which she returned.

"Yes," she said.

The raven – Mavros – cawed once more, and Zephyr grinned.

"I had never rescued a human before, though," she added.

Arthur smiled, feeling strangely delighted by that statement. "I would gladly place myself in danger again if it means spending another week with you," he boldly claimed.

His grin morphed into a smirk as he watched her cheeks acquire a red tint.

Mavros didn't seem so pleased with that idea, as he cawed in what Arthur deemed to be a protest … Can this dumb bird understand what they're saying?!

"Please don't," Zephyr responded. "It wasn't easy to get you away from those men."

"How did you do it?" Arthur questioned.

She simply winked at him.

"Zeph – come on," he pressed with a breathy chuckle.

"Magic," was all she said, which didn't answer anything for him.

Mavros flew off, and the journey continued in silence.

As the minutes passed, Arthur's familiarity with the landscape around them grew, and he could tell that they were nearing the castle. A heart-twisting sense of dread settled within him, and he tightened his grip on Zephyr's hand. He's not ready to let go. He doesn't want to let go.

But he pushed his legs to keep moving, even as they were being slowly crushed by the weight of duty.

Before long, the rooftops of the castle began to peek out from among the trees.

Arthur's lungs gained fifty pounds of weight, and a thick lump formed in his throat.

Zephyr suddenly halted while letting out a long sigh.

"I shouldn't go any further," she commented in a low tone.

Arthur's heart turned upside down, and he dropped his head.

"Of course. I understand," he whispered.

How he wishes things were different. That magic wasn't illegal, and that Zephyr could live within the citadel. Then he could protect her. Visit her daily. Kiss her greedily. Make sure that she never wants for anything.

"I-I guess I'll see you … someday," she said.

"Yeah …" he breathed out.

He heard a soft whimper that shattered his heart completely and, before he could react to it, Zephyr had wrapped her arms around his waist and she had buried her face in his chest while crying in a barely audible manner. He promptly enveloped her in his arms and rested his chin on her head. He squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to restrain some tears of his own, but it wasn't long before a single one streamed down his cheek.

"I'm glad to have met you, Arthur," she said.

"Me, too, Zeph," he responded. "Thank you. For everything. I promise you won't have to live in fear forever. I will change things one day."

"You're going to be a great King one day," she repeated.

"I won't let you down," he promised.

She lifted her head off his chest, and their bloodshot, glazed eyes connected. Arthur lifted a hand to her cheek, and he gently wiped the tears from it with his thumb. Her lips parted, and she stood on her toes with a silent request that he promptly granted as he leaned down to kiss her for the last time in a while.

He decided to pretend that he could indeed stop time for a few minutes, and he kissed her as if this was his last day on Earth. Pulling her closer and savouring the lingering flavour of mint tea on her lips as he avidly caressed them with his, engraving the otherworldly sensation into his brain. His heart called for more. But he knows that he cannot be that greedy. He can't ask anything else from her. He has been gluttonous enough by kissing her in this manner. So he reluctantly separated, and he let his forehead rest against hers for a minute or two before he pressed a kiss to her cheek and took a step back.

"Now, Zeph, don't go around turning people into cats," Arthur said in a half-heartedly playful tone in an attempt to pacify the gloom hanging in the cool air between them.

"If I do, you know where to send your knights," she responded with a lopsided smirk.

They shared a pained laugh, and they promptly turned around and slowly walked their separate ways.