She imagined their kiss again, except this time he was kissing her without deception. She imagined his hands sliding through her long hair, and then other places. His soft mouth, everywhere. His narrow waist, with just the damp towel wrapped around it. Her stomach tumbled at the thought. All of the kisses she’d ever had paled in comparison to the one they’d just shared.

A kiss that couldn’t happen again. No matter how much she wished otherwise. It was bad enough she was masquerading under a false identity at court, a crime punishable by death. She was already deceiving Arthur. She couldn’t bear to betray him, too.

Arthur could scarcely concentrate as he stood next to his father’s throne, waiting to greet their honored guests.

The royal guards lined the hall, their armor gleaming, their boots polished, crimson cloaks flowing elegantly from their shoulders. Courtiers and nobles drifted about, dressed in their finery, greeting one another and whispering about the guests from afar.

Arthur spotted Lancelot dressed in a handsome suede jacket, though he still wore his guard’s sword. He stood at Guinevere’s side, smiling and chatting with the girl, who seemed to enjoy the attention.

Arthur had asked the captain to spare Lance for the weekend, since he couldn’t bear to have his friend standing at attention in a corner while the other nobles enjoyed the festivities. Still, he hoped Lance never found out that he’d said anything.

King Uther shifted on the throne, annoyed at being made to wait, especially for his own celebrations. Arthur couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his father look so regal or intimidating. The king was dressed in a decadently embroidered velvet suit, a cloak of pure gold spilling from his shoulders, a heavy necklace of jewels draped over the inky black silk of his doublet.

And Arthur was clothed to match, in royal blue silk fastened with endless gold clasps, with a crisp white collar and a golden half-cape knotted over one shoulder. His boots laced up the back with golden thread, and his best circlet was freshly polished, and seemed to be staying put. The royal tailor had truly outdone himself. Though Arthur could have done with slightly fewer buckles.

At least the task of fastening them had helped him get his nerves under control.

But standing here, waiting, they were beginning to fray again.

He couldn’t help but picture the wizard’s unusually pink cheeks, his blush as deep as any maiden’s, and the searing heat behind his gaze.

Something had come over him in that moment, and the worst part was, the kiss hadn’t chased it away. If anything, it had invited the something in.

The kiss hadn’t been enough.

Hadn’t satisfied his hunger.

Had only made it worse.

And now that hunger paced anxiously, a caged thing, growling within him and wanting to be set free.