Guinevere's Grail | ✓ [BOOK 2]

~ 9 ~

IT SHOULD NOT HAVE come as a shock to Morgana when the door pushed open and the figure that stepped through was not palace staff coming to poke and prod at him until his bones were sore and his skin was bruised, but a certain aggravating idiot that never could stay away.

"Of course it's you," he murmured, looking up at the tired blonde standing in the middle of the dungeon. It almost looked like he belonged there, ready to patronize Morgana until one of them was pulled away by something else of more importance than their angry banter.

Kit didn't look to be in the mood for patronizing, though. His stubble was already growing back in and his feet were bare, and all he wore were loose trousers and a silk robe. The bags under his bloodshot eyes were deeper than normal, and if he didn't know any better, he'd ask the poor man what was bothering him.

"I don't know why I'm here," Kit admitted, amber eyes focused on nothing. He just stood there like a ghost, looking like he was ready to pass out.

Morgana rose to his feet, and the clamoring of his chains alerted the prince, abruptly yanking him from his trance. "Can I help you? I don't think you're in the right shape to be anywhere but a bed."

Somehow, from the very depths of his exhaustion, Kit managed a smug look, and Morgana rolled his eyes.

"Can that bed be yours?" he purred, but he was far too sleepy for it to be at all flustering.

"At this point, I really don't care, but I think you ought to sleep before you fall over and crack your head on the very hard floor," Morgana told him.

Kit eyed the cell, more specifically, the bed of leaves and sticks on the ground near Morgana's feet.

"Actually, can I?" he asked, pointing vaguely towards it. "Sleep on it?"

Morgana finally understood. If he knew Giselle at all, he knew she probably offered them nice, fluffy beds. It occurred to him then that Kit probably didn't do well on a soft feather mattress after all this. It made sense that the makeshift mess on the hard floors of the dungeon would look more appealing to him.

"Alright, fine," he sighed, motioning to the leaves. "If you can find the keys to let yourself in, you're welcome to it. You'll have to put up with me, though."

Kit already had the key, jamming it into the lock and yanking open the door with the swiftness of a man not on the brink of falling asleep standing. He pulled it shut and locked it from the inside and, like an idiot, tossed the key back out onto the stone floor where neither of them could reach it.

"Shit."

"Nice one, Kit," he murmured. "You'll just have to hope they come in to poke at me again early, because we're stuck in here together until they do."

"They've been poking you?" he asked, trying to look concerned. He looked half-dead.

Morgana pointed to the bed. "Doesn't matter, you can worry about it later. Go to sleep."

The prince obeyed without protest, curling up like a baby as he always did.

"Hmm, maybe you should be this tired more often," Morgana murmured. "Then maybe you'll listen to people."

"I heard that."

"Yeah, you won't remember in the morning."