Aelwen gasped softly against his mouth as his hands tightened around her waist before one slid upward into rain-damp silver hair.
Gods above.
There he was.
The hidden wildfire beneath all his composure.
Merlin kissed her like a starving man remembering devotion after drought, mouth moving against hers with fierce aching familiarity while rain poured around them in silver torrents.
Aelwen gripped the front of his robes instinctively when he backed her slowly toward one of the great marble pillars lining the terrace.
Stone met her back moments later.
Cold against rain-warmed skin.
Merlin pressed closer immediately after.
Not crushing.
Enveloping.
Thunder shook the terrace again while his mouth traveled rougher now along her jaw, her throat, the pulse fluttering wildly beneath it.
“Aelwen,” he murmured against her skin like prayer breaking apart.
Gods.
After all these years and still that voice unraveled her completely.
Her fingers curled tightly into his rain-soaked robes, pulling him impossibly nearer while storm winds howled around the terrace arches.
“You remember everything,” she whispered shakily.
Merlin lifted his head slowly then, rainwater tracing sharp lines down his face while those terrible storm-grey eyes searched hers with naked devotion.
“Every second.”
The rawness of it struck harder than the kiss itself.
Because she believed him utterly.
Every frightened touch.
Every trembling breath.
Every whispered vow spoken against candlelit skin while rain battered Avalon’s towers on the night they became husband and wife.
Merlin rested his forehead against hers again afterward, breathing unevenly now.
“You were the first thing I ever loved.”
And gods—
Aelwen kissed him again before her heart shattered open completely beneath the weight of it.
