TO READ IS ONE thing, to experience is another. Sections of finely spun silk part at her scrapes, the sharpness of her nails digging into his flesh making him let out a slight hiss of awareness. He is awake, very much so; the pain does that quite well, but she wills him to look at her and he does. There is no trace of the binding sort of magic in her eyes â he respects her greatly for it, simply because he senses her stance and intentions to ground him with her sheer will alone.
    âForgive me,â he whispers back, his breath hot against her pale neck as he wraps his arm around her waist to pull her closer to his frame, inviting her to possibly do her worst. He asks for forgiveness simply because of propriety; a man ought not to touch a respected lady, a queen even less so. A low growl escapes his lips with the blood boiling and rushing through his veins, invoking memories of the thrill of his own manufactured madness.
    âTurning coat so fast, my lady,â Louis goads, taking her hand roughly in his as he presses a constrastingly gentle kiss at the back of it. âNow see, I have taken your hand; I will not let it go. Wrench it away if you will, but the consequences will come slowly in time. For the both of us, we will see and doom ourselves. Will you agree to this, my lady?â
The dragon within Morgan is left content at his touch, and she fights her growing urge to make him hers, to claim companionship with the man so bold he graced her hand with a kiss. She canât possibly let this side of her win ; it would mean losing to this foolish king, and theyâre not through with their little game quite yet.
She laughs now, and her laugh is almost devoid of the smugness that she was so full of earlier ; and, taken aback, she stops mid-laugh. Her mind races as she realizes she enjoys their little game - and the realization unconsciously makes her wrench her hand away from the manâs grip. The dragon roars inside her, and it beckons to stay attached to the hand at her waist - but she refuses.
âThen let the consequences come, my king.â Her expression becomes unreadable past this point - no more smiles or laughter, be it cocky or genuine. She keeps her hand - the hand that he sullied with his kiss - close to her bosom, but she makes no further movements to wrench herself away from the hand that connects them still. She, instead, furrow her brows, silently beckoning him to walk away from her.
âHow foolish of me to believe you were different. Youâre like the rest of them, Louis: trying to tame me.â And itâs working - the dragon wants to add - but Morgan bites her tongue to extinguish those words. The dragon within her - the blood connecting her to her sister, to her father - she refuses it. She is no Pendragon anymore, and sheâll stay that way.