As soon as Gaius finished reciting the old creed, Morgana knew.
“They’re coming,” she breathed, swaying slightly as her eyes unfocused with the images swirling in her mind.
Arthur’s sharp gaze swung to her from where he was arguing with Uther about checking out the herdsman’s claims. Her eyes cleared, and she met his gaze squarely, nodding slowly.
Their plans were pre-empted the next day, however, when King Uther called for Court and Council to gather.
Merlin quickly shook out Arthur’s formal court outfit, and with a murmured word it was as new and clean as if it had never been worn. The prince glared, but allowed himself to be dressed as the heralds sounded the warning call—a bell located inside every noble’s chambers, rung only when High Court was gathering.
“It’s the bracelet!”
Arthur, to his credit, didn’t bat an eye as Merlin came bursting through the doors to his chambers without knocking.
“No, it’s the stocks, if you don’t start remembering how to knock, Merlin.”
As usual, the old threat didn’t faze the other man. “This is important, Arthur.
Morgana watched from her window as prince and servant clattered into the courtyard. Stable hands came quickly to lead the horses away as the two men strode side by side in the dusk of the sunset towards the castle steps.
How could two men be so different in personality and physicality, yet still be as similar as silver and gold?
“No, not a sorcerer,” Merlin said brazenly, although his eyes were wide with his own impunity. “Warlock. There is a difference.” He waited, expecting the prince to laugh at the thought of Merlin having any kind of magical ability—or any ability at all.
Arthur’s expression didn’t change. “Really. Tell me, Merlin, what exactly is the difference between a sorcerer and a warlock?”
Merlin swallowed hard.