Summer perches her chin on her hand, staring blankly out the window. Mordred is on patrol, or guard duty, or — he’s elsewhere.
And that train of thought, right there, is the problem. She can’t /stop/ thinking about him. That soft, secret smile, and the way it crinkles around his blue eyes; his dark curls and the warmth in his voice when he speaks to her. His fierce loyalty and bone-deep honour — everything.
It’s dangerous, she knows it’s dangerous — falling for someone so hard, so fast. So they share magic. So he’s kind, and his heart harbours no more danger, no more shadows than anyone else she’s ever met. None of that will protect her if he decides to push her away; when he’s had enough of her need and her cling and the fact that there’s more than magic that makes her different.
They’ve spent so little time together, and she feels his absence every moment he’s away. Yet she cannot persuade herself to let go. Her hands curl in her lap, clenched together.