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Mordred grunts, his eyes fluttering open after a few seconds and he smiles. “Good morning” he mutters, moving into a sitting position “you didn’t have to.”
The blond head lifts from the papers scattered across his table, blinking for a moment before he lifts his hand to beckon. “Mordred! Come in. What is it?”
Summer tries to hide behind Mordred, and Arthur raises his brows. “Who’s that?”
A smile tugs at his lips and he pulls back the door to allow her in. “This is Summer, my lord, a — uh— friend,” Mordred tells him with a smile. “She comes to ask a favour of yourself, sire.”
Summer swallows a squeak. The king’s blue eyes are daunting, and she really wants to take Mordred’s hand again. “I — I was hoping I could beg an escort of you, sire, back to my home. I’m — I’m needed there.”