He melted; she saw it happen. The tension dropped from his limbs and he no longer seemed like the soldier so used to standing to attention that he had forgotten how to bend. His body pressed against hers, and Morgana leaned in against the wall of muscle of his chest. Her first instinct was to throw her arms around his neck, but he was too tall for that. She settled instead with resting one hand over his heart and the other on his side, pressing against his lower ribs.
His lips were warm and soft, and Morgana smiled into them as she returned the gesture, her head travelling after him teasingly as he pulled away to speak.
“You might regret saying that,” she laughed, as she wrapped her fingers into the fabric of his shirt, and pulled him back towards her. “I keep strange hours.” This time, Morgana took the lead, rising up on tip-toe so she might put a little more strength behind each kiss. Ever since the day they had fought the Menekhtites on the beach, she had wondered, and now she knew. She had read him right; she had read him perfectly.
Breaking away, Morgana took hold of his hand and moved backwards until she was an arm’s length away. She looked back at him, her front teeth biting into her lip, and her eyes lingered for a while on the curve of his mouth, before she made eye contact again.
“Take me somewhere,” she said to him, gesturing off down the marble corridor, “take me anywhere, and show me something.” A smile followed, warm, and more playful than most people got to see, “anything you like.”
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