The sword thrummed with power. The gleaming hilt stood out proudly against the early stars of dusk in a lavender sky. Wind stirred the loosening strands of a young woman's long dark braid; as he watched, she tucked one of those strands behind her ear.
Even from several yards away he could feel the currents of magic that flowed through the courtyard, separate from the arcane energy that surrounded himself: the ancient song of Excalibur formed a duet with the hypnotic melody of Morgana's power. As he watched she bent in prayer, hands clasped between her breasts, and then rose.
She wore only her shift, a fine but plain garment of whitest linen, sheer enough to see the dark thatch of her hair between her legs, and this she shed now. He shivered in mixed sympathy and arousal. It was a cold night, her breath billowed in a puff like dragon-smoke around her head, and her nipples hardened to tight points. Her flesh was perfect porcelain, translucent in the silver light, a sharp contrast with her dark hair and sweeping lashes.
Merlin ached for her in that moment -- ached for her supple body and heart, longed for her company and her touch. But he held himself back. He must not interrupt her.
Morgana reached out and brushed the hilt of the sword with her fingertips. Was the metal cool, he wondered, or warm and alive with magic? She didn't draw away in any case, but gave the thing a subtle tug, more testing its stability than making any vain effort to remove it.
Now she looked over her shoulder, scanning the courtyard and the path beyond. Merlin did not flinch; his magic was sufficient that even as powerful a sorceress as Morgana would not see past his glamour, and her eyes passed right over him.
She turned back to the sword, contemplating it. Her hips stirred, warmed by a gentle breeze like a leaf in the wind, and she stretched luxuriously, hands skimming over her own skin and then up, up to the sky, to her full height. Taller than most men but as feminine and beautiful as any princess or courtesan, as sensual as she was powerful. Merlin's cock stirred beneath his robes, and he crept forward, longing to see closer.
Morgana's hands traveled back down, the only sound the soft noise of skin on skin and the distant trills of night birds and other small creatures.
Her slender fingers paused over her breasts, feeling her stiff nipples against her palms. She rubbed her hands over them a few times, clenching her legs together once as she did so. A gentle sigh came from her parted lips. She closed her eyes and drew her hands lower, parting the dark hair between her legs and dipping into her slit.
"Mmm," she hummed, and her brows knit together. With one finger she drew small circles there, sighing and humming, and then sucked that finger clean with a pop.
She turned her attention now to the sword in its stone. She knelt to kiss it, first bending to her hands and knees to kiss the blade once. The chastity of the kiss was mocked by the wanton display she made; from his vantage point he could see her pink slit glistening, and the puckered hole above it as well. He reached between the panels of his robe to stroke himself; his cock quickly came to full hardness.
She sat back on her knees then and kissed the hilt of the sword, taking the tip of it in her mouth and laving her tongue upon it. He could see it gleaming with her saliva in the starlight, the enameled detail shining bright. After a few minutes she rose.
