Merlin's hands shook as she tried to wipe the tears from her cheeks, her words tripping over themselves before they even left her lips. "Arthur, listen to me—it wasn't what you think. It wasn't… it wasn't sex."
Arthur let out a dry, humorless laugh, the kind that sounded more like a bark of contempt. "Not sex? You expect me to believe that? I saw enough to know what it was. Don't insult me by pretending otherwise."
Her voice rose, frantic, cracked. "No! Please—you don't understand. It looks that way, but it isn't. It's—" She bit down on her lip, eyes darting as if the words themselves were knives in her throat. "It's… it's tradition. It's… a form of care, of honoring. It's not about pleasure, Arthur, not about desire."
"Tradition?" he spat the word as though it were poison. His expression twisted into open disgust. "You dare call that twisted writhing tradition? That's what you were taught? That rutting with strangers, letting them use you like some—" He stopped himself, chest heaving. "And you call that care?"
Her knees nearly gave out, but she held his gaze, desperate, trembling. "Yes! That's what it is. It's duty. It's something we do for others, not for ourselves. You don't understand… you weren't raised with it. It isn't about betrayal."
Arthur's eyes narrowed. He took a slow step closer, his voice low but venomous. "If it wasn't betrayal, then tell me this: why did you keep it from me? Why did you smile to my face, love me to my face, and sneak away behind my back? If it was all so noble, why the secrecy, Merlin?"
She froze again, her lips parting, her breath shallow. The tears came harder, dripping down her chin, her voice barely holding together. "Because… because I knew you wouldn't understand. Because you'd look at me like you're looking at me now."
Arthur's laughter this time was louder, sharp, echoing with pain. "So you knew. You knew it would disgust me, and you did it anyway. You hid it because even you knew it wasn't as innocent as you're pretending."
"No!" she cried, voice breaking. "It is innocent, it is! It's how we were raised, how we show gratitude, how we—"
He cut her off, eyes burning. "Gratitude? That's your excuse? Tell me, Merlin—what exactly are you grateful for, that you had to spread your legs in the dark and lie to me in the daylight?"
The words slammed into her like stones, and for the first time her voice failed completely. She stood there, trembling, lips moving but no sound coming out, as though the truth was clawing its way to the surface but she couldn't bear to give it shape.
Arthur didn't move, didn't soften. He only watched, the silence between them now heavy, suffocating—her denial collapsing under its own weight.
Merlin dropped to her knees in front of him, her hands clutching at his tunic as though she could physically hold him there, keep him from walking away forever. Her voice cracked under the weight of panic.
"Arthur, please—please forgive me! I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear it! I would never wound you like that. You're the only one. The only one who's ever been special to me." Her tears streamed faster, her words tumbling over one another in desperation. "It wasn't sex, it never was. I could never give that to someone else. Not when you—when you're everything to me."
Arthur stared down at her, jaw clenched, his disgust only deepening at the sight of her trembling. "Not sex?" His voice was a low growl, brittle with rage. "You keep repeating that like it will make it true. Then tell me, Merlin—if it wasn't sex, if it wasn't betrayal, what was it?"
She shook her head violently, her hair sticking to her damp cheeks. "It was something else, something different. A ritual, a kindness, a bond. You have to believe me—it wasn't about desire, it wasn't about pleasure. I would never give that away."
Arthur's eyes narrowed, cold and unyielding. He leaned closer, his voice cutting into her like a blade. "Then describe it."
Her breath caught in her throat. She opened her mouth, but no words came. Her fingers tightened helplessly on his clothes, and her whole body seemed to recoil inward.
"Tell me," he pressed, his voice now a whisper of fury. "If it was so pure, so harmless—tell me exactly what you did."
Merlin's lips trembled, but nothing escaped except a strangled, broken sound. Her chest rose and fell in shallow gasps as she shrank under his gaze. The silence between them became unbearable, and in it, her inability to speak answered more loudly than any explanation could.
Arthur straightened, his face hard as stone. "That's what I thought."