Strongest Incubus System

A few hours later, Morgana’s office was empty, the corridor lights had been dimmed, and almost the entire mansion finally seemed to have accepted that no other emergency was waiting to appear before dawn. Damon was supposed to be resting in his own room, following Ester’s instructions and avoiding any unnecessary exertion. Instead, he was inside Morgana’s bedroom, one hand locked around her waist and his mouth far too occupied to offer any convincing excuse.

Morgana stood pressed against the closed door, her fingers buried in his white hair while Damon kissed her with a controlled urgency, very different from the way he used to act before that month. The desire, provocation, and usual shamelessness were still there, but so was caution. He did not press his injured arm against the wood, made no sudden movements, and paused for brief moments whenever her breathing changed, as though confirming that she truly wanted to continue.

She did.

That became quite clear when Morgana grabbed Damon by the collar and pulled him back before he could move his face away.

”You are injured,” she murmured against his mouth, although her hands continued holding him firmly.

”I am recovering.”

”Ester said you should rest.”

”I am leaning against the door.”

”I am the one leaning against the door.”

”Then we are both resting.”

Morgana tried to answer, but Damon kissed her again before she could find a sufficiently irritated response. She released a low sound, pushed against his chest just enough to reverse their positions, and forced Damon backward until he reached the side of the bed. The movement remained careful despite its strength, because she also knew exactly where the bandages, containment points, and still-painful parts of his body were located.

Damon sat on the edge of the mattress, and Morgana remained in front of him, one hand still gripping his collar. For several seconds, neither of them spoke. Their closeness seemed more difficult to manage when there was no battle, conspiracy, or ritual demanding quick decisions. They had spent weeks together, but had almost never truly been alone. There was always someone entering, a guard waiting for an order, Aria carrying documents, Elizabeth assessing risks, or Ester threatening to break some part of Damon if he ignored another medical recommendation.

Now there were only the two of them.

Morgana ran her fingers through his hair, moving several strands away from his face.

”Did you really almost forget Mirath?”

”Not completely.”

”It sounded rather convincing.”

”I spent six months unconscious and then woke up inside an administrative, ritualistic, and subterranean war. I think I am entitled to some geographical confusion.”

”Mirath is not merely a location on a map.”

”I know.”

The answer came out more seriously than the previous ones. Morgana studied Damon for several seconds, searching for the joke that would normally follow.

It did not come.

He took her hand, brought her fingers to his lips, kissed them, and kept them trapped between his own hands.

”I know I need to return,” Damon continued. ”There are people waiting, things I left unfinished, and problems Elizabeth is probably hiding until we are close enough that we cannot escape.”

Morgana tilted her head.

”You could escape.”

”Elizabeth would find me.”

”Probably.”

”And Aria would sell my location in exchange for fruit.”

”Certainly.”

A small smile appeared on her face, but quickly disappeared. Morgana looked down at their joined hands and spoke more quietly.

”When you leave, I do not know how long it will be before we see each other again.”

Damon did not try to answer immediately. It would have been easy to say he would return soon, promise constant visits, or treat the distance as though it were merely another detail. However, Mirath was far away. Arven still needed to be rebuilt. The Tomb of the First Snow continued waiting, and no one knew where that map would truly lead them beyond the eastern borders.

Any simple promise would have been comforting, but perhaps not honest.

”I do not know either,” he admitted.

Morgana slowly released his hand and stepped half a pace away.

”That is a terrible answer.”

”But it is true.”

”You have started using the truth as an excuse not to say better things.”

”I learned from Elizabeth.”

”Elizabeth would know how to say it more elegantly.”

”She would also demand something afterward.”

Morgana crossed her arms, although she remained close enough for his knees to touch her legs. Damon studied her expression. The firm posture, controlled face, and raised chin were the same ones she used before the Council and Arven’s administrators.

But inside that room, without witnesses, he recognized the effort required to maintain that confidence.

Damon placed his hands around her waist again and slowly pulled her closer. Morgana allowed it, standing between his legs while her hands rested on his shoulders.

”I cannot promise I will return in a week,” he said. ”I also cannot promise nothing will happen in Mirath or on the road to that fortress. But I will not disappear from your life after everything that happened.”

Morgana held his gaze.

”You already disappeared for six months.”

”I was in a coma.”

”It was still a very inconvenient disappearance.”

”I will try to avoid the next one.”

”That is not reassuring.”

”I am doing the best I can.”

She lightly touched the bandage around his arm.

”Your best usually ends with you bleeding, unconscious, or trying to carry a mountain alone.”

”Recently, it also ended with Seraphine imprisoned.”

”After you nearly became part of the Heart.”

”Details.”

Morgana deliberately squeezed the bandage. Damon grimaced and caught her wrist before she could do it again.

”That was cruel.”

”It was educational.”

”You have been spending too much time with Ester.”

”Someone needs to make sure her lessons continue after you leave.”

Damon pulled Morgana toward him until she lost her balance and placed both hands against his chest. Before she could complain, he kissed her again.

This time, there was none of the earlier urgency.

The kiss was slower, longer, and fully aware of how little time remained before his departure. Morgana held his face between her hands, while Damon slid his fingers along her back until they reached the nape of her neck, keeping her close without forcing her.

When they separated, both were breathing unevenly.

Morgana rested her forehead against his.

”You make serious conversations very difficult.”

”You started by kissing me against the door.”

”You were the one who pushed me against it.”

”I did not hear any complaints.”

”I am complaining now.”

”You do not sound sincere.”

She lightly bit his lower lip, more as a warning than an act of aggression. Damon smiled, and Morgana tried to hide her own reaction but failed.

”Mirath is far away,” she said again. ”Arven will demand everything from me over the next few months. I cannot simply abandon the duchy to follow you.”

”I do not want you to abandon it.”

”And you cannot abandon everything in Mirath to remain here.”

”No.”

Morgana sat beside him on the bed, allowing her shoulder to rest against his. The room remained silent, illuminated only by a lamp near the window. The sounds of the mansion were distant, formed by the occasional steps of guards and doors being closed in other corridors.

Damon looked toward her.

”Then we will be apart for some time.”

The sentence was simple, but it felt heavy after being spoken.

Morgana rested her hands on her lap.

”Yes.”

”I do not like it.”

”Neither do I.”

”That helps a little.”

”How?”

”It means I am not the only one who will be miserable.”

Morgana turned her face and stared at him.

”That was the worst attempt at romance I have ever heard.”

”I was not trying to be romantic.”

”I noticed.”

Damon leaned closer and kissed the side of her head.

”I can send letters.”

”You write letters?”

”I can have Aria write them.”

”That does not count.”

”I can dictate them.”

”That does not count either.”

”Your demands are increasing quickly.”

Morgana rested her head against his shoulder.

”I want letters from you. Even if they are bad, short, or filled with complaints about Elizabeth and Ester.”

”Then they will be long.”

”And I want to know when you are injured.”

”That seems unnecessary.”

”Damon.”

”I can omit small injuries.”

”No.”

”Scratches?”

”No.”

”Emotional offenses?”

”You may omit those.”

Damon thought for several seconds.

”And you will tell me when another administrator tries to rob Arven?”

”I will resolve it before the letter reaches Mirath.”

”Even so.”

”Fine.”

”And if anyone threatens you, the children, your father, or the mines, send a message directly to me.”

Morgana raised her head.

”I do not want you crossing the continent every time a threat appears.”

”Then make sure they are not interesting threats.”

”You realize that sentence makes no sense.”

”It does to me.”

She stared at him before releasing a small sigh.

”That is exactly what worries me.”

Damon held her chin between his fingers.

”I will return.”

Morgana narrowed her eyes.

”Are you promising now?”

”I am not promising when. But I promise I will return.”

”Even with the Tomb of the First Snow?”

”It is not going anywhere.”

”And if the map demands that you follow it immediately?”

”Then it can keep demanding until I decide.”

Morgana seemed satisfied with that answer. Not because it erased the distance, but because it matched the man she knew. Damon had spent that month learning not to obey every summons, threat, or destiny placed before him.

If he said he would return by his own decision, perhaps that held more value than a date chosen merely to reassure her.

She leaned forward and kissed him again. Damon held her waist and slowly lay back, pulling Morgana with him without putting pressure on his injured arm. She remained above him, supporting part of her weight on her knees while her hair fell around them.

The kiss grew more intense, and Damon slid one hand along her back, feeling the tension gathered inside her body finally beginning to loosen.

Morgana pulled her face away only far enough to speak.

”Ester will notice.”

”She always notices.”

”Elizabeth too.”

”She notices before it happens.”

”Aria probably already knows.”

”Aria was cutting fruit with a knife. I would rather not investigate.”

Morgana laughed against his mouth, and that light sound felt more intimate than anything else they had done. For weeks, Damon had heard her voice commanding guards, confronting Seraphine, defending the duchy, and denying accusations before the Council.

Hearing Morgana laugh without concern, alone with him, made leaving even more difficult.

He ran his fingers across her face.

”Will you miss me?”

”No.”

”That answer was too quick.”

”I will miss having someone draw every problem away from me.”

”Then you will miss me a great deal.”

”And perhaps the arguments a little.”

”I knew it.”

”A little.”

Damon pulled her into another kiss before she could reduce the admission any further. Morgana did not resist. Her hands moved down his shoulders, carefully avoiding the injured areas, while Damon kept his touch firm and patient.

”Hey...” she murmured between the wet sounds of their kisses. ”How long are we going to do nothing but kiss?”