THIS TIME, WHEN MORGANA reached out to him, he said 'Kit.' He wasn't giving his name back, and right now, he was glad for that. There was no way the faery would've been able to succeed in his state, but to his luck, Kit already thought up a backup plan. It was risky and depended on the strange relationship between the Deserts and his own continent, but he was determined not to let this turn into a disaster if he could help it.

Kit and Connor both took after their mother, aside from their hair and their height. Connor's hair was a few shades darker than his own, and he was half a head shorter and ten times more aggravating. They were both considered handsome in Avalon, but Kit was the only one with any semblance of charm, and he'd have to turn it all the way down if he even wanted to pretend this would work.

The guards at the front of palace were shaken, Morgana's fault, no doubt. He held his chin high, not in confidence but in judgment as he approached.

"Whatever happened here?" he droned, doing his best to imitate his brother's plainness. If there was anything the dark magic did that was good for Connor, it was that it made him more interesting. Hopefully, the people here didn't know about his change.

A guard looked up at him with wide eyes. "Who are you? What do you want?"

Kit raised his hands up. "I'm King Connor of Avalon," he said. "I've been led to believe a prisoner of mine is your captive. I'm here to take him off your hands."

A woman spoke next. "Was he the man that just made me fight my brothers?" she asked. "He's been arrested by now, I'm sure. You'll have to speak with the Emperor to get him back."

"Then get me an audience with him," he ordered. "I am a King. I'm sure he'd let me in."

"That'll be a lot of trouble," she sighed. "You'll have to wait. I want him out of the palace as soon as possible, but the Emperor is a busy man."

"Then don't get me an audience," Kit demanded. "I'll go get him now if you let me in. All I'm doing is getting him back and taking him to Avalon. He needs to pay for what he did to my father."

The woman bowed her head. "We're sorry about King Wylan," she told him. She had a look of hesitation on her face. "Do you need backup? He's... there's something wrong with him. He's dangerous, I would hate to send you to your death."

Kit scoffed. "I arrested him once. I'm confident I can do it again, especially considering I've gotten rid of the bastards who let him out. I assure you, madam, I'll be fine."

She gulped, sharing looks with the other guards. They gave her assuring nods, and Kit smiled with the same condescending politeness that Connor was so good at. The woman unlocked the gates and let him through. "Prol will escort you to the prison, at least. The palace is a maze."

"Thank you, you've been very helpful," he told her. A man took his side, silently leading him through the tall doors of the palace.

The walk to the prison was silent, and Kit was tense. He hoped it would only assist him in his act instead of giving him away to the guard beside him. It felt too easy to get in, but perhaps Morgana shaking them up so bad made them less tactical. Fear made people stupid, and Morgana was good at making them afraid. Hell, even Kit was still wary of him, as dreadfully handsome as he may be.

They were at the prison now. Despite his assurances that he didn't need backup, Prol still followed him. He didn't like him there, but he didn't dare get rid of him. There were more guards in the prison, not many, and most kept their distance, but he couldn't risk it.

Morgana's cell was one of the first ones he saw when they entered. He was awake again, but he didn't see Kit just yet.

He turned to Prol and held out his hand. The guard raised a brow.

"The key. I need it."

"I can open the cell just fine," he told him. He was almost as plain as Connor.

Kit sighed. "He's dangerous, you don't know how to deal with him. Just let me open the cell, and stay back. I can handle him, you can't."

Prol didn't look excited about it, but eventually he fished the key from his pocket placed it in Kit's outstretched hand. "Don't dawdle."

"I won't. Thank you."

Kit curled his first around the key and sauntered down the hall to Morgana's cell. As expected, the faery launched up the moment he saw Kit. He fell against the bars, hissing as his hand made contact with the iron.

"If I have to sit behind bars again, I'm going to kill someone," he griped. He was visibly distressed, shaking at the bars despite the angry burning of iron against his skin.

"Morgana, stop, stop," Kit murmured, gripping his wrist and pulling his hand away before he could burn it beyond repair. He glanced at Prol, who was looking at the ceiling in disinterest. "Listen, I'm getting you out of here, but we have to be careful. They think I'm Connor, but I don't know how long they'll buy it. Their relationship with Avalon is tense, but I'm banking on what allyship there still is. We can't mess up, okay?"

Morgana clenched his jaw. "Fine. Just let me out."

Kit nodded and opened the cell, pulling Morgana out with force, trying to keep up the act. He couldn't say he wasn't having fun with it, though, handling Morgana with a certain roughness as he dragged him down the hall.

"Can you uncuff me?"

"No." He knew he could get out of the chains anyways, his wrists were covered enough not to burn.

"Try not to enjoy this," the faery muttered, and Kit felt a sliver of a smile quirk up at the corner of his mouth.

They approached Prol, and Kit returned the key. "Let's not make a show of this, I'd rather return him to Avalon without a fuss."

Morgana leaned against him as he walked, and Kit didn't miss the way his eyelids fluttered. He didn't have his cane, he noticed.

"Wait," Kit said, and Prol paused. "He has a cane. Where is it? He can't walk without it."

"He's a prisoner, why do you want him to walk?"

The lies were becoming effortless now. "Because he's leaning on me and it's hurting my back," he growled. "And I'm not cruel like my father, my prisoners don't need to be treated like cattle."

As much as he loathed to paint Connor in a diplomatic light, he wanted Morgana to be able to walk even more.

"Wait here," Prol said, and disappeared without another word.

It was just the two of them now, and Morgana took advantage of it. "Am I really hurting your back?" He eased up, but stumbled when he did.

"No," Kit told him, pulling Morgana against his side again. "I was lying to him. In case you're forgetting, I was a Knight. And I have more muscles than Connor, you're fine."

That seemed to convince him, and the faery leaned against him even further. Kit was happy to carry his weight, even if he was pretending to be his enemy.

Prol returned with Morgana's cane, handing it to Kit.

"I don't need it, he does," he insisted. The guard looked skeptical, and Kit rolled his eyes. "For God's sake, he's not gonna hit you with it. Look at him, he's falling over as we speak, he's probably going to pass out any minute now. Just give it to him, I can manage him."

The man wasn't satisfied, but he did as he was told, handing the cane to Morgana again. Kit had to admit, he missed the faery's warmth as he shifted away from him. At least he could walk better now, though he was still in terrible shape.

It felt like an eternity before they finally left the palace, and Kit let out a breath of relief the moment they were gone. They stuck to the back alleys again, trying to avoid the princess and anyone else who might be looking for them.

"There was something in there," Morgana said when they were alone. Kit insisted they rest and sat down on the ground, pulling the other next to him. "We shouldn't be stopping, we need to keep looking."

"Morgana, look at you," Kit murmured. "You can hardly keep your eyes open. I didn't even expect you to be awake when I got there, I was fully prepared to carry you. You're getting bad again, you need a remedy."

"Giselle has them," he replied. "And I don't want it. I have to save it for her, she's more important."

There was something going on, and Kit had no idea what. He knew Morgana would never tell him, but he had to try. "What's wrong? You've been exhausting yourself and then refusing to get help, I'm getting worried."

There was nothing surprising about the silence that followed. Morgana knew he'd been caught, but, as expected, he'd never own up to it.

"Morgana, you can't help your people if you're going to be like this all the time."

"I'm fine."

"You're not, and that's not okay," he insisted. "Something is going on with you and I just... I just want you to let me help you. I'm not your enemy, Morgana."

The faery was quiet as he stared at him. Kit thought he might say something, refute his claim or call him an idiot or whatever else Morgana did when he wanted Kit to shut up. But he didn't say anything. Instead, he put his hands, long since freed, on either side of his face and pulled him in, crushing their mouths together in a feverish clash of tongues and teeth and heavy, desperate breaths.

Whatever Morgana was trying to do, it was working. For a little while, at least. Kit let himself enjoy it, let himself get distracted from the problem at hand and drown in the kiss. At some point, though, he managed to break through the spell, pulling away from Morgana as much as he didn't want to.

"No," he whispered. "No, you can't do that, it isn't fair. You can't just get me to get over this. I know you know what you're doing to me, but you can't use me like that. I need you to talk to me, let me help you."

"You are helping me," Morgana murmured. "Just let me fucking finish what I'm doing, you prick."

Somehow, Kit knew the aggression wasn't violence. It was a mixture of lust and desperation, like he wasn't only doing it to make him drop the subject.

He pulled him back in, and this time, Kit didn't fight it. Morgana laid back and pulled the prince with him, and Kit ignored the dirty ground beneath him when he placed his hands on either side of the faery's head.

It wasn't until he went for Morgana's neck, only to be forcefully placed back into a kiss, when he figured out what he was doing. He arms felt a little weaker, and Morgana's hands were stronger than they should've been. He wasn't just breathing him cuz he wanted him, he was breathing in his strength. It worked faster than hands ever did, that's why Morgana kissed him.

He didn't mean it, Kit realized. He wasn't kissing him like this because he wanted to, he was using him again. After a minute, he pulled away and glared down at the man beneath him.

"I'm not done."

"Yes you are."

Morgana yanked him back down, but Kit rolled away and rose to his feet, leaving the other down on the dirty cobblestone.

"You don't get to use me," he spat. "I'm happy to share with you, but you don't get to take advantage of whatever the hell this is so you can steal my strength. Don't fuck with my head like that. I know you're Sídhe and you don't care about the means, as long as they justify the ends, but I will not let you make me your means. Not if you don't mean it."

"'I don't mean it,'" Morgana echoed, using the wall to stand himself up, even though Kit knew full well he didn't need to. He was fine now, he took enough to make him ache. "Is that what you think?"

Kit scoffed. "Yeah, it is what I think. You don't mean any of this, you never did. You're taking advantage of me, and I'm done letting you. Even if it sucks."

He set his jaw. "If that's what you believe, then I guess I can't stop you."

Morgana looked hurt, and Kit froze. He opened his mouth to speak, but he didn't get the chance.

"Let's go find the others," the Unseelie mumbled. "If they're not dead yet, they probably will be soon."