Diclaimer: Merlin is property of BBC. All characters are borrowed for artistic purpose.

As a Prince, Arthur is used to getting what he wants.

When he was younger, he had a myriad of nurses that came and went, all supposed to teach him discipline and most failing miserably when he threw temper tantrums and complained to his father. The one that finally stuck was one that had already dealt with twelve spoiled brats in her lifetime and certainly wasn't going to cave into this one, but despite the fact that Arthur did eventually learn that he could not receive everything be simply demanding it, the fact remains that there are very few things in like the Arthur has not been able to obtain.

The first is his mother, but he does not fool himself into thinking that that will ever change. The dead cannot be brought back to life except by way of dark magic, and while he was not there when his father killed Tristan Dubois a second time, the stories he heard from the other Knights are enough to convince him he would not want to see her by that way.

The second is his father's unconditional love and pride. Arthur is not a fool; he knows that Uther loves him as any man ought to love his son, but he has also never forgotten the price he was forced to pay for Arthur. He will always be competing with his mother in his father's eyes, and thus he must continually prove himself beyond Uther's expectations, but in the end, it is never quite enough. Uther is always proud of him, but never quite the way he should be. Arthur could always have done better in his eyes.

The third is the object of his affections.

It shouldn't be so. Arthur is Crown Prince at Camelot; he entertains visiting young noblewoman several times a year and they constantly fawn over him, over the brave and handsome Prince that is the best fighter in the land and a stunning sight to behold. His father is always considering marriage proposals and while he has not yet accepted any of them, Arthur knows that he is greatly desired. Who would not, after all, want to claim that they Crown Prince is theirs?

A few people, it would seem. And it seems horribly ironic and fitting that it is one of these people that has Arthur's heart so ensnared.

He does not think he was ever in love before this. Infatuated perhaps, when he was young and the world was his and he was first beginning to notice the delicate ladies of the court. Back then all it took was a word and a smile and he could have a girl practically eating out of the palm of his hand. He lost his virtue at fourteen and has since tumbled many a girl that caught his eye, but while they were all beautiful, none held his interest long enough for him to genuinely care about them. That honor is reserved for extremely few people.

His father. Morgana. Gwen. Merlin.

Guinevere is beautiful woman, perhaps not in features (though she is certainly nothing to laugh at, even if she isn't as breathtaking as some of the ladies of the Court), but in mind and soul. She is loyal to a fault, clever and braver than even many of the men that Arthur has met in his time, benevolent and caring and quite possible one of the most amazing people Arthur has ever had the pleasure of knowing. In his heart he knows she would make an excellent Queen, least because she would be humble enough to treat to position with reverence, and most because she would put the troubles of her people far before her own. If they were to rule together, Arthur feels that Camelot would never see a greater age.

The problem is, of course, the Gwen is a servant, and while his father still lives, such a union will never be allowed with the Crown Prince. So he must admire her from afar, perhaps take a stolen moment in time every now and then, and hope that maybe, if she feels as he does, she will be willing to wait for him.

Even as he hopes, however, he knows that it is not so. He is not blind; he did not miss the way she held Lancelot's hand as they fled from Hengist and his brood, nor did he fail to see how upset she was the man left. They may have kissed, and Guinevere may care deeply for Arthur, but her heart lies with, and only with, Lancelot.

It should hurt. It should be tearing his apart inside that the one person he truly loves with all his heart already belongs to someone else. But strangely, it doesn't, any at all, really. He knows it should, often tries to force himself to be hurt be it, be hurt by Gwen, but it never works. Because really, and try as vehemently as he may to deny it, this is the truth; Gwen is not the person who holds his heart in their hands. That person, were they ever to find out, would more than likely shatter him into a thousand irreparable pieces with their inevitable and certain rejection.

Arthur is not in love with Gwen.

He is love with the idea of Gwen.

It is the idea of being in love with a servant, one with whom his feelings might not necessarily be rejected. Where, even though his father forbids it now, there may be a time in the future when that may change. Perhaps when he is King; the Knights and nobles may not like the idea of a servant and the Crown Prince, but they would not be able to lodge any real complaint apart from station variance, and even that can be changed with a few commands and titles.

He is infatuated with Gwen because she is sweet, and kind, and accessible. She is tangible beneath his fingers, a reality where there might only be an illusion. She is almost exactly what Arthur wants, and seeing as he cannot have that itself, she is an easy second choice. So he fools himself into thinking that he is in love with her, makes an effort to think about her all the time, falls asleep with her name drifting though his mind. He makes himself believe that she is the one she wants.

Except that she isn't.

It isn't hard to deny when he's awake, aware of his thoughts and mostly in control of where they go. He can look at her and admire her shapely figure, the gentle curves of her body, the ebony shine of her hair. He can appreciate her smile, the twinkle in her eyes when she laughs, the way the sunlight shimmers on her face and turns her skin into a warm honey brown. He can find her beautiful, and find himself wanting her.

But when he sleeps, it is not Guinevere that haunts his dreams, although he wishes desperately, desperately that is was, because it would be so, so much easier. But he cannot. As much as Arthur wants to, no man can control what he dreams and while Arthur does dream of black hair and beautiful smiles, they are not hers. The hair he dreams about is short and curls only in the humidity of summer, the smiles are beautiful but also full of oblivious naivety and goofy laughter. He dreams not of her eyes, dark as tree bark and soil, but of eyes blue like the sky right after dusk, framed by dark lashes a little too full to look entirely masculine. He dreams of pale skin and long fingers and bony limbs that should look ridiculous but never do.

He dreams of Merlin.

Merlin, and his inability to do anything even remotely useful. Merlin, with his dopey smiles and cheerful laughter. Merlin, and his complete devotion to Arthur even when the prince treats him like a dog. Merlin, who by all rights should hate him and possibly be trying to kill him, but instead risks his life to save Arthur's at every turn and has never asked for anything in return except that Arthur trust him.

He cannot remember when it was he fell in love with his manservant, but that, he supposes, is not important. What is important is that he can no longer allow Merlin to come too close, to pass beyond the realm of master and servant and into friendship.

Because he wants Merlin. Wants to press him up against the walls of his bedchamber and ravish him until he can't see straight, press him into the sheets and here him cry Arthur's name, fall asleep with an arm wrapped around his warm body, awaken in the morning and shower him with kisses until he stirs. And he thinks that if he allows Merlin to come any closer than he has, he may not be able to stop himself from doing so.

He made the mistake of letting Merlin in too deep before the Questing Beast attacked and, he thinks, that is what had caused him to feel this way. Because the way that Merlin was unwilling to coddle him, or bend to his whims like any normal, sane person would drew him in, and his naivety, his loyalty, his willingness to listen to Arthur the man and not Arthur the prince, are what have kept him here. He recognizes that now, even if he didn't when it was happening, and he also realizes how dangerous this is, how even the slightest hint of his true feelings could get them both killed, even though Merlin is not at fault. If he keeps his servant at bay, treats him as he did before they really became friends, it is unlikely that he will ever be found out.

Arthur is not stupid. He thinks that, even if by some miracle Merlin did happen to return his feelings, there would be nothing they could do besides watch each other from afar; to be together, even for a few quick moments, they would run the risk of being caught, and the following consequences would be brutal beyond imagination. To be in love with a servant is one thing, but to be in love with male is something else entirely. He can change the laws of a Kingdom so that he can wed a common maid, but he cannot change the very laws of Christendom so that he might take Merlin as his beloved. And so he is trapped, utterly captivated by a bumbling idiot who is the most loyal person he has ever known and quite possible the truest friend he has ever had, and unable to even take his hand for fear of their lives.

So he denies it. He wakes up in the morning and treats Merlin like he's an incompetent idiot (which he is, but not nearly as much as Arthur leads him to believe that he thinks he is), looks at Gwen and admires her beauty, and pretends that he is in love with her. Pretends because she's a servant, like Merlin, and kind, like Merlin, and willing to help, like Merlin, and loyal, like Merlin. Fools himself into wanting her because she's beautiful like he is but unlike him she's a woman, and the mere suggestion of his feelings for her is not enough to warrant a death sentence. Convinces himself that he loves Gwen because she is the closest he will ever get to his hopeless, fumbling, incredible, wonderful, bewitching manservant.

He knows that, in the future, it will not last. There will come a point when tricking himself into being infatuated with Gwen with fail and he will be left with nothing but a terrible unrequited longing for his most loyal friend, but for now, at least, it works. It keeps his gaze from lingering on Merlin too long, keeps his touches to a minimum and his praises even more so, allows him to give Merlin enough respect to keep him close but work him hard enough and treat him with enough incivility that they rarely pass beyond the realm of master and servant.

He rues the day when it will no longer be enough.

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