"Is that what you're into now?" Morgan asked him, all faux innocence.
She couldn't deny he'd always looked hot in chains. And she'd seen him in chain a lot. But she'd never seen him the way that would be the absolute sexiest: hers by choice. One day. One day she was going to get there, even if she had to keep pushing, had to keep reminding him she was there and waiting. Morgan didn't want Lancelot by force: she could have anyone and everyone she wanted through magic. It was so easy that it was pointless. A man at her knees because she made him be there? It had been fun for a hundred years or so but after that... no, she wanted to be loved, in a truer sense than magic.
And one day, that would be Lancelot. One day he'd realise.
So instead of further musing on the chains look, Morgan got up and went to the oven. Still in view of the bed, she transferred the pasta into two bowls and brought them back, hanging him his and a fork. "I hope you haven't gone vegan or something?" she asked, sitting back down into her own seat. "So many seem to these days."