“I’ve told no one,” he said at last, meeting my gaze. “I didn’t want to tell you either. I feared… you’d doubt me as much as I doubt myself.”
“I could never doubt you.”
He looked away, haunted. “A week ago, perhaps it was longer? I do not know—I have lost track of time."
"What has happened?" I encouraged him when it seemed he didn't want to continue.
He took a deep breath. "At the lake... I saw something. Something… impossible.”
I said nothing, just moved to the decanter on his table and, lifting the extra goblet there, poured myself a drink. The feel of the crystal in my hand brought back nights spent just like this—planning, arguing, laughing. Not as king and knight, but as friends. It was in these quiet hours, not in court or battle, that the man beneath the crown revealed himself. And tonight, I could feel that man struggling to speak.
As I took the seat across from him, I noticed the shadows under his eyes and the slight tremble in his hand. This wasn’t the weight of politics—it was something deeper.
“The sword,” he whispered as he looked over at me with haunted eyes. “Someone drew the sword.”
I felt my stomach drop to my toes. Of course, I had known that Excalibur had avoided Arthur's hand for many years, ever since he had taken the Dragonmark. “The sword?” I echoed, steadying my voice. “Excalibur?” He nodded, and my stomach dropped further. “You’re certain?”
“I saw it with my own eyes.” He rose then, pacing, his gestures sharp.
"Who was this person?"
He chuckled and shook his head as if he could scarcely believe the truth himself. “A woman." Then his gaze shifted back to the window. "A woman unlike any I’ve ever seen before." His voice took on a wistfulness that didn't characterize him. "—hair like moonlight, skin pale as snow, and her eyes…” His voice dropped. “The color of amethysts.Shepulled Excalibur from the stone.”
I choked on my wine. “That’s—inconceivable.”
“You think I’m mad?” His eyes flared as he turned to face me.
“No, of course not. But… perhaps it was nothing but a trick of the mind, Arthur? An illusion?” I set my goblet down slowly.
Arthur slammed his fist onto the table, scattering the maps. “I know what I saw.”
I stared at him. “But onlyyouwere chosen. Onlyyoucould draw the sword.”
“So I believed,” he said quietly, sinking back into his chair as he shook his head. “But she drew it—effortlessly. Then dropped it back into the lake, like it had burned her." He paused and swallowed hard, and I could see he was lost in the memory. "When she tried to flee… I caught her.”
I studied his face, searching for signs of madness or wine-fueled fantasy. But I saw only raw confusion. I’d known Arthur since boyhood, through blood and battle. But I’d never seen him like this—shaken, awed, confused.
“Who was she?” I asked. “Someone from court?”
“A scullery maid.” He shook his head as he reached for his goblet of wine once more. “The sword that refused kings chose a kitchen girl."
I frowned, and then the pieces of this puzzle began to come together. "The woman you were searching for—"
He nodded, interrupting. "Yes, it was her. The very same."
I was quiet as I considered it, and in considering it, still did not understand how it was possible. “You’re certain it was Excalibur?”
Arthur met my eyes and nodded.
“It was Excalibur." His tone was defeated. “I know you doubt me." He chuckled without humor. "I did, and still do, doubt myself. I had begun to think I’d imagined it."
"I understand."
"And because I doubted myself… tonight—earlier, I returned to the lake, Lance. I called for Nimue.” He paused. “When she surfaced, the stone was empty. The sword was gone. I asked her if what I had witnessed was real—if a servant girl had truly drawn my sword. Nimue confirmed… everything.”
He exhaled sharply, then drained his goblet in a single motion.
Then he looked over at me with sharp eyes. “The sword has chosen again, Lance. And this time, it has not chosen me.”
