I was right.
I found it collapsed by the water’s edge, sides heaving, blood staining the stream. It stirred at my approach, tried to lift its head but slumped back down.
“Shhh,” I whispered, dismounting slowly. “It’s alright.”
My boots sank into the moss-soft earth beside the stream as I drew my hunting knife. The stag watched me as I approached with slow, deliberate steps. Its eyes were eerily calm. No fear. No pleading.
"I'm here to help you," I continued in a soft voice.
Its breath came in ragged pulls, stirring the bloodied water around its hooves. Steam curled from the wound in the cool air. The scent of blood mingled with damp earth and decaying leaves.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, dropping the voice I used for court. There was no need for disguise here. The beast didn’t flinch as I knelt beside it. Maybe it understood. Maybe it recognized the peace I was about to offer.
“This isn’t how it should have ended.”
My hand trembled as I placed the blade to its throat. Beneath my fingers, its warmth pulsed faintly. Its hide wascoarse, matted with sweat and blood, but still soft—regal. I rubbed its neck gently, slow circles meant to soothe, not stall.
“You’ll be free soon. No more arrows. No more pain.”
I’d done this before—in Annwyn’s forests, under Merlin’s quiet instruction. Mercy was sacred. Life and death balanced. Every ending deserved reverence. But never had I killed a creature so magnificent. And never to undo someone else’s cruelty. And that's exactly what this was. Agravaine’s arrow hadn’t aimed to kill. It had aimed totorment. A manufactured suffering for the sake of sport.
My blade moved swiftly and silently. Flesh parted cleanly. The stag shuddered once, body tensing beneath my palm before going still. I stayed there, hand pressed to its side, waiting as the last flicker of life faded like twilight over Annwyn.
Horns then echoed through the trees—close now. The others were coming.
I turned to the stream and plunged my hands into the cold water. Blood swirled away in delicate red ribbons that vanished between the stones. I watched, transfixed by how easily the water erased death’s trace.
Seconds later, hoofbeats thundered behind me. I slipped back into Lioran’s mask—shoulders squared, face set—just as the hunting party burst into the clearing. The dogs arrived first, their braying filling the air as their noses dipped to the ground in search of the stag’s scent. Their paws churned the earth to mud as they yipped excitedly, circling and whining at the sight of their prize.
Galahad rode in next, reining his mount to a halt. He scanned the scene, his gaze lingering on the fallen stag and then shifting to me. He didn’t need to speak; the furrow of his brow conveyed his thoughts well enough—he'd witnessed the hunt turn for the worse and now saw the unnecessary outcome. It wasthe first time I'd had any sort of interaction with the knight who was so famous for his virtue, purity, and morals.
“What’s this?” Agravaine yanked his horse to a halt, scowling at the scene before he lifted his gaze to me. “You’ve stolen our quarry, Lioran.”
I sheathed my knife slowly. “The beast was suffering. I ended it cleanly.”
“Acleandeath,” he sneered. “We might’ve cornered it properly, made sport of it. Instead, you’ve turned a royal hunt into a butcher’s errand.”
Gawain dismounted and crouched beside the stag's body, inspecting the death wound I'd delivered. “Clean stroke. One cut.” He looked up at me then, something like respect in his eyes. “Merciful.”
“Merciful,” Agravaine repeated, dripping contempt. “What’s next? Tears for the fish?”
At that, Kay laughed the loudest.
I met Agravaine's glare without flinching. “Nobility reveals itself in how we handle the defeated, Sir Agravaine.”
"You speak of nobility, and yet you were born in a pasture, were you not?" Agravaine chuckled. "Tell me, do they teach swordplay in the mud where you come from?"
I looked at him. “Your house must be so proud—your insults are as dull as your blade.”
Agravaine's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.
"I've seen swine with better lineage," Sir Balan said, stepping close to Agravaine.
Before I could respond, Percival stepped from behind me, which was strange because I hadn't realized he'd followed me. “The meat will feed the castle just the same.”
Agravaine leaned against his saddle, shooting me a look as cold as the steel arrowheads he favored. "A knight dressed in borrowed armor," he muttered, wearing his disdain like a secondcloak. Beside him, Kay’s lip curled in a sneer that accentuated his sharp features, as though to pierce me.
"A lineage-less pretender, running with wolves,” Agravaine continued.
