All the while, I was aware of Percival beside me—his presence calm and grounding amid the performance. It was enough to remind me I wasn’t entirely alone in this web of half-truths and careful silences. When our eyes met over the rim of the flask, his gaze held steady: warm and understanding. It cut through the weight of the mask I wore, easing a tension I hadn’t realized had rooted so deeply in my bones.
It was a small thing.
But in a court built on appearances, alliances, and quiet betrayals, that moment of honest connection felt like a lifeline.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
-GUIN-
The next morning, when we returned from our impromptu hunt, I immediately headed to my chambers, exhaustion settling into my bones.
The night before had been a test of endurance in the form of maintaining Lioran's form. Every few hours, I'd made excuses to slip away from the group, disappearing into the forest. Far enough that no one could see, I'd release my disguise for ten or so minutes at a time. The relief was immediate, like shedding a too-tight skin. Then, reluctantly, I'd pull Lioran back over me like armor.
The real risk came later, during those quiet hours of the early morning when the moon hung high and the camp settled into stillness. Once all the knights had retired into their tents and the servants snored on their bedrolls, only then did I slip from my tent.
The forest welcomed me with cool darkness, and I was grateful for it. I walked until the campfire's glow was nothing but a faint suggestion through the trees, until I was certain no one could stumble upon me. Then I released my disguise in a rush.My shoulders dropped, tension bleeding away as my true form emerged. An hour. I needed at least an hour as myself to prevent the disguise magic from taking permanent root.
I sat against a tree, reveling in the feel of my own skin, my own face. The forest sounds wrapped around me—an owl's distant call, the rustle of some nocturnal creature hunting through the underbrush. For those stolen moments, I was simply Guin. And I loved each and every moment that allowed me my solitude.
When I finally returned, dawn still hours away, I wrapped Lioran around myself once more. I was pleased to find that the camp looked exactly as I'd left it. No one had shifted from their slumber, and the fire had burned down to embers. I crawled into my tent, grateful beyond measure that my gamble had paid off.
Sleep claimed me quickly.
But when I woke, my eyes brimmed with weariness from the relentless torment of dreams that had danced in the shallows of my mind all night long. First, it had been that nightmare of the Hall of Lineages, when Arthur and the long-dead Pendragon kings had repeatedly taken my body, one after the other. But soon that nightmare had morphed into another one.
Excalibur had called to me from the murky depths of my slumber, the Lady of the Lake floating just beyond its hilt, whispering words threaded with allure and menace, her voice both a siren's call and a dragon's roar.
Since that damned night by the lake when I'd pulled the sword from the stone, I'd released a curse masquerading as destiny, and that curse was shackling me. In recent nights, I'd dreamed of nothing but the sword and the Lady's urgent plea for me to:'Return, take up the burden of your lineage and wield it.'
With each dream visit, my refusal felt more precarious, like standing on a tightrope strung across a chasm. But I was still defiant, still wrapped in the arms of my own resolution, and thatdecision hadn't changed. I had no interest in ruling, no interest in claiming Arthur's throne. So, yes, the Lady's continuous urging continued to meet the granite of my stubborn resistance.
Once inside my bedchamber, the candle flickered as I shed Lioran’s disguise, peeling away the voice, posture, and armor. I was beyond pleased to see that the Lioran magic hadn't fully taken, and I was returned to myself. To Guinevere. My reflection in the mirror was jarring—a woman caught between roles, between truths. Guin’s face emerged like the moon through a break in the clouds.
Although I wanted nothing more than to find sleep, I knew I needed to check in with Merlin. It had been at least three days since I'd reached out to him, and no doubt he was wondering how I was faring.
After this most recent dream of the sword in the stone, I'd made the decision to tell Merlin what had happened—that I'd pulled Excalibur. As much as I feared his response, what had happened could no longer be ignored. The Lady had seen to that.
I whispered the incantation, watching as the surface of the water shimmered. It was perhaps a second later that I viewed Merlin's workshop in Annwyn. It was empty.
“Merlin,” I said, my voice low. “I have news—news that should be impossible. I hesitated, then continued, knowing I had to get this off my chest even if I feared Merlin's response—what he would want me to do with this information.
There was no response. "Are you there?"
Still nothing. But I could no longer keep this information to myself, so I continued. “I don’t know what possessed me, but I went to the lake." I didn’t need to explain further. There was only one lake in Camelot that mattered.
“I felt this inexplicable pull to touch the water, and when I did, the Lady appeared. And when she did, she insisted—commandedme, really—to try to pull the sword from the stone.”I swallowed, my heart pounding as I wondered whether I was going to regret telling Merlin this next bit. “And I did. I pulled Excalibur from the stone.”
Silence.
The water remained still, reflecting my face—wide-eyed, breath shallow. The weight of my confession settled heavy in my chest. Part of me was pleased Merlin was absent, while another part desperately wanted to understand what it could mean that I'd freed the sword.
Soon, the water stirred. I glanced up into the image of his workshop in the water but found it still empty. As I watched, letters formed on the surface of the water, delicate ripples spelling out his reply. He must have been busy with some spell or another and was using his magic to dictate a response to me.
The sword chooses based on qualities beyond mortal understanding. Its acceptance of you is unexpected but not unwelcome. Use this knowledge carefully, Guinevere. Some truths reveal themselves only when the moment demands.
I frowned at that. Leaning closer, my voice was barely audible as I asked him the question that had been plaguing me. “Do you expect me to claim Arthur’s throne?”
The response came swiftly:
