Percival patted me on the back a few times, but he didn't know his own strength and nearly sent me stumbling.
"Christ, Percival, don't kill our champion," Gareth laughed.
I nodded my gratitude for their words and offered my own words of encouragement, which they accepted gracefully. My attention seemed to settle on Gareth, whose auburn hair had come loose from its leather tie, soft strands falling around his face. There was something warm and unguarded about him—less polished than Arthur, less practiced than Lancelot certainly, but interesting all the same. Gareth wore his curiosity like armor, and it somehow suited him.
That was when I noticed Kay.
He stood across the arena, his sharp gaze fixed on me. His expression was cold, calculating—the look of a man already cataloging my every move. One misstep, one twitch out of character, and he would see through me. I had to wonder if he already had.
I subtly adjusted my posture—squared shoulders, broader stance. Kay’s eyes followed the shift, narrowing with clinical interest. It was as though he was memorizing every aspect of me and storing the information for later use. The man collected vulnerabilities like trophies, waiting patiently for the perfect time to exploit them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
-GUIN-
Ientered the Great Hall through the double doors with measured steps.
I'd dressed in my best—in honor of my defeat of Balan. My tunic, crafted from high-quality deep blue linen, was embroidered with silver thread around the cuffs and neckline—tiny Celtic knots that seemed to shimmer and dance with each step I took. Above that, I wore a surcoat of midnight blue velvet, and hose of black covered my legs, helping to ward away the cold night air. All of my clothing was, of course, courtesy of Merlin's tailors.
Sir Lioran, the rising star of Camelot's court. I was well aware that all eyes would be on me tonight—something that didn't excite me in the least.
The hall buzzed as nobles who once flinched at magic now animatedly reenacted the day’s most dramatic moments, arms flailing as they imitated spells they barely understood. Servants wove between tables heavy with venison, braided breads, and pyramids of sugared fruit. The air shimmered with the scent of spiced wine, melted candle wax, and perfume.
Heads turned as I passed, and whispers followed. Where once I’d gone unnoticed, tonight brought nods, raised goblets, and appraising glances. My defeat of Balan had elevated me in the eyes of the court. And with every new acknowledgment came a sharper edge of risk.
Success had made me visible.
Each smile was another chance to slip. Each toast, another opportunity for my illusion to falter. Respect was dangerous because it came with scrutiny.
I moved deeper into the crowd, watching the delicate dance of power and politics unfolding all around me. Even the seating arrangements whispered their own truths: a new hierarchy shaped not by bloodlines, but by how each knight had performed in the duel.
Gawain, whose earth magic had proven devastatingly effective, now sat at a table surrounded by merchants from the western provinces, all eager to secure patronage from a rising star. One such lady had positioned herself beside him, her aged fingers occasionally touching his arm to emphasize whatever advantageous connection she was proposing. For all I knew, she could have been inviting him to her bed. Given her rather rat-like appearance, I felt sorry for him if such were the case.
In stark contrast, one whole table was now empty—a reminder that those knights who did not fare well in the Duel Trial had been excused from Camelot. Now, only eighteen remained.
"The great sorting," Percival murmured as he came to stand beside me.
"Sorting?"
He nodded. "After each trial, Camelot redistributes its favor like a deck of cards being reshuffled."
"And where do you stand in this shuffle?"
He smiled faintly. "Healers occupy an odd middle ground—never the heroes, but never entirely forgotten either. I suppose we're considered useful but not heroic enough to lead the charge."
"Well, I think your magic is not only impressive, but it's crucial. And Arthur would be lucky to have you among his elite."
Percival gave me a look of surprise that told me he wasn't accustomed to compliments. "Perhaps I could persuade you to have a word with the king on my behalf?"
We both laughed at that, but the moment was regrettably short-lived.
"Sir Lioran!" Lord Carlisle shouted from across the room, gesturing to an empty seat at his table as he briefly nodded to Percival in greeting. Almost immediately, his hawkish gaze returned to me. "Join us! We were just discussing your remarkable victory."
I sighed out my own dread, and Percival chuckled. As much as I didn't want to make conversation with any of them, I remembered Merlin mentioning that we might well find allies in the northern houses of Logres. And allies were good to have. So, I swallowed down my lack of enthusiasm and forced myself forward.
"Wish me luck," I said to Percival.
He nodded, and I made my way to the northern baron's table. The invitation wasn't unexpected—Carlisle had been watching me since the Summoning Trial.
