Lancelot nodded, seemingly satisfied. When he leaned closer to me, I fought the need to lean away. I just… didn't want to be too close to him. Not with the way he made my heart beat faster.
"We’ll speak again after the next Trial, Lioran. For now, enjoy the attention. You've earned it."
Then he turned and left.
I stood there a moment longer, grounding myself with a hand on my sword hilt, steadying the flicker of nerves that were overcoming me. I could breathe a little more easily now that Lancelot had departed. But there were other problems on the horizon. Lioran’s rising fame was no longer something I could control—it had become its own force.
The Duel Trial had changed everything. I'd stepped into the light, and with that came both power and peril. I was no longer invisible. Whispers would follow me. Questions would gather around my name.
Every eye in Camelot would be watching.
-ARTHUR-
I could not stop thinking about the way Sir Balan had crashed to the ground, defeated by a man half his size. Perhaps a third of his size.
I'd expected violence, expected brute strength and the clash of steel that had defined every duel before this one. What I'd witnessed instead made something cold settle in my chest—recognition wrapped in unease.
The mist.
It had materialized around Lioran, soft and disorienting, turning the arena floor into something uncanny. Balan had stumbled through it blindly, swinging at shadows while the smaller man moved with the fluidity of water itself. The crowd had gasped at the spectacle.
I'd stopped breathing entirely.
Because I'd seen that mist before.
When white hair had gleamed in moonlight and a woman had touched Excalibur and pulled the sword from the stone. The mist that had obscured the white-haired beauty was of the same quality as what I'd just witnessed from Lioran. The way it had clung to the air, hiding everything it touched.
I recalled the way Lioran's mist had formed—not summoned through visible effort or incantation, but called forth as naturally as breathing. The way it moved with purpose, intelligent and precise. The woman at the lake had wielded hers the same way, disappearing before I or my guards could trap her.
Nothing about Lioran reminded me of the woman at the lake. His hair was darker, his eyes dull compared to the violet of hers. Where her face was heart-shaped, his was round and devoid of shape. While she was a stunning beauty, he still maintained the doughy cheeks of youth. Yet the similarity in their magic gnawed at me.
Perhaps they'd trained together? Or perhaps—the thought made my jaw clench—perhaps they were related? Brother and sister, sharing blood and gifts in equal measure? Perhaps the connection was not so close, and they were distant cousins?
All questions I could not answer. Questions that pointed to the fact that I needed to speak with Lioran. Needed to know if this connection ran as deep as my instincts screamed it did.
But carefully. So carefully.
Word couldn't spread that someone else—no less a woman—a serving girl—had pulled Excalibur. The sword's rejection would plant seeds of doubt among my council—I could already imagine Mordred's calculating stares, the whispers that would follow me through castle corridors. If they learned another had succeeded where I'd failed, the carefully maintained illusion of my absolute right to rule would shatter.
Perhaps it was better to say nothing to Lioran—to leave well enough alone? Yet the similarities between Lioran's water magic and the mystery woman's were too profound to ignore. And this might well prove to be the only lead I had in tracking her down.
Because there had been no word from The Fox. No ravens delivering the good news that he had located her. There had been no word at all. I could only imagine he was still scouring Logres, visiting every village and town, asking the right questions. Truly, it was only a matter of time before he found her. A woman with such intense beauty could not remain hidden forever.
Perhaps I would find her myself—at the festival for the maidens of Logres. But first, I needed to speak with Lioran. My mind raced through possibilities regarding how I could approach such a conversation with the young knight. Start casual—by discussing magical techniques? Or perhaps a simple inquiry into his training? But no, each approach felt clumsy when I played it through my mind. Lioran had proven himself sharp during the trials, observant. He would immediately see through any artifice I tried to serve him. One misstep and he'd know I was fishing for something specific.
The memory of watching him bow to the crowd suddenly invaded my mind. The image of that mist still curling around his ankles like faithful hounds. The arena had erupted in approval, but I'd barely heard it.
Perhaps Lioran was the link to the mystery woman that I so desperately needed to find. The thread that would lead me back to the girl who'd haunted my dreams and my every waking moment since she'd disappeared into the darkness of the night.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
-GUIN-
When the revelry quieted down with the advanced hour, I slipped away, craving my solitude.
The fight with Balan had taken more from me than the crowd realized. It had left me hollow. Not broken, but scraped clean, like a riverbed after a flood.
Needing to escape the congratulations and endless conversations, I made my way to the battlements. They rose like sentinels against the night sky, the stone jagged, resembling the harsh mountains of the north. I pressed a hand against the cool stone, feeling it anchoring me to a place that was foreign but growing familiar. Each tower and parapet, crafted from ancient slabs, whispered stories carried by the wind. Here, the breeze brought with it an amalgam of scents—the metallic tang of horse tack, the distant smoke from the kitchens below, and, when the air was still, the faintest sweetness of roses carried from the gardens.
