"I have noticed your popularity, though I imagined you were spoken for by Lancelot."
"Lance well plays the part of the courtly rake—a collector of hearts he never intends to keep," she laughed, the sound richwith genuine amusement. "He's a man whose affections wander as often as his blade, and he would never tie himself to just one woman. He enjoys variety far too much for exclusivity."
"I see."
"But I don't want to talk about Lance. I want to focus on you." She took another step closer, eliminating what little space remained between us. Her breath was warm against my face, smelling faintly of wine and something sweeter—honeyed fruit, perhaps.
I froze, every muscle locked tight.
Her gaze dropped to my mouth, and panic flared through me. What was I supposed to do? If I pulled away too abruptly, would she wonder why? If I let her kiss me… Oh, Gods, I didn't want her to kiss me.
Before I could form another thought, she reached for my hand with deliberate slowness, as if savoring my obvious discomfort. Her fingers wrapped around mine with surprising strength—not the delicate touch of a court lady, but something more purposeful, more predatory. She then guided my palm upward with inexorable determination and, untying her kirtle, placed my hand inside it, directly against the soft warmth of her breast. Then she held it there with her own.
The intimate contact sent shockwaves through my entire body, and my heart started hammering so loudly I was certain she could hear it echoing in the stone alcove around us. Every instinct screamed at me to pull away, to flee, to do anything but stand there frozen like a deer before a hunter.
I could feel her heartbeat beneath my fingertips—steady, controlled, completely at odds with the frantic racing of my own pulse. Her eyes never left mine, watching, cataloging every expression that crossed my face.
"You must know," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper but somehow more commanding than a shout, "that youcould have me. Right here, right now. I've made myself available to you since you arrived, Sir Lioran. Yet you've shown no interest whatsoever."
I stood there, hands pressed against her breast, her nipple hardening, while my mind raced through a thousand scenarios regarding how to escape, including simply leaping over the parapet to certain death.
"Why is that?" she pressed, her voice still soft but edged with something harder. "What makes you so different from the others?"
My pulse hammered beneath where her hand rested. "I…"
Gods, what the fuck was I supposed to say? I didn't want to offend her, but I also didn't want her to start gossiping about things that might come back to bite me.
"Aren't you the least bit curious?" she purred against me.
The wind picked up, carrying with it the distant sounds of revelry. Below us, Camelot celebrated, and I wished I'd never left.
She started to lift the hem of her gown, and realizing where this was now headed, I panicked. Withdrawing my hand from her breast, I pulled back so hard I nearly tripped over my own feet and then started forward, actually tripping over hers. I had to steady myself against the parapet.
"I—I'm sorry, but I… I must be going."
I didn't wait for her response. Without another word, I strode toward the stairs leading down from the tower, my boots echoing against the stone with each hurried step I took.
The cool night air that had felt so refreshing moments before now seemed to mock me as it whipped around my retreating form. Behind me, I could sense her watching; I could practically feel the weight of her gaze boring into my back as I fled like some green boy who'd never been propositioned by a woman before.
Which, in a way, wasn't entirely untrue.
-KAY-
I paced the length of my chamber, each step echoing against stone worn smooth by years of midnight deliberation.
The lone candle on my desk guttered in a draft, fitting company for my restless thoughts.
“Where the bloody hell is she?” I muttered, irritated beyond reason by the girl’s delay.
I’d given her my tunic spattered with Lioran’s blood days ago—four, to be exact. Why in all the gods’ names was it taking her so long to return with answers? Yes, I'd tried to break the magical imprints myself, but I lacked the kind of raw, practical magic necessary for such things.
So I’d turned to my usual web of castle connections. They had never failed me.
A smile tugged at my mouth as I recalled the night I'd followed the Royal Archmage’s apprentice—Elsbeth, the copper-haired herbalist with too much confidence for a mere servant. I’d noticed how she moved, how Mordred’s eyes trailed her at court. It wasn’t hard to guess why.
I'd assumed he was bedding the girl. And oh, how that assumption had rewarded me. It was perhaps a night or two later that I'd found them together in the eastern tower—cloaked in shadow, tangled in one another. Not just an apprentice and her master, but lovers locked in breathless abandon. The noble, untouchable Mordred rutting the little herb-witch like a stable boy.
“The spider caught in his own web,” I'd whispered to the flickering dark as I pulled back into the recesses of shadow,neither of them aware that I'd overseen them in their most defenseless hour.
