It had beendeliciousleverage. Already, I’d extracted magical knowledge Mordred would never have willingly shared—spells of mental influence pulled from the Prismatic Codex—Mordred's book of spells. Obscure, powerful enchantments, soon to be mine alone—when the time was right, of course.
Always when the time was right.
But now, soon, I would learn the truth about the mysterious knight from the borderlands. The one who’d captured the court’s imagination, and perhaps—if my suspicions were correct—Arthur’s attention as well.
Another thread. Another weakness. Another truth I could twist into a weapon.
Arthur would thank me, of course. When I uncovered whatever deception lay behind Lioran’s shining facade. Or perhaps—better still—if the secret involved Arthur himself—I would find myself with even more leverage. Something I could dangle like a blade over his head.
“Fate will soon reveal Lioran’s weakness—and maybe yours, too, brother,” I said with a laugh.
For that’s still how I thought of him: brother. Though we shared no blood. Fostered and raised together—until fate and that cursed sword lifted him above me. The boy I once shielded now sat on a throne that should’ve been mine.
I turned toward the mirror, adjusting my tunic with methodical care. Everything about me had to project authority, intimidation, fear. What Arthur was born radiating, I had to craft through intent.
My fingers paused on the embossed Pendragon crest at my shoulder. Not mine by blood, only by association. A borrowed symbol. A constant reminder: I was thealmost-brother, the shadow to Arthur’s golden light.
But not forever. Fate had a way of shifting, of changing fortune. And I was due a shift and had been for a very long time.
I glanced over at the door. It did not open. Still, no sign of the girl.
Tension knotted my shoulders, sharp and insistent. Time was running thin. The Hunt Trial was nearly upon us—and with it, another stage for Lioran to win favor. Another step toward replacing me in Arthur’s inner circle.
I needed answersbeforethen.
“Come on, girl,” I growled, pacing again. “What’s taking so fucking long?”
As if summoned by my irritation, the heavy wooden door creaked open at last. I immediately started for it, pulling it open as Elsbeth slipped inside, her composure visibly frayed. I quickly shut the door behind her before giving her my full, irritated attention.
"Where the bloody hell have you been, girl?"
Her copper braid was mussed, eyes wide and darting across the room before finally settling on me. At the expression of hostility in my eyes, she visibly winced.
“Sir Kay,” she whispered, barely audible.
I didn’t move. I simply watched her, noting the way her fingers clutched the bloodstained fabric with white-knuckled desperation. Her hands trembled. Beneath her usual earthy scent, I caught the sour tang of fear.
“You’re late,” I said flatly. “I expected results days ago.”
“I—I’m sorry, my lord.” She swallowed and refused to look at me, just hunched into herself, standing there like a trembling little mouse. “The blood... resisted all standard forms of divination.”
That caught my interest and my disappointment. I stepped forward slowly, circling her like a wolf sizing up wounded prey. “Resisted how?”
“It’s protected.” Her voice was thin, uneven. “By powerful magic. The kind Lord Mordred warned me never to tamper with.”
“And yet,” I murmured, circling behind her, maintaining a few inches of space between us, “you tampered, as instructed.”
She nodded, miserably. “I did.”
“And?”
She hesitated. Her gaze dropped even further to the floor.
That single motion told me everything I needed to know—she hadn’t uncovered anything useful. I felt a flare of fury ignite behind my sternum, and it was everything I could do not to reach out and smack her across the face.
“You came empty-handed?” I snarled.
“No,” she said quickly, shaking her head, clearly afraid of displeasing me. “I found something. Just—it's only one thing.”
