“Thenspeak,” I snapped. “By the Gods, you are wasting my bloody time!" But then something occurred to me. "You did not breathe a word of this to anyone? You remember our arrangement? Your discretion for mine.”
The threat didn’t need repeating. One whisper from me about her illicit bond with Mordred, and she’d be out of Camelot—or worse—before the sun rose.
She swallowed again, her voice trembling. “I have told no one. Not a soul."
"Then?" I asked in an impatient tone. "What did you find?"
"That the blood, my lord, the blood... it’s not a man’s.”
I stilled, surprise winding a quick path through my body. This was… very interesting. My smile spread slowly and coldly. “Go on.”
Her eyes rose to meet mine, and the fear in them was naked and raw.
“It’s a woman’s blood, my lord.”
My heart kicked hard in my chest. This was better than I’d dared hope. How it was possible, I did not know. The level of magic it would require to assume such a disguise and to wear it day in and day out…
“You’re certain?”
Elsbeth nodded, her breath catching. “I'm certain.” Then she extended the garment to me with reluctance. “I’ve marked the cloth where the magical signature is strongest. It’s… unusual."
I tore the cloth out of her hands and stared down at the small spot of blood. "Unusual how?"
"The water magic is potent, but there’s something more to it. Something old and something very powerful.”
"What is that something?"
She shrugged. "I could not tell, my lord."
I scanned the faint, glowing symbols she’d traced into the fabric, where the blood was the darkest. My mind raced. A woman masquerading as a knight—hiding behind ancient, layered magic? This wasn’t deception. This was treason. I could have Lioran—if that was even truly her name—killed for this.
“You’ve done well,” I said, already calculating how best to weaponize this discovery. “Naturally, you’ll continue to speak of this to no one.”
“Aye, my lord.”
She took a step back, inching toward the door. I let her reach the edge before stopping her.
“You’re not leaving just yet, girl.”
She froze. Her eyes flicked to the door—quick, desperate. A hare caught in a snare. She knew what was coming. She always knew.
This arrangement wasn’t simply about magic or discretion. It was aboutcontrol.
“Come here,” I continued, my voice cold and clipped.
She glanced at her hand, which rested on the door latch as if she could taste escape.
"Now."
Her shoulders hunched forward as she dropped her hand from the latch and turned around, approaching me slowly, each step smaller than the last. Her copper braid swayed against her back, hands clasped like a penitent facing judgment.
“My lord, I really should return to—”
“—to what? Your precious herbs? Your master’s bed?” I laughed, low and sharp. “You’ll leave this chamber when I say.”
(Trigger Warning: skip the rest of this scene if you aren't comfortable reading on)
I grabbed her arm, pulling her toward my bed. She didn't resist—she never did—but the stiffness in her body spoke volumes. I pushed her forward until she fell across the mattress, her simple overgown riding up her thighs.
