"Our arrangement benefits us both," I reminded her, working at the laces of my braies. "Your secret remains safe, and I get what I need."
"Yes, my lord."
My hands pushed roughly at her skirts, bunching the fabric around her waist. I pushed into her without ceremony, grunting at the sensation. This wasn't about pleasure—not hers, anyway. This was about power. About taking what I wanted because I could.
With each thrust, I thought about all the weaknesses I'd exposed over the years, all the secrets I'd uncovered in Camelot, the vulnerabilities I'd exploited. This herb-witch was just another in a long line of tools to be used and discarded when their usefulness ended.
"You're fortunate," I said between breaths, "to have my protection. Imagine what Arthur would do if he discovered Mordred's little apprentice practicing forbidden magic."
She remained silent, enduring with that same distant expression I'd come to recognize. It annoyed me how she could separate herself from what was happening, retreating somewhere I couldn't follow.
-ELENORA-
I leaned against the cool stone wall ten or so steps outside Kay’s chamber, unease curling in my gut. The deep green of my gown pooled around me, soft against the damp corridor’s unforgiving stone. The weight of tonight’s task pressed heavily on my chest—for if my suspicions were correct, what I learned here could shift the balance of power in all of Camelot.
Time dragged. Then, at last, the door creaked open.
Elsbeth emerged, face pale, braid disheveled, relief and fear warring in her expression. When she was out of Kay's earshot or eyesight, I approached her.
“Did you get it?” I asked softly, my voice barely above a whisper—but sharp enough to cut through the quiet.
She froze mid-step, glancing over her shoulder as if Kay’s shadow still lingered behind her.
“I did,” she said.
“And—what did you find?” I advanced a step, closing the distance, eyes locking onto hers. This was no idle question—I had to know if my assumptions were correct—that Lioran was, in fact, a woman.
Elsbeth's gaze flicked nervously down the corridor. Impatience stirred inside me like dark water against stone. Fear could be useful—but too much made a person brittle.
I reached for her trembling hands, feeling the wild flutter of her pulse beneath my fingertips. Gently, I let a thread of magic slip from me to her, soothing her panic without dulling her clarity. The silver scars beneath my sleeves thrummed faintly, warm and alive.
“There now,” I murmured, my voice a silken whisper wrapping around her mind. “Breathe. And tell me what you’ve learned.”
Her eyes widened as my magic settled into her, and then her shoulders slumped as she began to relax. When I withdrew my hands, she clutched her arms to her chest as though trying to hold on to the calm I’d left behind.
“Promise me,” she stammered, her voice trembling. “Promise you’ll make certain Sir Kay never touches me again. He—he sickens me.”
"He touched you?" I asked, anger beginning deep within me.
"More than that. Much… more." Her voice nearly cracked.
I tilted my head, studying her. The fear clung thick as incense to her. I reached out again and took her trembling hands, offering more magical comfort. "There, little dove. He will not touch you again."
I had to forcibly hold back the roaring fire of my anger, the scars on my wrists burning as my magic responded to my fury. How many times throughout the long years had I faced men who mistook brutality for power? How many countless encounters had I endured with those who believed that because they could take what they wanted through force, they somehow deserved to wield dominion over others?
Kay was no different from the rest—another petty tyrant who confused cruelty with strength, who thought that bybreaking something beautiful, he could somehow claim its essence for himself. The thought of his hands on this trembling girl, of him using his position and power to satisfy his base hungers, made the ancient magic in my blood sing with violent promise.
He would pay for this. And he would suffer.
I drew in a slow, controlled breath, forcing the fire back down into the depths where it belonged. Not yet. There would be time enough for Kay to learn the true meaning of powerlessness, but it would be done properly, with forethought rather than rage. The sweetest revenge was always the kind that came wrapped in inevitability, where the victim saw their doom approaching but remained helpless to prevent it.
I faced Elsbeth once more. “Do what I ask, and Kay will never touch you again.”
Relief washed over her face, trembling through her shoulders like an uncoiled spring.
“And your secret,” I added softly, “about Mordred—it will remain safe with me, as well.”
Her eyes widened. “How did you—”
