“—I know many things."
She fell silent then, uncertainty flickering across her delicate features. Her expression toward me carried the weight of wariness—a careful, guarded look that spoke of hard-won wisdom. There was distrust there, yes, but it was the intelligent kind, the sort that kept serving girls alive in courts where knowledge could be as dangerous as a blade to the throat.
And she was right to look at me that way. Right to sense the currents of power that moved beneath my carefully crafted surface. Elenora was merely a guise, one mask among the countless others I'd worn over the years, each one tailored to serve a specific purpose in the grand tapestry of my designs. The frightened servant who whispered secrets in darkened alcoves.The mysterious noblewoman who appeared at tournaments with no clear allegiance. The grieving widow who sought comfort in the arms of lonely knights.
The girl before me shifted nervously, perhaps sensing something of the predator that lurked beneath my pleasant exterior. Good. Fear would keep her honest, keep her useful.
I gave her a moment before prompting gently, “Now. The blood?”
She hesitated, then whispered, “Yes, it’s a woman’s.”
I leaned back slightly, pleasure sparking like lightning beneath my skin. My inclinations had been correct. When I had visited Lioran's dreams, I'd received hints that he might actually be a she, but the visions had never been concrete enough to take as facts. I'd always had the shadow of a doubt. But now I knew. He was a woman. But not just any woman—an incredibly powerful woman. Oh, the implications.
“Is that so?” I breathed, unable to hide my satisfaction. “How... intriguing.”
The girl frowned at my tone but pressed on. “That’s all I learned.” Despite her fear, there was a flicker of resolve behind her eyes. “What will you do—about him?” She glanced back at the door, as though to remind me of whom she spoke.
“Leave that to me,” I said firmly, my tone soft but certain. “For now, keep your head down. Do not draw his notice.”
She nodded. “You’ll keep your word?”
“I always do.” My reply was crisp, final. “Now go.”
She slipped away like smoke, swallowed by the corridor’s shadows. Another pawn removed from the board.
But my thoughts were elsewhere now—fixed on the woman who called herself Lioran. A woman wielding forbidden magic, moving unnoticed through Arthur’s court.
A slow, satisfied smile curved my lips.
Yes.
The tide was turning—and it was turning in my favor.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
-LANCE-
Istood beside Arthur's throne, the picture of the dutiful First Knight, though my stomach churned with quiet disgust.
The Hidden Garden behind the Royal Chapel of Camelot—once a place of prayer and meditation—had become something else entirely.
Banners readingCelebration of Logres’ Fair Maidenshung from the trees, their bright colors mocking the grim purpose behind this gathering. No matter how many times I smiled and welcomed the ladies, I couldn't mask the undercurrent of confusion and fear that saturated the event. Tables sagged under untouched delicacies—honey cakes, roasted pheasant, exotic fruits imported at absurd cost—all for a celebration that was, in truth, a disguised hunt.
Why Arthur had chosen the Hidden Garden was no mystery—it lay at the farthest reach of Camelot's grounds, beyond even the prying eyes of the most audacious courtiers. Only reachable through an ancient, unmarked wooden door nestled into the walls of the chapel, its existence was known to few and used by none now that the chapel had fallen into disuse.
The garden's suitability lay in the hedges—towering and thick around the perimeter. They absorbed sound and sheltered the secrets whispered within. This was a place where discretion could thrive, and today, secrecy was paramount since the event had been framed as an opportunity for Arthur to choose a wife. In reality, the very last thing Arthur desired was for discussions of matrimony to escape the boundaries of the garden, particularly since he had no plans to do anything of the sort. Were such information to reach the nobility, it could ignite a bonfire. The nobles of Logres, notorious for their ambition, would seize any chance to parade their daughters in front of their king—something he sought to avoid entirely.
But there was more to the secrecy. In my mind, keeping his obsession hidden was critical, lest whispers start about the king’s bizarre pursuit. It was already bad enough that he'd ordered the guards to search Camelot more than once. The fewer questions asked, the better.
However, the king's absence during the daylight hours at Camelot necessitated some careful planning. The explanation crafted was that Arthur had taken ill, confining himself to his chambers for the past two days. The only person who had to be included in this charade was Mordred, who acted as Arthur's shadow—never leaving the king's side for more than a few minutes at a time.
We'd fed him the same carefully constructed lie we'd fed the maidens—that Arthur was in search of a wife. Mordred, who had been pressuring Arthur to take a queen for years with the persistence of a colony of ants that keep returning no matter how many times you kill them, was even more delighted than any of the starry-eyed candidates.
However, Mordred's enthusiasm was somewhat tempered by his genuine bewilderment regarding why Arthur wasn't considering a noblewoman.
"Sire, should you not rethink this?" Mordred asked as we stood in the old chapel, which threatened to collapse if the roof caved in. "Perhaps you should consider choosing a lady from one of the established houses—someone who could bring political alliances, substantial dowries, and the kind of strategic marriage that would strengthen the crown's position?"
The fact that Arthur was instead summoning common village girls, dairy maids, and farmers' daughters with nothing to recommend them but their hair color left the usually analytical lord grasping for explanations that simply weren't there.
