Arthur wasn't given the chance to respond (not that he wanted to anyway) when the latest group of wide-eyed girls shuffled into the chapel through the garden, escorted by guards who had “invited” them from their villages. Even as the invitations had made it clear that all available maidens should attend, Arthur had sent guards just to make certain they did.
Once they arrived on Camelot's grounds, the women and their chaperones were ushered into the Old Falconry Tower, which had been abandoned for many years. There, the women were separated into those with fair hair and those without. The latter half was immediately excused to return to their villages. Those with the hair color Arthur sought were now entering the garden, though their chaperones had been informed to stay behind.
As for the women, some appeared to be excited and thrilled at the prospect of becoming the king's queen; others were stiff with unease. None understood they were being paraded as potential prey.
Once the line of girls was paraded before him, he turned his irritated expression to me.
“She is not among them," he muttered, barely controlling his disappointment and anger. "How many more?”
“These are the last from the western provinces,” I replied, keeping my tone neutral. “Only the northern villages remain.”
This morning we had seen all those from the eastern and southern provinces. It had been a very long day, to say the least.
“Then send them in.”
As soon as this newest set of women was paraded before him, his gaze swept over them with the vigor of a hungry predator. Hundreds of pale-haired daughters—milkmaids, farmers’ girls, merchants' daughters, weavers—had passed before him already. Yet none was the woman he was seeking.
Arthur's attention settled on one of the girls in the procession—a pretty young thing with delicate features who trembled visibly as Arthur's piercing gaze fixed on her. He instructed the guards to escort the rest of the maidens out.
As for the girl remaining, she couldn't have been more than eighteen, with hair that gleamed like spun silver in the light. For a moment, I saw Arthur lean forward slightly, that familiar spark of desperate hope igniting in his eyes as he took in her pale locks.
"Look at me, girl."
When she lifted her head to meet his stare, her eyes were revealed to be a rich brown—not the vibrant violet he sought. The disappointment hit him obviously, his jaw tightening as the flame of possibility was snuffed out once again.
With a sharp, dismissive wave of his hand, Arthur gestured for her to be removed. The girl stumbled backward as a guard gripped her by the arm so she wouldn't fall over. Relief and confusion warred across her young face as the guards gently but firmly guided her back out of the chapel, along with all the rest of them. The flicker of hope that had briefly animated Arthur's expression had already faded, replaced by the cold mask of controlled fury that had become his default countenance during these fruitless searches.
I had watched this happen too many times to count—each girl summoned, examined, and discarded when she failed to be her.
I leaned back against the nearest pillar with a growing mix of concern and doubt. With every girl dismissed, Arthur came no closer to finding his fair-haired siren. And yet, with every new arrival, I saw it—that flash of hope in his eyes. And every time, I watched it dim again.
He was tormenting himself. And worse? I wasn’t certain she was even real. Perhaps shewasa hallucination—born from an overwhelmed mind that was slowly losing its sanity, owing to the dragon. Perhaps this woman was nothing more than a phantom conjured by a desperate man.
The air was growing heavy, thick with Arthur’s desperation. I could feel it pressing down on us, a storm building with no release. He was unraveling, and I feared what lay at the end of this path. The king I had sworn to protect was now chasing a ghost.
The moment the chapel door closed behind the last woman, Arthur's mask shattered.
“Damn it!” He slammed his fist into the arm of his throne.
"Did none of them appeal to him?" Mordred whispered to me.
I shook my head. "It would appear not."
"It is just as well," Mordred continued, nodding. "It's inconceivable, really—a king marrying a commoner."
I glanced at Arthur, who was now drumming a tense rhythm on the throne's armrests as his chest rose and fell with heavily contained ire.
Mordred did not seem to notice. "I shudder to think what the court would say—let alone the noble families who've so graciously presented their daughters for the king's consideration over the years."
I folded my arms, keeping my voice steady. "I don't believe now is a fitting time for this discussion, Mordred."
"The king must think of his kingdom," Mordred continued. "A king without a wife raises too many brows. Perhaps we should parade the ladies through the hall again?" Then he paused, tapping his long fingers against his chin. "But I admit, I keep returning to my previous point: would it not be a better pursuit to find a woman of a higher caliber?"
"I believe the king has had enough—"
"—surely if none of these golden-haired creatures have captured the king's interest, he might consider the likes of Lady Adeline Caradoc?" Mordred shook his head and began pacing. "Her fiery hair is quite pleasing to the eye—it's as red as a cherry, as I understand." He paused and appeared to be deep in thought for a moment. "Of course, there is her rather large nose to contend with."
"Mordred—" I glanced over at Arthur, who resembled a volcano about to erupt.
