We turned our horses back toward Camelot, twilight thickening around us. I watched Arthur’s posture—tense, unyielding. His jaw clenched tight in that familiar way that meant he’d already made up his mind—he would not divorce this poison in his mind. He would continue to do everything he could to find her, to see her again, to claim her.
As we emerged from the trees, Camelot came into view—its towers silhouetted against the darkening sky. But it looked different now. Less like a beacon of hope, more like a fortress bracing for war.
What would I do if Arthur found her? If he commanded me to arrest—or kill—her based on nothing more than obsession? Or if he planned to do the dirty deed himself? Would I allow him to go through with it—to murder an innocent woman, one chosen by Excalibur? The oath I’d sworn bound me to my king—my friend. The man who had lifted me out of obscurity and given me purpose. But that oath had been to the Arthur who embodied justice and mercy.
Not this shadow he was becoming. And certainly not to the dragon within him.
We dismounted in the courtyard. Arthur clasped my shoulder, his grip firm.
“I can always count on you, Lance,” he said, his eyes locking onto mine. “When the moment comes—and it will—I’ll need you beside me.”
I nodded. “Always, my king.”
But as he walked away, disappearing into the torchlit halls, I remained in the courtyard, staring after him.
For the first time in my life, I wasn’t certain I could keep that promise.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
-GUIN-
As I broke my fast in the common hall, a page in royal livery approached, his expression stiff with protocol.
“Sir Lioran,” he said with a formal bow, “His Majesty requests your presence at the private training grounds at the tenth bell.”
Conversations around me faltered. Several knights turned, curiosity on their faces.
“Theprivatetraining grounds?” I repeated, certain I’d misheard. That space was reserved for Arthur’s inner circle, a place where only the king and his most trusted companions trained.
“Yes, Sir Lioran.”
“I see.” I kept my voice level, though a sudden tightness coiled in my chest. I could only hope this had nothing to do with Arthur's line of questioning earlier—about the woman who had pulled the sword from the stone. But then I remembered Lancelot mentioning something about Arthur wanting me to be trained specifically by one or both of them, and I calmed down. Just a bit.
Could that be the reason why? Or was it something else entirely?
When I'd been summoned the day before for the maiden festival (which wasn't really much of a festival at all, considering no one had been told about it, and it had been held in a very strange location for a festival), I was nervous. And when I'd witnessed a trail of light-haired women leaving the ruins of what had once been a chapel, I didn't know what to think.
But nothing could have prepared me for the questions Arthur had thrown at me once I'd walked into the chapel. I'd immediately realized I'd been too careless with my magic at the Duel Trial. Of course, Arthur would have recognized the mist that had obscured Balan! It was the same mist that had hidden me at the lake. The only difference? The mist I'd created to thwart Balan had come from my own magic. The mist at the lake? I still didn't know where it had come from. All I did know was that I hadn't created it myself, or if I had, I hadn't done so consciously.
“Please inform His Majesty that I am honored by the invitation,” I told the page once I realized he was awaiting my response.
The man bowed and departed.
Percival leaned close, his voice low. “This isn’t just praise, Lioran. This is recognition.”
-GUIN-
When the tenth bell tolled, I stood before the iron gate that marked the entrance to the private yard, each chime hammering in time with my heartbeat.
Two of the King’s Guard flanked the gate—standing there silently in red and gold. Their dragon-crested armor gleamed in the morning sun like blood on burnished treasure. Their gazes swept over me with disinterest.
“Sir Lioran," the one closest to me said, stepping aside. "The king awaits you.”
I gave him a nod of thanks and stepped through the gap between them, careful to mask the tension in my stride.
The training yard lay at the heart of Camelot's innermost defenses—a quiet sanctuary of stone and sunlight that felt worlds away from the chaos of the more public training grounds I'd grown accustomed to. Here, smooth flagstones of pale granite had been fitted together, each stone gleaming like mirrors beneath the morning sun. The surfaces bore no scuffs or gouges from countless practice sessions, nor churned earth stained with sweat and blood. This was not a place where common soldiers honed their craft.
High walls of weathered stone enclosed the space on all sides. Carved niches held statues of ancient warriors, their marble faces bearing expressions of stern concentration. Climbing vines with small white flowers had been carefully cultivated to frame each alcove, adding touches of natural beauty to the otherwise austere military atmosphere.
