But it was the runes that caught my attention—carved into the stones beneath my boots. Ancient symbols of focus, clarity, and amplification. This place had been built for magical combatlong beforeArthur had outlawed magic.
Curious,I thought. That the king who banned magic still trained in a place meant to enhance it—for those he favored.
Hypocrite.
Arthur stood at the center of the pristine yard, his sword drawn and gleaming in the filtered sunlight that streamed through the ancient stone archways. He moved with the grace ofa master swordsman, demonstrating a complex series of strikes and parries to Lancelot, who watched with the rapt attention of a devoted student despite being a warrior of considerable skill himself. Perhaps even more skill than Arthur.
The king's voice carried across the enclosed space as he explained some nuance of technique, his words precise and authoritative even in instruction. Sweat beaded along his brow from what I imagined was their earlier sparring, and tendrils of steam rose faintly from his skin.
When they both turned and caught sight of me, their conversation ceased mid-sentence. Arthur lowered his blade, while Lancelot straightened from his attentive crouch, both men fixing me with expressions of welcome recognition.
And gods above and below, they were nothing short of devastating in their masculine beauty—Arthur with his commanding presence and those piercing blue eyes that seemed to see straight through to one's soul, and Lancelot with his dark, rugged handsomeness and that confident smile that spoke of countless victories both on and off the battlefield.
The sight of them together, powerful and magnetic in the golden morning light, sent an unwelcome flutter through my chest that I quickly suppressed. Or, I tried to.
You were sent here to destroythem, I reminded myself.Not to admire them like a cat in heat!
Exactly.
I approached them with measured steps, adopting Lioran’s confident stride, even if my heart was racing. Once Lancelot took his leave, it was just Arthur and me.
"Lioran!" he said, giving me a large smile that indicated he was very happy to see me. As I watched him, he ran a hand towel across his face to sop up the sweat that was covering his forehead and hair.
The sun had climbed a little higher, bathing the training yard in its warmth. Then Arthur gripped the hem of his tunic and slipped it over his broad shoulders before dropping it unceremoniously on the ground.
Faced with his incredible physique, my eyes locked first onto the impressive breadth of his shoulders. Then the contours of his arms, taking in every ridge and valley of muscle that had been earned through years of wielding sword and crown alike. My gaze naturally spilled over his mountainous chest, and… I froze.
There, facing me, was a tattoo that stretched across his pectorals. A tattoo of a dragon. Its tail curled around his ribs while its wings stretched across his shoulders.
It was the same tattoo that had decorated his chest in the dream I continued to have—the one where I met him in the Hall of Lineages, surrounded by tombs. And he… and the long-dead kings…
My chest constricted as if an invisible hand had wrapped around my lungs, squeezing until each breath became a laborious struggle. The air seemed to thicken around me, refusing to flow properly into my lungs. Meanwhile, my heart hammered with such violence that I could feel the pulse thrumming in my temples, my throat, even behind my eyes.
How was it possible that I had dreamed of this tattoo before ever seeing it? The question pounded through my mind. I wasn't a seer. I didn't have abilities that allowed me to see and know things. And yet…
The tattoo was real. I'd seen it in my dreams. And that was a realization I couldn't stomach. Because if the tattoo was real—which it very clearly was—then the dream was not a dream at all, but a vision.
A vision of what? A potential future? Was it possible that…
No, I couldn't allow my thoughts to travel down that particular path, knowing what the dead kings did to me, followed by what Arthur did to me.
"You seem... surprised," Arthur ventured, his voice a low rumble that gripped me and reminded me he was still standing there, watching me, while everything I thought I knew was being ripped from me.
"Oh," I started, screaming at myself to act normally. "Your… tattoo," I pointed out with a forced smile. "I just… didn't realize you had one, my liege."
His expression shifted subtly as he glanced down and then nodded up at me once more. "A dragon in honor of Pendragon."
I swallowed hard, my heartbeat still floundering somewhere in my throat. "Yes. It's… it is very nice, my king."
"Thank you." He eyed me with a strange expression—perhaps because he didn't know what to make of my very odd reaction. He then focused on two training swords that leaned against a post nearby and walked over to retrieve them.
“Sir Lioran,” he continued, nodding. “Your performance in the Duel was... exceptional, and it was surprising.”
I bowed low, grateful for the moment to compose myself, and I forced thoughts of the tattoo out of my mind. I would have to dissect them later. “You honor me, Your Majesty.”
"No doubt, Lancelot has told you I've decided to personally train a handful of knights who have shown promise?"
"Yes, sire, Sir Lancelot did say as much."
