"A day, sire?"
He nodded. "When Carlisle or someone similar tests your dedication to your king." His blue eyes locked onto mine with such weight that I stopped breathing for a second or more."When they offer you promises of power, of recognition, of belonging."
He stepped closer. Close enough that I could see the silver threading through the darker strands near his temples, the small scar beneath his left eye.
"I hope," he said quietly, "that you'll make the right decision when the time comes, Lioran."
The unspoken threat hung between us, heavy as iron.Choose me. Or face the consequences.
"My loyalty is to the crown, Your Majesty." The lie tasted like acid on my tongue, but I delivered it with Lioran's unwavering confidence. "Whatever Lord Carlisle may offer will never compare to the honor you've shown me."
"Very good, Lioran," Arthur said as he shrugged off the intense expression he'd just been wearing and started to instruct me once again. "Did you feel the transfer of weight just then?” he asked, motioning to my legs. “Just as water flows around obstacles, your swordplay should do the same.”
That stopped me.Merlinhad once said the exact same thing.
Had Arthur taught him as much? Or had Merlin taught Arthur?
“Tomorrow,” Arthur continued, releasing me, “we’ll work on your footwork and your overall movement." He paused for a moment. "It is fairly clear that you have received much magical tutelage but little actual swordsplay."
And that was true—because Merlin was hardly a warrior. And though Corvin certainly was, I'd only gotten so much practice time with him, owing to all the other students he had to train.
“These techniques,” I ventured, wanting to better understand the warrior side of the man, “they seem... uniquely adapted to my small frame?”
Arthur’s expression darkened slightly. “They are,” he said. “I developed them for someone who was built like you: lithe. Though he was much taller.”
He turned, sheathing his sword harder than necessary.
"Oh?"
He nodded when he turned back to face me. “Someone who once stood at my side. Who I thought always would.”
There was pain there. Old, sharp, and still lurking.
“Another knight?”
His answer was almost a whisper. “No. Not a knight. Someone who chose a different path.”
He turned away, but I caught the name that slipped from his lips like a curse.
“Merlin.”
By the time I made my way to the Great Hall for supper, I was exhausted. A storm had begun earlier and now raged in full. Rain lashed the high windows. Thunder rolled across the towers. I felt every drop like a pulse against my skin, my magic aching to answer the storm’s call.
As I picked at the mostly untouched plate before me, my mind drifted back to the dream that had been haunting me repeatedly—Arthur taking me atop one of the tombs, then calling to the long-dead kings. How was it possible that I had dreamed of Arthur's dragon tattoo long before I ever saw it on his chest? How could I have dreamed of it before knowing it existed?
I tried to dismiss the thoughts, but they clung stubbornly. Was it merely a coincidence that I'd dreamed of Arthur having a tattoo? I wanted to believe as much, to dismiss the dream as nothing more than a flicker of imagination. But the truth buzzed beneath my denial like a thunderous echo. It couldn't have been coincidence. Not when the tattoo in my dream was identical to the real-life version.
The thought settled in my mind like an unwelcome guest, perched with heavy implications. It wasn't within my magic's grasp to foresee such things—not without tapping into something... more. Foresight belonged to seers, not to me. Yet, the image had come to me all the same.
Maybe it’s nothing,I thought, trying to breathe logic into the chaos spiraling within.Not everything holds deeper meaning, does it?
The storm outside danced against the castle walls, and I felt the pull of the rain, a steady thrumming within me that made me want to go outside and revel in it.
Go to the lake.
The thought rose up in my mind unbidden.
Claim what is rightly yours. Excalibur.
