Lance didn’t know I was Merlin’s agent. He didn’t know I was Guinevere.
But he suspected something—and his hands in my hair had said more than words ever could.
“You’re holding something back,” Corvin said softly.
I tensed. Had the water betrayed me somehow? Sometimes the element itself carried emotions through the connection.
I kept my face still. “I’m tired. The trials are taxing. Magic and deception are not easy allies.”
Another truth. Wounded. Masked.
Corvin studied me a moment longer, then gave a faint nod. "Be vigilant," he warned. "Arthur is beyond paranoid. If he suspects your true nature, he won't hesitate to eliminate any perceived threat."
"He doesn't view me as a threat." I paused and took a deep breath. "He's even opted to train me personally. I have him right where I want him."
"Very good, but… be careful, Guin." Then he paused, and we just stared at one another for a few seconds. Then, "It is good to see you."
I felt my tension soften slightly. "It's good to see you too."
"Things haven't been the same here without you." His smile was strangely sad. "There's no one to talk back to Merlin and consistently drive him to want to drink." He paused. "I would add myself to that sentiment as well."
We both laughed, and I was suddenly overcome with nostalgia—a sudden need to be…home, I supposed. Was Annwyn my home? Perhaps it was. As much a home as any place I'd ever lived. But the nostalgia within me wasn't just about returning to Annwyn. It was more—I wanted to see Corvin's face in person. Just to… what? I didn't even know.
The water darkened. The connection broke. I passed a hand over the bowl.
I stood and crossed to the window. Moonlight glazed the courtyard. Beyond the courtyards, beyond the rose gardens,beyond the treeline, the lake shimmered in the distance—flat and cold as a blade.
I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, closing my eyes. I thought of the sword lying beneath its surface. Of the moment I’d pulled it free. Of the moment I’d let it go.
Before that moment, everything had been simple. Clear.
Infiltrate Camelot. Learn Arthur’s weaknesses. Report to Merlin. Wait for further instructions.
Now?
Now I'd pulled the sword that crowned kings. I'd kissed Arthur's champion. And I'd begun to question the war I’d been sent to fight.
And Lance… Lance.
It was just a matter of time before he put the pieces together—that I truly was a woman and the same one the Invisible Stalker had revealed in the forest. My disguise was now hanging by a precarious thread.
I closed my eyes and almost instantly pictured his face—those storm-dark eyes, the way they’d locked on mine in the forest. The weight of his kiss. The heat of it. The feel of him above me.
“What’s happening to me?” I whispered, pressing my palms to my temples.
Three years of training with Merlin had taught me that magic required clarity of purpose. Doubt corrupted it, made it unpredictable, dangerous. Yet here I stood, riddled with doubt about everything—my mission, my loyalties, my own identity.
This could only mean one thing—my walls—the ones I’d spent years building—were cracking. Worse, I was starting to care for Lance. Not as a target. Not as a tool. As a man.
I sank onto the bed, cold with the realization that my feelings were getting in the way of my mission. Emotionalentanglement was death. It risked the mission. The disguise. My life.
“This can’t happen,” I murmured, echoing his voice from the forest.
At the blur of white at my window, I recognized Peep. I strode to it, eager to see my only friend. I supposed Percival was a friend of sorts, but then I rejected the thought. How much of a friend could I be to Percival when he didn't even know my true sex?
My heart lightened at the sight of the owl perched in his usual spot. “Where have you been?” I asked, feeling silly because it wasn't as though Peep understood me.
With a sudden flick of his wings, Peep launched himself from the windowsill and glided into my room. The movement was so unexpected, so unlike his usual habit of remaining outside on his perch, that I froze mid-step. He settled gracefully on the wooden railing at the foot of my bed, his talons gripping the polished surface as though he were used to perching there.
