His boots were dusted from earlier rides, his sword hanging easily at his hip, the leather scabbard worn smooth from use. No crown adorned him; only the wind combed through his hair as if it, too, recognized its king. He was incredibly handsome.
Gods, what sort of person was I? Only yesterday, I'd melted against Lance, my body singing beneath his touch, my mouth eager for more. Now here I stood, heart hammering at the meresight of Arthur astride his horse, sunlight transforming him into something out of legend.
My enemy. The tyrant I'd been sent to destroy.
I was getting soft.
And I hated it.
Hated how my pulse quickened. How my breath caught. How my fingers itched to trace the hard line of his jaw, to discover if the muscle beneath felt as solid as it looked.
Disgust twisted in my gut. Lance's kiss still burned on my lips. And yet, twenty-four hours—not even a full day later—I was cataloging Arthur's features like a lovesick fool, drinking in the sight of him the way a starving woman eyes a feast.
I was supposed to be focused. Disciplined. Merlin would be ashamed. Corvin would be ashamed.
Iwasashamed.
“Sir Lioran,” Arthur said, his voice pulling me from the storm of my thoughts. “Ride with me.”
It wasn’t a request.
I nodded and turned at the sound of hooves, watching as a stable boy brought Shade out to meet me. I was more than glad to see her and gave her a good pat down.
“She's a fine-looking mare,” Arthur said.
"Thank you, my liege," I answered with a smile as I mounted Shade and followed Arthur from the training yard.
We passed through the castle's outer bailey, our horses' hooves ringing against the worn cobblestones that had witnessed centuries of royal processions. Guards in gleaming gold and red armor straightened at our approach. They stepped aside with crisp military precision, their eyes following Arthur with the kind of reverence reserved for legends made flesh.
The massive iron portcullis groaned upward as we neared the eastern gate, its ancient mechanisms protesting. Above us, the stone archway bore Arthur's dragon insignia carved deepinto the weathered granite—a reminder to all who passed beneath that they traveled under the protection and authority of the King.
As we cleared the gate's shadow, I felt the subtle shift that always accompanied leaving Camelot's walls. The oppressive weight of centuries-old stone and accumulated power lifted from my shoulders, replaced by the wild, untamed energy of the countryside beyond. Here, Arthur's magic felt different—less contained, more primal, as if the land itself responded to his presence.
Arthur set a brisk pace, his back straight, shoulders squared beneath his crimson cloak. I kept a respectful distance behind him, watching how the rising sun caught in his hair, bringing out strands of silver among the dark gold.
We entered Thornhallow Forest, and soon the hush of the woods descended on us, ancient and quiet. Light filtered through in flickering patches, like secrets whispered by the trees. We rode for ten or so minutes, deeper and higher, until the trees began to thin.
Arthur remained silent throughout our journey, his profile regal and unreadable as he navigated the trails with the confidence of someone who knew these woods intimately.
Finally, he slowed Cabal to a measured walk, then to a halt. A clearing opened before us like a hidden sanctuary—an overlook perched high above the sprawling valley that stretched endlessly toward the horizon. Thick fog curled languidly along the valley floor, blurring the boundaries between earth and sky, reality and dream. Through this veil, in the very far distance, the dark shapes of the Standing Stones pierced upward through the cloud cover.
It then dawned on me how far I truly was from Annwyn. I had ridden a very long way.
Arthur dismounted without a word.
I followed, boots crunching softly on moss. We were alone. No guards. No courtiers. Here, away from the watchful eyes of his court, with nothing but rolling hills and ancient trees as witnesses, Arthur seemed both more dangerous and more human than ever before.
“I come here,” he said, quiet now as he turned to look at me, “when the crown gets too heavy.”
He stood still, turning to look out at the valley below, a gentle breeze stirring his hair.
"It's beautiful," I admitted.
“This is the only place in Logres where you can see both realms clearly." His voice was quieter than I’d ever heard it. "All of Logres and Annwyn in the distance."
He stared toward the border, and for a moment the crown slipped—not from his brow, but from his expression. The king gave way to the man.
“I wonder sometimes what might have been. If Merlin had remained here. If we’d found another way.” He glanced at me. “Have you ever wondered the same?”
