The question stunned me—its honesty, and that he’d asked it of me, a knight he barely knew. Someone so far beneath him. Perhaps this was a test?
“I imagine such thoughts weigh heavily on any king,” I said carefully.
Arthur gave a dry laugh. “Diplomatic, Lioran. But I asked whatyouthought—not what you think I want to hear.”
I looked out across the valley and took a deep breath. “I think,” I said slowly, “that great men create great divides—when they can’t reconcile their visions. And the land bears the cost.”
Arthur turned to me, his blue eyes searching mine. "You speak as though you've witnessed such divisions before."
“Haven’t we all?” I replied with a shrug, trying to cover myself if I'd said too much. “Every village has its factions. Every family has its feuds.”
“Yes, I suppose that is true."
Arthur stood at the cliff’s edge, a silhouette of steel and solitude. Without crown or ceremony, he looked younger. Not lighter—just… less guarded.
“When I was a boy of sixteen or so, Merlin brought me here. Just after I'd pulled the sword from the stone… Excalibur.” His voice carried no bitterness. Only memory. “Merlin said a good king must see beyond his own walls. That our realm doesn’t exist in isolation.”
The irony wasn’t lost on either of us—Merlin’s lesson, now shadowed by a brewing war that everyone was certain was on the horizon.
“Do you miss it?” I asked, too quickly. “The time before you and Merlin became enemies?”
Arthur glanced at me sharply, then his expression softened as a sigh escaped him.
“More than anyone knows.” He picked up a stone and tossed it into the mist. “We built Camelot together. His magic. My sword. Our vision.”
I followed his gaze toward the Standing Stones. Home. Or what had become home in the last three years.
“What changed?” I asked, knowing I shouldn’t, but I couldn't seem to stop myself.
“We both believed we were right.” He paused and then chuckled without humor, shaking his head. “That’s the most dangerous kind of certainty.”
I said nothing. There was nothing to say. Instead, I felt a strange sort of empathy for Arthur. He just seemed… lonely somehow. Lost.
“Do you know why I outlawed magic, Lioran?"
I shook my head. "No, sire."
"Have you ever wondered why?"
"Yes, sire."
"Then I shall tell you. Have you heard of the town of Eldenvale in the North?”
I nearly choked on my own tongue. “No, sire,” I lied, my heart now pounding in my chest.
“That's not surprising, for it’s gone.” He paused. “Burned to the ground.”
I was suddenly afraid of where this conversation was headed, but I schooled my expression. Pretended who and what I was playing at. Maintained my role.
"Eldenvale was a farming village," he continued. "Perhaps home to three hundred people—small by most people's standards." He paused again and kicked a rock with the toe of one boot. "Gone now."
He crouched, plucking a wildflower, and rolled the stem between his fingers.
"What happened to it?"
He looked back at me and gave me a sad smile. “There was word of a witch living there."
The flower crumbled in his hand. Dust on the wind.
