I smiled. "Perhaps we’ll have the opportunity to speak like this again."
"I’d like that. Very much."
Then we parted, each retreating into the shadows of our respective corridors. And though my body longed for sleep, my thoughts churned.
I’d walked a dangerous line tonight—too close to the truth, beyond the line of intense feeling and emotion. And I repeatedly found myself wondering what might happen if I told Lance everything.
You can never tell him.I had to force down the ache in my chest at the thought.
Because you know what would follow.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
-ARTHUR-
Igazed toward the lake where the moon was almost as white as her hair.
That haunting silver-white hair…
Guinevere.
As I watched, the moon's glow solidified from mere reflection into something more substantial—the form of a woman. First came the outline—slender yet powerful—then more details emerged: the curve of her shoulders, the proud tilt of her chin, the grace that no mortal woman should possess.
The apparition stood on the water's surface as though the lake were solid ground beneath her feet, ripples spreading outward from where she touched the dark mirror of the water.
I found myself holding my breath, my body tensed as though preparing for battle, though something deeper than fear kept me rooted to the shore. I could not tear my gaze away from this luminous figure who seemed born from moonlight itself.
I watched her approach the sword where it was stuck within the stone, glorious in her nudity. My feet carried me forward as she reached for what was mine alone.
"You shouldn't be here," I called out, my voice echoing across the water. "You're touching something you have no business touching."
She turned, violet eyes meeting mine without fear at the exact moment that she laid her hands on the hilt of the sword and pulled it free from the stone. The sword—Excalibur—gleamed in her grip as though it belonged there, as though my years of kingship meant nothing.
"I am meant to be queen of Logres and Camelot." Her voice was like water flowing over stone—gentle yet unyielding. "The Lady of the Lake foretold as much."
"You are mistaken." I reached for the sword—my sword, the symbol of my divine right to rule. "Return what isn't yours."
But when my fingers brushed against hers, time seemed to slow, and a desire more powerful than any I'd known took root within me.
I pulled her into my arms, reason abandoned as my lips found hers. The sword fell forgotten from her hands as she wrapped her arms around me, fingers digging into my shoulders with surprising strength, as though she too had been waiting for this moment.
I lowered her gently to the shore, the soft grass becoming our bed as moonlight painted her skin like polished marble. Her body gleamed in the silvery light, each curve and hollow transformed into something divine.
Pushing her legs apart with reverent hands that trembled despite my usual iron control, I worshipped her with my mouth, drowning in the sweetness of her cunt as she gasped.
The sound of my name on her lips—not "King" or "Your Majesty," but simply "Arthur"—undid something within me,and I lifted up, centering my cock at her opening. I slammed into her without any hesitation, and she gasped beneath me. Then I began to rut her—each thrust coming harder, faster, shoving into her with everything I had. Her fingers tangled in my hair, alternately gentle and demanding as waves of pleasure coursed through her.
With each tremor that passed through her body, I felt the boundaries between king and servant, between man and woman, between duty and desire dissolving into meaninglessness.
"Who are you?" I whispered to her. "What spell have you cast on me that I can't break?"
The question lingered unanswered in the darkness. Was she Merlin's agent, sent to undermine me? A sorceress working her own designs? Or something I dared not contemplate—a true claimant to what I had built?
"You forget your place, little kingling."
When I looked down at her, my entire body recoiled violently, a strangled cry of horror lodged deep in my throat.
Where moments ago had lain the beauty, now sprawled Blodeuwyn, the withered crone from the forest.
