Assassination? Subversion? Spying for Merlin?
If her purpose was regicide... well, that might serve my interests. Though naturally, if she'd come to murder Arthur, the deed would have already been accomplished. And why assume a masculine form? Women wielded far greater influence over men than fellow males ever could. No, assassination didn't align with the evidence thus far.
“Patience,” I whispered, swirling the wine in my goblet. “The sweetest revenge comes to those who wait.”
And revenge would indeed be sweet—against Arthur, who had everything handed to him; against Merlin, who always favored him; against a world that overlooked my talents because I lacked my foster brother's golden destiny.
I tapped my quill against the parchment, eyeing the court diagrams I’d been building for months. I added a new line—an arrow from Lioran to Lancelot. Their bond was… unusual.
“Just how much doyouknow?” I murmured, sketching Lancelot’s crest.
Their interactions required closer study. If Lancelot had discovered her secret and remained silent, he was committing treason by omission. If he remained ignorant but emotionally entangled, his judgment was compromised. Either scenario presented delicious possibilities.
Delicious…opportunities.
I dipped my quill and continued writing in my personal cipher—a complex system I had developed years ago after discovering Arthur's men occasionally searched my quarters. The scratching of nib against parchment filled the quiet room asI documented every suspicious interaction between Lioran and Lancelot, every lingering glance between them.
“Knight by day, woman by night,” I muttered, marking her at the center of the web. “And perhaps Arthur’s end… in either form.”
Unless, of course,heknew too. Perhaps she had bewitched the king, made him her pawn.
But that was speculation.
For now: Lancelot and Lioran.
I would continue to observe them. Push them. Test the seams of their secret. Truth always cracks under pressure. And I would be there when it broke.
I stared at the near-empty parchment, fingers tapping against the worn oak of my desk.
The woman masquerading as Lioran was no ordinary infiltrator. She was an opportunity—one that demanded precision.
Too direct, and she’d vanish. Too subtle, and she’d miss the invitation entirely.
How had she survived the Riddle of Blood?
That trial was meant to strip illusion from bone. Blood magic didn’t care for masks. Lineage, origin, secrets—it unearthed all. And though none of the other knights had known it was coming, I had. For I was in the business of knowing. My ears in Camelot were many.
The Riddle of Blood had been Lioran's biggest gamble, and I couldn’t deny my frayed nerves leading up to it—I did not want her secret unveiled for all to see—especially when I hadn't yet had the opportunity to act on it.
Having secrets in Camelot was perilous. But my secrets? They were wrapped tighter than a dragon’s scales, thanks to certain political favors I had nurtured over the years.
I leaned back in my chair, feeling the chill of cunning satisfaction. Of course, it was good—no, essential—to have allies in high places. Those like Lady Tamsin of Highglen, who owed me a favor after I kept quiet about her dealings with the northern rebels. Just as promised, she had supplied me with a subtle enchantment that had sealed any and all unsavory truths about me.
What Arthur didn’t understand was the value of quiet debts. He wielded might with a heavy sword, always blunt force rather than finesse. He saw alliances through feasts and hailstorms, battle anthems and brute strength. But the power of whispered favors, exchanged in shadowed alcoves over delicate fingers gripping silver chalices—that was my province.
Thanks to those bonds, no spotlight from the trials ever fell on my indiscretions. How foolish the untrained were. To think bleeding shadows could be contained like mere ink.
But as to Lioran and the Riddle of Blood, imagine my surprise when Lioran—or rather, the woman behind him—emerged unscathed. To dodge blood magic’s truth-telling jaws? Impressive. The spell should have scoured her past clean, leaving nothing hidden. Yet there she stood, as whole as she had entered.
Intriguing.
Her art must have run deeper than even I'd presumed, adept at subterfuge as she was in water magic. The thought only cemented her value in this ever-complex game. She was power wrapped in deception, and in that, a potential ally—or, if necessary, an unwitting pawn—to maneuver.
Perhaps even a new kind of threat.
I leaned back, the game board of possibilities sparking across my mind. Each line to Arthur, Lancelot, Merlin, Lioran, Carlisle, and the Northern Rebels represented one more piece in this puzzle. Was Lioran part of the rebellion? It remained tobe seen. Was she sent by Merlin? I did not yet know. Was she connected to Lancelot? I believed so. Were they lovers? Most likely.
I lifted my goblet toward Lioran’s empty markings on my parchment with a dry smile. “Who are you really, and how far will you go?”
