"Sir Kay," she replied evenly, her voice neither deferent nor defensive. "How may I assist you?"
I gestured toward a nearby alcove, my motion deceptively casual, yet unmistakably commanding. “A private word, if you would. Regarding a matter of… mutual interest.”
Her eyes flicked toward the corridor, calculating. Scanning. For an escape, perhaps? Or simply searching for witnesses? She hesitated—a half-breath too long—then nodded. I started forward, and she followed.
The stone enclave swallowed us, its walls narrow and close. Too intimate for comfort. Ideal for a shared secret.
I didn’t waste time. “I know what you are, girl.” My voice was low and cutting, the kind of whisper that slips beneath armor unnoticed until the bleeding starts.
"I don't," she started, but I shook my head, interrupting her.
“Your disguise may fool the others, but not me. I see weaknesses like other men see faces.”
Her composure faltered for the briefest instant. Not a flinch, but a ripple. The slight widening of her eyes. A shift in her stance—half an inch backward. A warrior’s instinct trying to calculate distance to her door, to escape. It was all the confirmation I needed.
Torchlight licked the alcove walls, throwing flickering shadows across the illusion she wore. Too perfect. Too symmetrical. Her jaw, her cheekbones—crafted rather than born. The magic was masterful, but even the most flawless illusions fracture under scrutiny. I'd always seen the cracks others missed.
“I… have no idea what you could possibly mean by that, Sir Kay,” she said finally, her voice steady—but her pulse betrayed her, fluttering wildly at the hollow of her throat.
“You knowexactlywhat I mean." My tone was colder now. I leaned in. My shadow fell over her, consuming half her face. “The others see what they expect. I don’t. I see the way your fingers hold a blade, the way your hips betray you when your guard is down. I see the weight of a body unused to armor. The calluses that should be thicker. You hide it well—but not well enough.”
She said nothing. But her silence tasted like truth. After another two heartbeats: "That is ridiculous."
My smile curled, sharp and slow. “Do you remember that day we sparred? The day I drew your blood?” I didn’t wait for her to answer. “I had it tested. Magically. The results were very… enlightening.”
She tensed. The muscles in her back, just beneath the false bulk of her shoulders, drew taut.
“Your blood said you were female. And need I tell you, blood doesn’t lie. Even when people do.” I dropped my voice to a whisper. Her instincts forced her to lean in, and I let the moment stretch between us, savoring the upper hand I now held over her. “And impersonating someone you’re not? Embedding yourself inside the king’s inner circle under a false identity? That’s not just deception, my lady." I smiled. "That’s treason.”
The word dropped like a stone in still water. And I saw it—how her throat tightened. How her lips parted slightly before pressing together again in that subtle, infuriating way that screamedrestraint.
“You know what they do to traitors in Camelot?” I continued, close enough now to smell her fear. “Heads roll. Sometimes slowly.”
Her jaw tightened. Her fists clenched at her sides. But she didn’t deny it. Not this time.
“Your weakness isn’t that you’re a woman. It’s that you’re not even who youpretendto be beneath that glamour. You wear a lie on your skin, and another beneath it. The question is—how many layers down do I have to go before I find the truth?”
Her eyes snapped to mine, gleaming with something dangerous.
“I don’t understand your meaning.”
I smiled wider. "I've been investigating your supposed background," I pressed forward, relentless as a hunting hound. "There exists no record of a Sir Lioran from the North. No family history, no previous service, no witnesses to your supposed training."
"I come from humble—"
"—save the farce for someone who believes it. I do not." I let the silence stretch between us, heavy with implication. "You'renot just a woman posing as a man—you’re a spy. The question is, for whom?"
The torchlight threw dramatic shadows across her features, half her face in darkness, half illuminated. I didn't wait for her response, knowing denial would be her first, predictable defense.
"You have two choices," I continued, my voice flat and final as a judge pronouncing sentence. "Deny it, and I go directly to Arthur. Or..."
I didn't finish my statement, allowing her to reach her own conclusions, which were liable to be worse than any I could paint for her.
"What do you want?" The question escaped her lips like a confession, confirming her guilt more effectively than any admission ever could.
Victory tasted sweet on my tongue as I smiled. "For now, I want access."
"Access to what?"
