"To what lies beneath these elaborate illusions," I answered as I looked her up and down. "I've always wondered what it would be like to bed a witch."
Revulsion flashed across her features before being quickly suppressed, but I had seen it, cataloged it, and filed it away for future use.
"I am not a witch."
I leaned in closer once more. "You are whatever I tell you you are." She glared at me as I pulled back and smiled, loving that I had her right where I wanted her. "Those are my conditions for now. Undoubtedly, they will change."
"And if I refuse?" Her voice held unexpected steadiness—either courage or desperation, though I suspected the latter.
"Then Arthur will know exactly what manner of creature has infiltrated his precious trials." I leaned in closer oncemore, deliberately invading her personal space, using my size and proximity as another weapon in my arsenal. "Imagine his reaction—not only to discovering a woman masquerading as a knight, but a woman spy, or perhaps you are an assassin?"
"I am neither."
"You may not be aware, but he has grown increasingly paranoid these past years. The Arthur who pulled the sword from the stone might have shown you some level of mercy, but this Arthur?" I let out a low, humorless laugh as I shook my head again. "This Arthur would make a public spectacle of your execution."
Her silence hung between us, heavy with desperate calculations. I could almost hear the frantic beating of her heart, the pulse of a trapped animal considering whether to submit or strike. I didn't give her time to do either. Instead, I outlined my terms with the cold efficiency of a merchant negotiating a contract:
"You will come to my chambers tomorrow evening, present yourself in your true form, and submit to my desires. In exchange, your secret will remain locked within my discretion."
"Have you told—"
"—I have told no one…yet. Your secret is currently safe. What choices you make will decide whether it remains that way." I took a breath. "And don't think of trying to murder or enchant me. I've already written a sealed letter detailing the proof of my suspicions, to be delivered to Arthur should anything happen to me."
The precaution was elementary—I never entered dangerous situations without multiple contingencies prepared. Unlike Arthur, who relied on strength and reputation like a warrior's shield and sword, my power derived from preparation and information.
This woman, whoever she was, was intelligent enough to recognize this as no empty threat.
Fear flashed in her eyes, real and uncontrolled, and my magical sight revealed the deeper truth with perfect clarity. Her greatest weakness wasn't physical vulnerability—it was the desperate need to maintain her place in Camelot, to continue whatever mission had brought her here. That need outweighed even her own personal safety, making her utterly predictable.
"I can see how desperately you need to remain here," I observed, satisfaction warming my chest like fine wine. "Which means you'll do exactly as I say." I stepped back, giving her space to fully absorb the trap that had closed around her. "Until midnight tomorrow. Come to my chambers as your true self—I want the woman, not the illusion."
"You say that, but how do you know you would even be attracted to me? You've never seen me in my true form."
I snickered. "You make a beautiful man—beautiful enough that you have turned Lancelot into a bumbling fool. I can only imagine how much more lovely you are as a woman."
She frowned. "If I do as you say, you won't go to Arthur?"
I nodded. "Do as I ask, and you won't have to worry about Arthur. He won't hear of this from me, so long as I get what I want."
As I turned to leave, her voice stopped me—quieter now but with unexpected steel threading through the softness.
"Why are you doing this?" I turned around to face her and allowed her to continue. "You could report me directly to Arthur, gain his favor for uncovering someone you consider to be a spy." She paused. "Why blackmail me instead?"
The question deserved consideration, if only because it revealed something about how she perceived power and loyalty. I turned back slowly, studying her with genuine curiosity.
"You assume Arthur's approval holds value for me?"
She shrugged. "You're his foster brother. It follows that you should be one of his closest advisors."
Laughter erupted from my throat—short, bitter, devoid of any warmth. "I'm his shadow, girl. The dark necessity he tolerates but never celebrates. The one who handles what his precious honor won't allow him to touch."
The words revealed more than I'd intended, but they served a tactical purpose as well—establishing our shared position as outsiders to Arthur's inner circle despite our proximity to it.
"I have no love for Arthur," I continued, decades of accumulated resentment giving weight to each word. "And I must admit, I find it deliciously fitting that one of his most promising new knights is actually a woman in disguise. The great King Arthur, fooled by what he refuses to see as possible."
Understanding dawned in her eyes—the realization that my motivation extended beyond mere physical desire into something more complex and personally vindictive.
Curiosity stirred within me, genuine and strategic in equal measure. "Why would you risk everything to pose as a knight?" I took a deliberate step closer to her, watching how she controlled her instinct to retreat. Her deception fascinated me—not just the audacity of it, but the skill with which she'd maintained it in a court where men like Arthur and Lancelot missed nothing.
