"If only Arthur knew that you were standing here at this exact moment, in my bedchamber," Kay continued, his voice a silken trap that tightened around me with each carefully chosen word. There was something almost reverent in his tone, as if he were savoring this moment like the finest wine.
"Arthur doesn't even know who I am." The words escaped before I could stop them, because the last thing I wanted to do was willingly offer information. No matter how trivial it might seem, who could predict what chaos it might unleash in Kay's grasp? The wine and whatever herbs he'd dosed it with were making my tongue loose.
Kay's smile sharpened into something predatory and knowing. Cruel. Certain. Like a blade finding its mark. "Doesn't he? The white-haired ghost he's torn his kingdom apart to find? The phantom woman who haunts his dreams and drives him to madness?" His voice dropped to a whisper that seemed to echo in the confines of his chamber. "Oh, but I think he knows exactly who you are, girl."
Heat flashed through me—part anger, part fear, part something I couldn't name. "He doesn't know whosheis,"I snapped, my voice rising despite my attempts to maintain control. "He doesn't know the realme." The distinction felt crucial somehow, even through the fog clouding my thoughts.
"Well, of course he doesn't. That's the point, isn't it? The fool believes you to be a male knight. He has no idea who you really are."
That hadn't been my point. But now, as the wine continued to work against my mind, I couldn't recall what my point had been. Perhaps it was something about Arthur’s obsession with the white-haired woman—some lake-born vision. Not the woman who now stood in the shadows of Kay’s chamber, cornered and compromised. It was true—Arthur didn't know me at all. The only person who had really begun to know me was Lance.
No. Lance only knows Lioran—one of your many lies.
And at the thought of Lance and his kind smile, the way his eyes crinkled at the ends when he looked at me, the gentleness he'd shown me… I suddenly wanted to cry.
Kay's eyes narrowed, a predatory gleam sharpening his gaze as he took a deliberate step closer. "Tell me who you are." His voice dropped to a silky purr, the false gentleness more threatening than any shout could be. His fingers brushed against my cheek, a mockery of tenderness that made my skin crawl.
"I am no one." I forced steel into my voice despite the herbs working through my system, making my thoughts swim and my magic recede like a tide pulling away from shore. I straightened my spine, refusing to cower even as I could feel dizziness beginning to overcome me.
Kay laughed, the sound cutting through the heavy air between us. "You are hardly no one, girl, if you made it this far." His gaze traveled down my body, assessing rather than desiring. "You are clearly someone with considerable skill and resources behind you."
"I am not."
But he wasn't fooled. "What is your name?"
His hand moved to my throat, not squeezing but resting there—a reminder of how easily he could silence me permanently if he so chose. In my present condition, where I needed to grasp one of his bedposts for support and was stripped of my magical abilities, I was completely defenseless.
"My name," I started, and then felt as if I might be sick as a wave of vertigo overcame me. The floor beneath me seemed to tilt and sway like the deck of a ship caught in a storm. Black spots danced at the edges of my vision, and I could feel cold sweat breaking out across my forehead. I stumbled backward and reached out blindly to steady myself against the mattress, feeling like I might vomit. The room started to dissolve around me.
"Finish what is in your goblet and tell me your name."
Kay's voice seemed to come from far away, echoing strangely as though we stood in a vast cavern rather than in his chambers. His face swam before me, features blurring and reforming, his predatory smile the only constant.
"I... can't finish it." The words were thick and clumsy on my tongue. My stomach lurched violently, bile rising in my throat. "I feel... sick."
"I must have given you too bloody much." He reached out to take my goblet before I dropped it. I pressed my palm against my mouth, fighting the urge to retch as the room continued its relentless spinning.
"Blast!" Kay slammed both goblets down onto the tabletop with such force that the wine inside sloshed over the rims. Droplets of deep crimson spattered across the polished oak surface, forming tiny constellations.
"Disrobe," he commanded, his voice dropping to a silken purr that carried more menace than his previous shout.
I could see the cold satisfaction spreading across his face as I reluctantly began to fumble with the fastenings of my tunic. But my fingers felt like lead weights, clumsy and uncooperative, betraying me as thoroughly as the drugged wine had. The simple laces that I normally undid without thought now seemed incredibly complex, each small movement requiring intense concentration as the room continued its nauseating tilt around me.
Kay watched my struggles with the patient cruelty of a cat observing a wounded bird, his thin lips curling upward at the corners in the ugliest of smiles. His gaze traveled slowly across my trembling fingers, drinking in each fumbled attempt with obvious satisfaction, a connoisseur appreciating a particularly fine vintage of suffering.
"Such delicate hands for a knight." His voice was barely above a whisper. "Strange how they fail you now."
I could see the calculation behind his eyes—the way he weighed and measured my vulnerability, storing away each moment of weakness like a miser hoarding gold coins.
Soon, impatience overcame him. With three swift strides, he crossed the space between us, his shadow falling over me like a physical weight. Before I could react, he was on me, gripping the tunic in both hands. The fabric, which had withstood countless training sessions, surrendered instantly to his fury as he ripped it in half with a sound like distant thunder, exposing my breasts to the cool air of the chamber.
And then his hands were all over them, pinching and touching with abandon as his eyes devoured my exposed flesh. His fingers explored each of them, alternating between bruising pressure and mocking gentleness. Each touch sent waves of revulsion through me as his eyes gleamed with malicious triumph, drinking in my humiliation with obvious glee. His breathing grew heavier, ragged with excitement as he continuedhis invasive examination, seemingly entranced by the power he now wielded over me.
"Tell me again how Arthur has never had you."
I was afraid that if I opened my mouth, I’d vomit. So, I said nothing.
Kay pulled his attention from my breasts to look into my eyes. "Tell me."
