His frame, which had seemed so threatening when looming over me, now appeared fragile and vulnerable in the pale light filtering through the chamber windows. Gone was the veneer of control, the careful composure he maintained at court. What remained was simply a man stripped of every pretense, standing in the wreckage of his own making.
The contrast was so absolute, so complete in its thoroughness, that I found myself staring despite my better judgment. This was Sir Kay of Caer Cadarn, Arthur's foster brother, feared throughout Camelot for his cutting remarks and merciless observations. The man who could identify weakness in anyone with a single glance now stood as the embodiment of weakness itself, covering his cock with both hands.
Then, as we watched in stunned silence, the acrid smell of urine filled the air—sharp and unmistakable in the confined space of the chamber. A dark stain spread slowly down his pale,trembling legs, the warm liquid trickling in rivulets. It pooled at his bare feet, where his dignity had already shattered into a thousand irreparable fragments.
His body had betrayed him completely—fear overriding every last scrap of control, every carefully constructed wall of composure crumbling in an instant. The man who had built his reputation on identifying weakness in others, who wielded shame like a blade, now stood as the very embodiment of everything he despised.
The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the soft drip of liquid hitting stone and the harsh sound of his labored breathing. Even the ever-present sounds of the castle—distant voices, footsteps in corridors, the clatter of servants about their duties—seemed muted, as if the walls recoiled from witnessing such complete degradation.
He started to lean down toward the crumpled fabric of his braies pooled around his ankles, his movements slow and deliberate as if trying to salvage some fragment of his lost composure. But before he could grasp the material, before he could even begin the process of covering himself and reclaiming what little dignity remained, Elenora shook her head. The gesture was small, almost casual, but it carried the weight of absolute command.
"No, you'll remain exactly as you are."
The flush that crept up his neck was immediate and violent, crimson flooding his face, a mottled combination of shame so deep it seemed to burn from within and rage so impotent it had nowhere to go. His hands trembled—whether from humiliation or fury, I couldn't tell. Perhaps both. But he dropped the material of his braies and stood up once more.
The predator who had cornered me, who had tried to force himself on me, now stood before us as nothing more than a frightened, soiled man. The reversal was so complete, soabsolute, that for a moment I felt something almost like pity stirring in my chest.
Almost.
Elenora's laugh was long and pointed. He tried to straighten, tried to gather the scattered pieces of his dignity, but standing there—half-naked, trembling, broken—he had no dignity remaining. The predator had been declawed.
“This changesnothing,” he spat. His voice wobbled, caught somewhere between rage and desperation.
Then his gaze shifted, landing on me with the weight of a blade. His eyes narrowed—not with the crude lust that had burned there moments before, but with something worse. Strategy. Calculation. The look of a cornered animal that had just discovered its claws weren't completely gone after all.
The change was immediate and chilling. Where there had been humiliation and rage, now there was cold purpose. His trembling hands steadied, his breathing evened, and that mottled flush of shame began to fade as something else took its place. A promise.
He turned back to face Elenora. "You think you know everything, but you do not!"
"Is that so?" Elenora's response came with a lilt in her tone—curious, almost amused, as if she were watching a particularly entertaining performance. But I caught the subtle shift in her posture, the way her fingers flexed slightly at her sides.
He nodded and motioned to me with his chin. "Feast your eyes upon Sir Lioran. The king’s beloved new knight is afraud.Awoman.A spy in our midst.” He smiled. “One word from me… and she burns at the stake for treason against the crown.”
Elenora didn’t hesitate. Her voice dropped to a silken whisper—low, cold. "There will be no word from you, Kay. Not now, not ever. Because Lioran is under my protection."
But he didn't back down. "One word from me, andyou bothwill burn as the witches you are."
Elenora laughed as she shook her head. “Do not forget,SirKay, I knowyoursecrets. All of them.”
Her smile curved—sharp and knowing.
"What secrets—"
“—I know about every serving girl you've cornered in darkened corridors. Every scullery maid you threatened into silence. Every lady-in-waiting you blackmailed into your bed.” She moved closer to him, her eyes gleaming, as he took a few steps back, nearly tripping over his soiled braies. “And if memory serves, did Arthur not decree that any man who forces himself upon a woman—especiallywithin his castle—would face the severest punishment?” Her smile widened.
"You think—
"—that is in addition to the secrets I've witnessed in your dreaming mind—every blood-soaked fantasy where you've plunged your dagger into Arthur's back and placed his crown upon your own head. Every dream where you imagined yourself seated on his throne, his loyal knights bending the knee to you instead." Her voice dropped even lower, almost hypnotic in its rhythm. "I've walked through the landscape of your sleeping thoughts, Kay. I've seen how meticulously you've planned each betrayal."
She glided closer, and I could see sweat beading on Kay's forehead despite the evening chill.
"Add that to this particular secret," she continued, her fingers gesturing toward me with deliberate slowness, "that you've discovered and coveted for yourself what the king has spent considerable resources searching for... the one woman he wants more than any other." Her lips curved into a dangerous smile. "How do you suppose your beloved foster brother would react to such news? That while he searched for her high andlow, you found her—and then tried to use this discovery for your own advancement rather than bringing it to his attention immediately?"
She leaned in even closer. "My reach extends into every shadowed corner of this castle, every servant's passage, every noble's chamber. The walls themselves whisper to me. Nothing—not a single breath or whispered word—happens within these stones without eventually reaching my ears." Her eyes glittered like polished gems. "So then, shall we compare secrets, Kay? A fair and open exchange between equals? Or would you prefer we keep our respective knowledge... carefully contained?"
His nostrils flared. “It’s my word against yours. And the word of a whore means nothing.”
“Perhaps. But treason? That’s a different matter.”
