The way he’d looked at me at the lake. The desire. The need. The pain in his eyes, knowing I’d pulled the sword when he couldn’t. I thought about the way he’d trained me when he believed me to be Lioran, how he’d taken me under his wing even knowing I could be acting as a spy for the Northern Rebellion. The goodness he’d shown to Lance.
In the watery mirror, my own reflection blurred, then blended with Arthur’s face. The magic responded to my deepest emotions, crafting a vision not of war or betrayal—but of hope.
We stood together, side by side.
Me, as Guinevere. Not Lioran. Not hidden.
Arthur looked at me not with fury, not with disappointment—but with understanding. Then he leaned in and kissed me. And behind me, Lance’s arms encircled my waist. He held me as if I were something he’d vowed to protect, not expose.
I knew it was only a fantasy—wishful thinking spun from too many long nights and too much weariness. But as I watched the vision shift and shimmer, something inside me crystallized.
I would tell Lance the truth.
Not tonight. But after the final trial.
The decision formed with absolute clarity—slicing through the fog that had clouded my thoughts for weeks. It settled in my bones like something inevitable. Something earned.
You can’t tell him!The thought roared through me, sharp with panic.If you do, it will mean your death.
Maybe that was true. No, it wasdefinitelytrue. Then I couldn't tell him the truth in person. But that didn't mean I couldn't tell him at all. A letter. Left somewhere long after I, myself, had left Camelot. Yes.
Something had changed in me.Ihad changed. These trials hadn’t just tested my body or my mind. They'd forced me to look inward—they'd revealed how high the cost of this illusion had become. Not just the magical strain, but the loss of self. The loneliness of being no one.
I looked at my reflection in the mirror again. Lookedherin the eyes. My eyes.
"I choose my own path now," I whispered.
The words weren’t loud, but they were irrevocable.
I would tell Lance the truth—in a letter I could leave behind. And then, I would go. Before he had a chance to arrest me. Before Arthur saw the face from his dreams and named it treason.
Where I would go? I didn’t know. I couldn’t return to Annwyn. Not after failing my mission—what was more, I couldn't face Merlin. He'd failed me as a father. He’d sent me here knowing the risks. Knowing I could die. But that hadn't mattered. His vendetta against Arthur had been more important to him than the well-being of his own daughter.
I didn’t want to see his face again.
And that meant I had no home left.
But it didn’t matter.
All I wanted now was freedom.
The word echoed in my chest like a bell—terrifying, vast, andmine.
Freedom.
Not exile, not punishment.Choice.For the first time since I'd fled across the Standing Stones, I wasn't running from something—I waschoosingsomething.
With trembling fingers, I began weaving the illusion of Lioran back into place.
The magic settled over me like an old cloak, familiar but no longer stifling. Lioran’s face emerged in the mirror—stoic, controlled, expected. But beneath it,Iremained.
CHAPTER FIFTY
-LANCE-
Isat alone in my chambers, the goblet of wine beside me grown warm and forgotten.
The feast in honor of the Sacrifice Trial was due to begin any moment. For all I knew, it might already be in full swing. But I was not in the mood for revelry.
