She'd said my name again. This time intentionally.
My hands moved to her shoulders, fingers digging into the thin fabric of her shift. The heat of her skin burned through the linen, searing into my palms. I wanted to push her down onto the bed, spread her thighs, and drive myself so deep inside her she'd forget every lie she'd ever told.
"Don't." The word came out rough, scraped raw from my throat.
"Don't what?" Her pulse fluttered beneath my thumb where it pressed against her collarbone.
I forced myself to release her, to step back. The air between us crackled with tension that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with the way she looked at me—defiant and wanting in equal measure.
"You're playing a dangerous game." I dragged a hand through my hair, needing something to do with it that didn't involve touching her.
"I want only to serve my king."
"Liar." The word hung between us. "You want something. Everyone does."
"Lance, I have told you the truth."
Even as the words left her mouth, a traitorous part of me savored how effortlessly she claimed a piece of me by saying my name. My anger simmered close to the surface, battling the urge to soften my stance, to let those walls crumble.
She held my gaze, her eyes searching mine in a way that threatened to unravel every oath I'd sworn to Arthur and to Camelot. I wanted to understand her, why she'd come here wrapped in deception, and what she truly sought beneath the façade. Yet another voice—stern, unwavering—demanded I uphold my duty, delivering her to Arthur without another thought. While yet another voice wanted only to claim her, to fuck her, to make her mine.
"I should turn you over to the king." The words were hollow, sounded hollow—devoid of the righteousness they should have carried. Instead, protecting her, a notion that defied logic, whispered sweetly to me like a temptress in the shadows.
I forced myself to cool, drawing in a deep breath that did little to quell the fire raging through me. The heat of her body so close to mine made logical thought nearly impossible, but I fought to regain control. There was no point in losing all rationality and reason now, not when so much hung in the balance—her life, my duty, the tangled web of loyalties that suddenly seemed to choke me.
"What you've done is treason," I said again, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper as my eyes traced the delicate line of her throat. "Deceiving the king, infiltrating his inner circle under false pretenses." I leaned closer, inhaling that intoxicating scent again. "Do you understand the gravity of what you've done?"
"No. I don't." She breathed in deeply, and I could tell by the way she looked at me that she was experiencing this same desire, this same need, I was. "I don't understand why it has to be this way."
I leaned closer to her until our noses were nearly touching. "Men have been executed for far less than what you've accomplished with your deception. Arthur doesn't forgive those who make him appear foolish, especially not when magic is involved."
Her chin lifted defiantly. "The law itself is the problem, then. Why should my gender determine whether I can serve Camelot? I've proven myself in every trial, stood against the same challenges as any man. Does my being a woman somehow negate those achievements?"
The passion in her argument stirred something in me—an echo of my own struggle to be recognized for merit rather than birth. But the deception still burned.
"You could be put to death for what you've done." I had to turn away from her, put distance between us, just so I could think clearly.
"Would that be fair?"
"Fair?" I laughed without mirth as I turned back to face her. "Fair has nothing to do with it! As the King's Blade and leader of the King's Guard, my duty is clear—I should report you immediately." What was more, as a man who had trained Lioran and spilled my heart out to him, I felt the sting of her personal betrayal cutting deep.
She didn't say anything but continued glaring at me with that expression—a potent mixture of defiance and desire—something that was rapidly dismantling all my carefully constructed logical reasons not to rip her clothes off.
"Arthur has executed people for far less," I continued, my voice steadier now that there was some space between us."The fact that you've managed to infiltrate his inner circle, to compete, train, and dine among us..." I shook my head, still struggling to reconcile the warrior I'd respected with the woman who stood before me now.
Without the slightest hesitation, she bent down to the cold stone floor where her weapon had fallen, her movements fluid and deliberate as she retrieved the dagger. The blade caught the torchlight as she straightened, and then she walked toward me with that same fearless determination I'd witnessed countless times in the training yard—only now it wasn't directed at a sparring partner.
She closed the distance between us in three measured steps, her bare feet silent against the stone. When she reached me, she didn't pause or waver. Instead, she grasped the leather-wrapped hilt of her own blade and pressed it firmly into my palm, her fingers warm against mine for just a moment before she released it.
"If you're going to turn me over to the king, then just kill me here and now,Sir Lancelot."
I hated the way she said my name. Hated the formality of it. But I could say nothing because I had no idea what to do. I knew what I should have done. But I couldn't do it.
"We both know the outcome would be the same." Her voice was steady, devoid of any tremor that might have betrayed fear or uncertainty.
The weight of the weapon settled into my grip as she stood before me, unflinching. Her eyes never left mine as she offered herself up to whatever fate I chose for her.
I looked down at the dagger. She closed her fingers over mine, bringing the tip of the blade to the tender skin just below her neck. She was completely still, placing her life entirely in my hands. The trust implicit in the gesture affected me more deeply than any argument could have. Either it was supreme confidencein my character or reckless courage on her part—I couldn't decide which, but I found myself admiring both.
