Dawn light filtered through the window as I stared at the ceiling, Lance's arm draped possessively across my waist, heavy and warm against my bare skin.
He'd made love to me all night long—seemingly never satiated, always wanting more. His hands had mapped every inch of my body; his mouth had tasted every curve, every hollow.
And though my quim was sore, throbbing with a pleasant ache that reminded me of each passionate encounter, I couldn't deny him. I wanted to feel him thrusting inside me just as much as he wanted it, craved the way he filled me completely, the way he whispered my true name against my neck as he shuddered in release.
Now, the warmth of his body pressed against mine should have brought comfort, but instead, panic clawed at me like a living thing, its talons digging deeper with each steady breath he took.
He knew everything. Well, almost everything. He knew my true identity, and he knew I'd pulled the sword from the stone. He knew I was the woman Arthur was determined to find.
But he didn't know therealreason I was here.
I’d had to keep some truths buried deep—suffocated beneath layers of carefully crafted half-truths. I couldn’t tell him everything: that I was a spy from Annwyn, that I was Merlin’s daughter, born of a union between the Archmage and the Lady of the Lake. Instead, I’d offered a more palatable lie—that I’d come only to serve the king, a loyal subject forced into disguise because of a kingdom that would never accept a woman’s strength.
And he’d believed me.
More than that—he’dchampionedme. He’d vowed to protect me with the same lips that had kissed every part of my body, with the hands that had held me like I was something sacred. That thought made my stomach churn.
Lance trusted me.
But he shouldn't have.
His faith in me was a fragile, beautiful thing—already cracked by my silence, doomed to shatter beneath the truth. He didn’t know who I really was. He didn’t know what I’d been sent to do. And if he ever did find out… if he learned the whole truth, he would turn on me. Not just because of Arthur, but because betrayal was a line you didn’t come back from.
And that’s what I was:a betrayer. A liar. An infiltrator.
The thoughts spun in endless, punishing circles, each pass drawing fresh blood. Whatever bond had grown between us—it wouldn't survive the truth. Not when the full truth meant I wasn’t just Arthur’s enemy, buthis.
Everyone’s enemy.
I held my breath as I slipped out from under the warmth of his arm. Naked, I stood beside the bed and stared down at him—at this man who had held me like I was something worth saving. In sleep, his face was unguarded, softened in a way I rarely saw. The hardened soldier had melted into something almost gentle. Boyish, even. So different from the man who had clutched me through the night like he feared I’d disappear.
Lance was… beautiful. Stunning. And he was good.
Gods, that fantasy he’d whispered—about finding a cottage in some forgotten northern village, a place where I could be safe—it clung to me. A small but homey cottage, a place where wildflowers grew between cobblestones, where no one asked questions. No disguises. No swords. Just quiet. Just peace.
Just freedom.
I wanted it so badly my chest ached.
But it was only a dream—light as the fog that obscured Camelot every morning and just as fleeting.
There was no cottage. No safe village. No future where I could belong only to Lance.
Not while Arthur hunted me. Not while Merlin pulled strings from the shadows. Not while the truth lived beneath my skin like a curse I couldn’t outrun.
One thing Lance did have correct was that my days here were numbered. The web of lies I'd spun was unraveling thread by thread, its fragile structure threatening to collapse entirely.
It was too dangerous that Kay, Morgan, and Lance all knew my secret. And this Vaelen that Morgan had mentioned. Four people who could destroy me with a whispered word in the wrong ear. Four different agendas, four different reasons to either protect or expose me. And, yes, I had debated telling Lance that Morgan knew my secret as well, and that she wasn't Elenora, but a highly powerful sorceress. Yet, I'd kept that tidbit to myself. I wasn't certain why—perhaps I simply couldn't bear to introduce more complications into this already impossible situation.
Or perhaps I was protecting her in the same way she'd protected me. Even when I'd spoken of her, I'd used her fake name—Elenora.
Lance stirred as I wondered what in the world I should do now, moving forward. The need to leave this place was almost overwhelming, threatening to choke me with its urgency. Each passing moment felt like sand slipping through my fingers—time I didn't have, options narrowing with every heartbeat.
"Where are you?" he growled from the bed.
I turned around to face him just as he stood up, exposing the heavy erection between his legs. God, the man was insatiable! Not only that, but he was enormous! Not only in heightand breadth of his shoulders, but his cock was magnificent—intimidating in its proportions. No wonder my quim was so tender and swollen.
The sight of him, powerful and unashamed in his nakedness, sent a thrill through me despite my apprehension.
