I would move through the day with care. Bow before Arthur. Speak with measured loyalty. Avoid Kay. Fight as though I belonged here. And behind it all, I would watch. Measure. Plan. I would find a way out that didn’t leave blood in my wake.
Maybe I could create a diversion—a fire in the east wing, a whisper of conspiracy, a chase that would send the Guard riding in the wrong direction. Or I could fake illness, beg leave to visit a sacred spring, and simply vanish.
But as I stared at my reflection in the mirror, what stared back wasn’t Sir Lioran.
It was the weight of every lie I’d told.
Each one braided tightly around me, binding me to this court like a chain. Even the truth had begun to blur, buried under the shape of a story I’d forced myself to live.
And I knew this: when the story began to unravel—when one thread snapped—it would all collapse. Arthur’s fury would be absolute. Kay’s triumph, unbearable. And Lance…
Lance would look at me as if I were a stranger.
And that would be the worst of all.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
-GUIN-
The morning was still young when a knock on my chamber door shook me out of my thoughts.
I'd just finished securing the final buckles of Lioran's leather jerkin when I heard the sound—three measured raps that seemed to echo through my chamber like a death knell.
Moving swiftly to the heavy wooden door, I pulled it open to reveal a young page standing in the corridor beyond. He bowed his head respectfully, his movements quick as befitted someone accustomed to delivering correspondence. Without a word, he extended a folded piece of parchment toward me, the cream-colored paper bearing the unmistakable crimson wax seal of Lance's personal emblem.
My heart lurched at the sight of it, a mixture of anticipation and dread coursing through me as I accepted the letter with hands that trembled slightly despite my best efforts to maintain my composure.
Once alone, I tore the envelope apart hastily, desperate for the words within, hoping they might offer some antidote to mygrowing panic. Lance's handwriting sprawled across the page, each curve and line laced with urgency.
Guin, Arthur and Mordred are moving forward with the final trial. Mordred and Arthur plan to start the Shadow Trial today with no warning. You need to be ready. The challenge is unlike the others; each knight faces his own dark reflection—those parts of himself that are hidden in lies and secrets. It's not enough to defeat the shadow; you must come to terms with the aspects it reveals. Needless to say, everything will be laid bare in front of Arthur.
I paused, absorbing the gravity of his words, feeling their weight settle over my mind as my heart began to race in earnest.
Your disguise has held so far, but I worry that facing your shadow self might reveal too much. I'm trying to devise a plan that keeps you safe. Just give me some time and trust me. I will find a way around this for you.
L.
PS: Burn this letter.
I turned the page over, as if hoping for an answer penned on its back, but the revelation was stark: in a matter of hours, I would have to confront my shadow self, and I'd have to do so in front of Arthur.
My fingers trembled as I brought the letter to the hearth of the fireplace, where embers from the earlier fire continued to burn. I leaned down, tossed the letter onto the remains of the log, and blew on the embers until a flame sprang forth. The flames grew quickly, licking at the corners of the letter, consuming Lance's message until only ash remained.
The tension shifted inside me as I paced the room, my mind calculating avenues of survival amidst all the uncertainties. I could wait for Lance to come up with some idea that might help me, or I could take action on my own. I had to admit, the latteroption appealed to me more. I didn't want to involve Lance in my tangled web any more than I already had.
As for the Shadow Trial, I didn't fully understand what it would entail, but that didn't matter. Like the Riddle of Blood, I didn't feel prepared. Yes, I still had Merlin's Obscura and, more specifically, the Draught of Shifting Sight and the Ember of Forgetting—both of which were designed to hide my truths from prying eyes. But would it be enough?
I gazed out the window, Camelot's walls rising imperiously against the horizon.
What was I going to do? How was I going to face this trial?
Morgan.
My thoughts turned to her almost immediately. In the twisted game of alliances, she had emerged as my solitary beacon. Despite not fully trusting her, and knowing that there was definitely something she wanted from me, she was the only one I could turn to. She was clever and resourceful in ways that even Merlin had underestimated. If anyone could navigate the treacherous waters ahead, it was her.
The Caliope had been a miraculous safeguard during the Riddle of Blood Trial, shielding the depths of my true identity from Arthur’s prying eyes. It was proof enough that Morgan possessed ways to manipulate the truth. Perhaps she had another potion, an elixir to cloak my soul during the Shadow Trial. Or maybe a ritual—something powerful enough to mask whatever revelations my shadow self might unveil. I was worried Merlin's charms wouldn't be enough. Not in this last trial, which was undoubtedly going to be the most difficult.
I couldn't wait for Lance to conjure up a plan. Every moment lost was a danger, and Morgan’s guidance could mean the difference between exposure and survival. My determination solidified as I slipped from my chamber, the door whispering shut behind me.
