“What you face in this trial… it’s not something you can cut down with a sword.” He leaned in closer. "The magic that created this trial was originally woven by Merlin himself. The magic remained dormant until Mordred awakened it. And Merlin’s magic, Guin, it’s much stronger than Mordred’s."
I felt my stomach drop. This trial was originally orchestrated with Merlin’s magic? What would that mean that I was going into it protected by the same magic that had crafted the trial? I didn’t know, and that thought concerned me.
I opened my mouth to ask what Lance meant, but the question died on my lips when Mordred emerged from the citadel, as if conjured by the shadows themselves. Mordred’s usual courtly robes were gone, replaced by a simple black tunic covered with silver runes.
Mordred walked up to Arthur, and the two of them stood there, looking at the knights assembled before them.
Arthur wore full ceremonial armor—polished so brightly it threw shards of sunlight in every direction. A deep crimson cape draped from his shoulders, and the crown of Logres sat heavily on his brow. His jaw was clenched, eyes distant, and I noticed the subtle twitch of his sword hand—like it itched for a weapon that wasn’t there.
Excalibur.
"Today, you face not external challenges, but the darkness within," Mordred said. His voice, though soft, carried with eerie clarity through the breathless air. "The Shadow Trial—the final trial—reveals what you hide even from yourselves."
He turned and led us from the courtyard to a narrow stone walkway, half-swallowed by ivy and shadow. The courtiers followed at a distance, clearly not wanting to miss any of the action.
The walkway sloped gently downward, ending at an ancient iron gate fashioned of twisted metal figures—serpents, wolves, and faceless men—that seemed to writhe in the sunlight. Beyond the gate was the mouth of a dark cave.
With a flick of his wrist and a pulse of blue light from the runes on his sleeve, the massive lock clicked open. The gate swung open in silence, too smooth; its unnatural quietness somehow more disturbing than any rusted groan could have been.
We passed through the threshold, and Mordred led us into the cave. At once, our footfalls fell silent, muffled by enchantment or design. The courtiers were unable to follow us this far and simply stood there, watching from a distance, which was just as well because their constant chirping about this and that was its own form of hell.
"You have now entered a vast subterranean hall stretching far beneath Camelot’s foundations," Mordred explained.
The cave's ceiling vanished into darkness above, and pillars—each carved with symbols I didn’t recognize—rose like bones to support the crushing weight of the castle. It felt like standing inside the ribcage of some titanic, long-dead beast.
We followed Mordred deeper into the cave until it no longer resembled a cave at all, but some type of catacomb. We continued through twisting corridors and steep stairwells worn smooth by the feet of centuries. The farther we descended, thecolder it became—not merely a physical chill, but asoul-deepcold, ancient and watchful. As Mordred walked, torches along the walls lit, burning with blue flames.
Then the corridor widened.
We stepped into the final chamber—immense, circular, lit by numerous torches burning with blue light that reflected off the black stone beneath our feet, creating the illusion that we stood suspended over a yawning void.
Ten archways lined the chamber’s walls, each framed in runes and pulsing with its own faint, colored glow: red, orange, yellow, violet, green, gold, silver, sky blue, midnight blue, and deepest black.
Mordred paused.
He turned slowly, letting his gaze settle on each of us in turn. The silver streak in his hair caught the blue torchlight, glinting like a blade in moonlight.
"As you can see, there are ten archways for ten knights. Each will respond to the soul that approaches it."
He let the silence hang for a breath.
"This Trial is designed to see and reveal what you hide… from yourself—those pieces of your character you might not even realize exist—your shadow self." He paused. "Unlike the Riddle of Blood, which revealed the secrets you willingly hide from the world, this trial reveals the secrets you don't know you hide: family secrets, truths that your own subconscious refuses to acknowledge."
Then Mordred stepped aside, extending one long-fingered hand in a gesture that managed to be both inviting and commanding. "Position yourselves. One knight beneath each archway."
I swallowed hard—my throat suddenly parched—and stepped forward toward the arch directly before me. The stonebeneath my boots felt colder with each step I took, as if the ground itself recoiled from what was about to unfold.
As I took my position, the archway above me pulsed once, then began to glow a deep, mesmerizing dark blue. Around the chamber, the other archways answered their knights with their own hues—crimson for Galahad, yellow for Percival, violet for Agravaine. Each color seemed to reflect something intrinsic about the soul standing beneath it. I couldn't help but wonder what my own hue revealed about me.
Arthur moved to the center of the chamber, and the air seemed to still around him. Even though I'd experienced those stolen moments with Lance, I couldn't help the treacherous pull I still felt toward Arthur. Standing here in this sacred space, watching him, something deep within me responded. The truth was that I was just as attracted to Arthur as I always had been, no matter what had happened between Lance and me.
The shame of that realization burned through me like acid. What kind of woman was I to feel desire for two men at the same time? Especially given what had just happened between Lance and me. Yet there was still something about Arthur that called to me. Something within me recognized the loneliness behind his crown, the burden he carried like armor that never came off.
"You have made it to the final trial," his voice echoed through the chamber, carrying a weight that seemed to settle into the stones around us. "The Shadow Trial."
The words hung in the air like an incantation, and I felt something shift in the atmosphere—a deepening, as though we'd crossed an invisible threshold into something far more dangerous than the previous challenges. Arthur's tone held none of the ceremonial formality I'd grown accustomed to during court proceedings. Instead, there was something raw in his delivery, almost reverent, as if he too understood that we were no longer merely playing at tests of worthiness.
The blue light above me pulsed in response to his words, growing brighter, more insistent. Around the chamber, the other archways seemed to thrum with anticipation, their colored glows throwing an aurora across the ancient stone walls. I could feel the magic here responding not just to our presence, but to Arthur himself—as though the foundations of this place recognized him as something more than just another man with a crown.
