And then, in the space of a single blink, a heartbeat's pause between one moment and the next, she vanished like smoke.
Her hair flickered back to dark blonde. Her face blurred, receding into the angular features of a man. Her violet eyes dimmed to blue as the glamour swept back into place. The transformation was so swift, so seamless, I might have doubted it entirely.
But I knew.
I'd seen those eyes—eyes that no one else in the realm possessed, that luminous shade between amethyst and storm-washed blue. I'd seen that face every night in my dreams. A face I hadn't been able to banish from my thoughts, one that had driven me to madness. The face I’d searched for in every room of this blasted castle and beyond. The face my foremost spy was still searching for in every town, in every outpost across Logres.
The face of the woman who had drawnExcalibur.
“Impossible,” I breathed. The word was barely more than a tremor, a ghost of sound swallowed by the weight of the room.
She had been here.Washere. In the cave beneath my castle. Standing there and wearing the face of a knight I'd trusted. A knight I'dpraised.A knight I'd taken under my wing. A knight who had earned his place through valor, honor, and—Gods help me—lies.
Sir Lioran.
Or rather... the woman who had become Sir Lioran.
She is ours! We must take what belongs to us!
A burning heat rushed to my face as the full force of the truth broke over me like a tidal wave. She hadn’t just stolen my sword. She’d infiltrated mycourt. She'd sat at my table. Trained beneath me. Shared bread and wine. She'd met my gaze with calculated innocence. All of it—every shared laugh, every moment of quiet camaraderie, every nod of earned respect—was a carefully placed dagger cloaked in charm.
A mask.
A lie.
She'd played her part with such flawless precision that I'd been utterly deceived—so thoroughly, so completely that I'd found myself genuinely admiring this supposed knight. Where I'd maintained a careful distance with the others, studying them for weakness or ambition, I'd actuallyrootedfor Lioran. I'd watched with something approaching pride as this young knight proved himself again and again, earning victories that stirred something in my chest I'd thought long dead. I'd whispered approval when Lioran succeeded where others had failed.
I'd welcomed him—her—not just into my court, but into the heart of my kingdom. Into my inner circle. Into the sacred trust reserved for those I considered worthy of Camelot's future. I'd opened up to her; I'dtrustedher.
And through it all, she'd worn the face of honor itself.
And now...
Now I saw her. Not just the illusion. But thetruth.
Lioran—no,she—stood before me, panting, chest heaving as though the Trial had nearly broken her. She said nothing. Did not run. Did not speak.
And I... I said nothing either. I was too shocked to speak, too stunned to even breathe properly. The words I'd rehearsed a thousand times for this moment—commands, accusations, demands for truth—they all crumbled in my throat.
I only watched her. Watched as my mind struggled desperately to catch up to what my heart already knew, what some deeper part of me had perhaps always suspected but had been too proud, too willful to acknowledge. The way my attention had always been captured by Lioran, how my gaze would linger longer onherthan it should have, the instinct I had to protecther. The way I'd found excuses to summonherto private audiences, telling myself it was because I worried Carlisle was afterher, when the truth was far more damning.
All those tiny inconsistencies that I'd dismissed, rationalized away because I'd wanted so desperately to believe in Sir Lioran's truth. The wayhervoice was never quite deep enough. Howshemoved with a grace that was far too elegant for a farm boy turned knight. The careful waysheheldherselfaround the other men, maintaining just enough distance to avoid the rough camaraderie that bound my knights together.
I'd noticed it all. Every single detail. And yet I'd chosen to look away, to convince myself these were merely the quirks of an exceptional young knight who'd risen from humble beginnings. Because accepting the alternative would have meant acknowledging that my judgment—the very foundation of my authority as king—had been so catastrophically, so utterly compromised.
This was no knight. This was no loyal servant of Camelot who'd earned my trust through valor and dedication.
This was the woman fate had promised me. The woman who threatened everything I'd built. The woman I wanted so desperately it pained me—a physical ache that settled deep in my chest like burning coal, impossible to ignore or extinguish. Even now, even knowing what she was, what she represented, I could feel that treacherous pull toward her. The truth should have disgusted me, should have filled me with righteous anger. Instead, it only made the wanting more acute, more dangerous.
Even now, I wanted nothing more than to fuck her.
She is ours. Our mate. Our everything.
No. She is a spy,I yelled inwardly.
She had lied toeveryone.Including her king. Includingme.
The betrayal cut deep. Deeper than Merlin's abandonment, deeper than the sword's rejection, deeper than every political machination and court intrigue I'd endured. Because this—this felt personal in a way that made my chest constrict with something that might have been grief if I'd allowed myself to feel it.
