But I didn't feel them. I hardly even heard them.
I kept glancing back at Lioran—ather. She stood among the others, every inch the dutiful knight: posture flawless, expression unreadable, armor still gleaming despite the journey she'd just endured.
But just beneath the surface, I sensed the tension in her. The quiet alertness. The coiled energy of a hunted creature ready to flee or fight. She knew.
She knew I’d seen her truth.
That the veil had dropped. If that was the case, there was a very good chance she would escape.
We cannot lose her!the dragon roared.
No, we could not. And we would not.
"Escort Sir Tristan to the healers," I barked to the guards, more harshly than intended. "Every healer in Camelot is to see him. Spare no effort. No delay. If his mind is to be restored, it will be by our hands or not at all."
They obeyed, moving quickly to flank the still-murmuring knight, careful not to touch him too roughly, as though afraid he might shatter.
I watched them go, then returned my gaze to the assembled knights around me.
But only one figure held my attention now.
"You are dismissed to prepare for tonight’s feast. Rest well—you have earned it."
The knights bowed as one, their movements weary but suffused with the quiet pride that came from surviving what was certain death for others. They began filing out of the chamber in small groups, their armor clanking softly against stone as they moved toward the doors. Some leaned on each other for support, others moved with the measured steps of men concealing injuries, but all carried themselves with the dignity befitting Arthur's chosen.
I watched them go, my expression revealing nothing of the storm building within me. The dragon's presence pressed against my consciousness like a caged beast, and it was all I could do to hold it back.
As Lioran moved past me with the others, I reached out and caught her arm just above the elbow. My fingers closed around the deceptively slender limb with deliberate firmness—not enough to cause pain, but sufficient to make my intentions unmistakably clear.
The reaction was immediate and telling. Her muscles tensed beneath my grip, coiling tight. Lance immediately noticed and appeared perplexed, no doubt wondering why I should single Lioran out. Well, he would find out soon enough. For now, though, I had unfinished business with the youngest of the knights.
"A word, Sir Lioran." My voice was calm.
She nodded, the perfect image of deference, but there was wariness in her eyes now—a flicker that did not go unnoticed.
Around us, the chamber emptied until only Lance and Mordred remained.
"That will be all," I said, still holding her gaze.
Mordred inclined his head with customary grace. "Of course, Your Majesty."
"Is everything—" Lance began, stepping toward me. There was concern in his expression.
"That will be all," I said again, more sharply this time, cutting him off with a glance. My expression left no room for questions.
He hesitated, worry written plainly across his face as he looked between us. His eyes lingered onLioran—onher—but in the end, he obeyed. The poor fool had no idea Lioran was a woman. I could only imagine his shock when I told him. With a reluctant nod, he turned and walked away, his footsteps fading into the distance until only silence remained.
Silence and her.
I released her arm and took a step back. Then I studied her with neweyes—clear eyes.Now that I knew the truth, the illusion couldn’t hide her. Not from me. She’d hidden her femininity well—damnably well—but now that I’d seen her unveiled, I couldn’t unsee it.
And I couldn’t unfeel the slow-burning humiliation at having been deceived so thoroughly.
"I wished to congratulate you on your victory in the trial," I said softly, the words almost lost in the cavernous space. "You were the first to return—no easy feat."
Her eyes widened slightly. She'd been braced for confrontation, prepared for accusations and threats, ready to defend herself against my wrath. The last thing she'd expected was praise delivered in measured, courtly tones.
Good. Let her wonder at my intentions. Let uncertainty gnaw at her carefully constructed composure while I decided what steps to take next.
