“Fuck,” I whispered, staring at my shaking hand. A betrayal. Another crack in my control—of my kingdom, of myself.
I reached for the sealed parchment that had arrived by raven an hour earlier, before I'd opted to seek Excalibur and the Lady of the Lake. The black wax bore the mark of The Fox—my most trusted spy in a network I’d established in the northern borderlands after Merlin's betrayal. Few even knew of this network; Lance believed I relied solely on official channels. That was how it had to be.
I trusted Lance in most things—truly, he was my closest friend, a brother though not by blood. And yet…
And yet, I trusted no one. I couldn't afford to.
I broke the seal, unfolding the parchment. The cipher—a nursery rhyme Merlin once taught me as a boy—unraveled beneath my eyes, the message appearing between the lines.
The Twilight Sovereign continues to train disciples with exceptional abilities. Training intensifies in the hidden valley beyond the Standing Stones. Elemental magic predominates.
My hand clenched, crumpling the edge of the parchment.
Disciples.
I read on. Each word chilled me further.
Northern villages along the borderlands continue to speak in whispers of the unjust king.
I stared at the line until it blurred.
Then I crossed to the hearth. The fire hissed as I held the parchment to the flames. It curled and blackened, devoured in seconds, leaving only ash smeared against my fingertips. I wiped them clean on my cloak.
For seven years, I had held the uneasy balance with Annwyn—a cold war of spies and shadows.
But this was different.
Merlin wasn't just building defenses; he was preparing an offensive. He was training champions. And now he'd awakened the dragon. It was clear he was seeking my lands. My kingdom.
“He will never fucking have any of it."
We will reduce him to ash.
I stepped to the window. Below me, Camelot stretched beneath the setting sun. The towers burned crimson in the fading light.
“So be it,” I whispered.
Merlin had armed himself with magic, and I was now doing the same.
The Shadow Trials were my answer. Gathering the strongest magic wielders—not to celebrate them, but to control them. To turn their power against my enemies. To squash The Rebellion and bring Merlin to his knees.
Excalibur might reject me now, but that would change. Once Merlin fell. Once Annwyn bent the knee. Then—only then—could I ease the iron grip I’d forged around Logres.
But not before.
“Let Merlin send his champion,” I murmured, turning back to face the dying embers of the fire in the hearth. “I’ll meet him with champions of my own.”
CHAPTER FIVE
-GUIN-
The North Star Road stretched before me, a pale ribbon cutting through darkening fields. And there in the distance—silhouetted against the setting sun—stood Camelot.
It rose from the distant horizon like a mirage of gold and stone—visible only because the magic woven into its walls refused to be hidden. Even from leagues away, the air shimmered around its spires, a reminder that the Pendragon throne did not belong entirely to the mortal world.
The white towers reached skyward, transformed into molten gold by the dying light. Alabaster stone caught the sun's last rays, trapping them in a blaze that mocked the darkness that festered within. Pennants snapped in the breeze—crimson and gold, the Pendragon crest blazing, a dragon almost alive in the flickering light.
But my gaze locked on the massive crack running through the central spire—a jagged wound cleaving crown to base, as if some great hand had tried to split the tower in two. The fissure was darker than shadow. A scar. A monument to the brokenbond between teacher and student: Merlin and Arthur, the Twilight Sovereign and the High King.
