"Thank you, Your Majesty," she said, inclining her head. Her voice was steady—but not relaxed. She was measuring every word, every breath. So was I.
"You have continued to shock me with each and every trial, and I do hope you are proud of yourself for this incredible accomplishment."
I could see the confusion flickering behind those eyes as she tried to parse my meaning, searching my face for some hint of the trap she surely believed I was setting. Her jaw tensed almost imperceptibly, and I caught the subtle shift of her weight—not quite a step backward, but an instinctive preparation for retreat.
"And I will admit how pleased I am to welcome you to my Round Table," I continued as we began walking side by side through the shadowed corridors, our footsteps echoing softly against the ancient stone.
"Thank you, Sire; I am honored."
"Truth be told, I was hoping you would be among the esteemed few." The words rolled off my tongue, each syllable carefully weighted. I let my gaze drift toward her profile as we walked, noting how she kept her eyes fixed straight ahead, refusing to meet my scrutiny. Smart. Eye contact might have betrayed too much—for both of us.
Force her to drop the disguise,the dragon growled.We must taste her.
The silence stretched between us, filled only by the whisper of fabric against stone and the distant sounds of castle life filtering through the walls. When I spoke again, my voice carried a different quality—warmer, more intimate, the tone of a king extending personal favor rather than a royal decree.
"I invite you to sit beside me at the feast this evening," I continued, letting the invitation hang in the air as I reached out and wrapped my hand around the nape of her neck. She immediately cringed at the touch before remembering herself. Then she looked up at me, no doubt finding the intimate touch strange. "It would please me greatly to have such a... distinguished knight at my right hand."
I watched her falter—not visibly, not enough for anyone else to see. But I saw it. The breath that caught. The moment of calculation behind her eyes.
Rip her clothes from her and let us slake ourselves within her heat.
"I would… be honored," she answered. Her voice was softer now, tinged with something that hovered between fear and confusion.
"As will I," I replied smoothly, my fingers trailing deliberately along the curve of her neck before pulling away with calculated reluctance. The gesture appeared casual to any observer, but I felt the way her pulse quickened beneath my touch—a reaction she couldn't entirely suppress despite her remarkable control.
"I wish to teach you much, Lioran," I continued. Let her wonder how much I had actually seen, how much I knew. Let her question whether I had caught the split second when her disguise had failed her or if she was still safe.
Lioran. The name tasted like soot on my tongue now—this false identity she wore like armor. Regardless, I knew the truth now.
She was the flame that had consumed my thoughts through countless sleepless nights, driving me to pace my chambers like a caged wolf while the dragon in my blood whispered of possession and conquest. She was the riddle I couldn't solve, the enemy I couldn't forget, the woman who had somehow burrowed beneath my skin until her absence felt like a wound that wouldn't heal.
And now she stood before me, close enough to touch, playing a role with such dedication that I almost believed she didn't recognize the dangerous game she'd wandered into.
And it was taking everything within me not to throw her down and fuck her right here.
Yes. We shall have her. She is ours.
But I had to think. I had to plan. I had to move past the shock of realizing who and what she was. I had to strategize. I could not allow my libido nor the dragon to interfere with my duty. If she was a spy or a would-be assassin, if she was a member of the Northern Resistance or if she was sent by Merlin, I would have to kill her. Make an example of her.
But she pulled Excalibur from the stone.
All the more reason to silence the threat.
The dragon thundered in rage at my treacherous thought, its fury burning through my veins like molten fire.
She is our mate!
The voice roared with such force that I nearly staggered, my hands clenching into fists as the ancient creature's will crashed against my own.
You cannot harm what belongs to us!
The great beast within me writhed and snarled, its massive form pressing against the boundaries of my consciousness witha desperation I'd never felt from it before. The dragon tattoo across my chest and back seemed to burn with phantom heat, each scale carved into my flesh prickling. My breathing grew ragged as the creature's protective instincts warred against my king's logic, creating a tempest in my mind that threatened to tear my sanity apart.
The dragon hissed, its mental voice dropping to something more dangerous than simple rage—a cold, implacable certainty that chilled me to the bone.
Harm her, and you will suffer. She is ours, Arthur Pendragon.
I had to force the dragon's thoughts down, slamming them into the darkness where they belonged as I studied her face—no longer as a mentor, a monarch, or a man entranced by potential—but as someone seeking the truth behind a lie that had wrapped itself around my kingdom.
