Whatever game she thought she was playing, the rules had just changed.
And moving forward, I would be the one to write them.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
-GUIN-
The cavernous Great Hall continued to vibrate with merriment as it had for the last three hours.
The air was thick with laughter and the distant clinking of goblets raised in celebration. I sat at Arthur's right hand, my mind a torrential whirlpool. Throughout the evening, I'd barely registered the revelry; the clang of festivity faded to a distant hum while I studied the king's every word, desperate for a sign that might unveil the truth.
Arthur had given me no inkling that he had seen Guinevere. In fact, he hinted at nothing of the kind. All evening, he'd regaled me with tales of his life as a young man, tales of Camelot, even fond tales of Merlin. The stories rolled off his tongue with ease, weaving a tapestry that tempted me to believe he didn't know the truth.
The warmth in his gaze as he spoke, the camaraderie he extended toward me—it was confusing because I'd been sure he'd seen me in the Shadow Trial—not Sir Lioran, butme.
The moment had seared itself into my memory: that terrifying instance when I'd returned from the Shadow Trial, mymagical disguise unraveling like threads pulled from a tapestry. Why had it happened, even for such a brief amount of time? I was fairly convinced there were two reasons. First, my own water magic, which was based in truth, not lies—because water reveals rather than conceals—failed me. The trial was designed to remove artifice, to show the truth beneath lies or secrets—something inherent in my own water magic, something my magic had been fighting since I'd donned the disguise of Lioran. It was why I was so exhausted at the end of each day and why I had to drop the disguise each night.
The second reason had everything to do with Merlin's magic essentially fighting itself. The Shadow Trial depended on Merlin's magic, which had shaped it all those years ago—magic intended to reveal—magic that was still very much alive and buffered with Mordred's own magic. But that magic was contending with Merlin's present magic embodied in The Obscura—magic designed to conceal. The result was a clash between the two opposing forces. Ultimately, the magic neutralized itself for that second or more when I was returned to the chamber as myself.
For one heart-stopping second, I'd stood there fully exposed—my feminine features stark against the masculine armor.
Arthur's and my eyes had met across that charged distance, his piercing blue gaze locked onto mine. I could have sworn I'd seen something shift in his expression—surprise. Blood had roared in my ears as I'd waited for the inevitable—his sword drawn, the King's Guard summoned, my treachery laid bare.
But he hadn’t called for the guards. He hadn’t even acknowledged what had to have been a shocking sight. His expression had remained unreadable, as cold and inscrutable as ever. A split second later, I had been returned to Lioran, courtesy of my own magic kicking back in again.
And yet Arthur had given no signs that he'd seen me, the real me. Even after the others had gone, when he'd pulled me aside with that firm grip that always sent unwanted heat through my chest, I’d braced myself for the truth. I’d waited for the accusation, the recognition.
But it never came.
He'd simply…congratulatedme. A job well done. His hand had lingered on my neck a heartbeat too long, but there was no condemnation in his voice. No threat. No sign that anything between us had changed.
And here at the Final Feast, surrounded by the golden glow of candlelight and the warmth of celebration, Arthur looked at me exactly as he always had—with pride. There was no hint of suspicion in his manner, no calculating gleam in his eyes. Instead, he laughed and spoke as if he’d never truly seen me. And it made me wonder if perhaps he hadn’t.
Was it possible The Obscura had actually kept my disguise? Was it possible that my water magic had acted faster than I thought it had?
I let my gaze wander over the wine in my goblet, the liquid a deep crimson, reflecting the flickering candlelight. It was easier to focus on the shimmer than to face the uncertainty clawing at me from the shadows. Had my disguise truly faltered, or had the Shadow Trial twisted reality, simply leaving me haunted by the phantom of exposure?
The trial had pushed my every boundary, shattering illusions of strength and identity. Maybe I’d simply imagined the fact that my disguise had slipped when, in reality, it had remained intact the entire time.
Was it possible then that Arthurhadn’tseen me? But what of the shock in his eyes? Could it have simply been shock to see that I was the first candidate through?
Across the table, on Arthur’s other side, Lance played observer, his scrutiny insistent. Confusion appeared in every line on his face as he glanced between Arthur and me, silently questioning the proximity and attention I was afforded—attention, no doubt, neither of us had anticipated.
Meanwhile, the feast continued to blur around me—songs, wine, the chatter of those victorious, most of whom were now boasting about their exploits—and yet, all I could discern was the unyielding enigma seated beside me.
When the raucous celebration finally began to wind down—nobles growing drowsy from wine, knights slumping in their chairs with glazed eyes, and the constant stream of toasts gradually tapering off—I recognized the perfect opportunity to excuse myself.
I murmured polite excuses to Arthur and Lance, citing exhaustion from the trial’s ordeal, and rose from my seat with the careful composure of Sir Lioran taking his leave. This night was no different from any other night—I stayed as long as was customary, and then I excused myself.
Arthur chuckled, his voice a smooth rumble, and slapped me so casually on the back that I nearly faltered.
“Sleep well, Sir Lioran,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “You’ve earned it. Tomorrow, you’ll wake as a Knight of the Round Table.”
"Thank you, sire," I managed, forcing my expression into one of humble gratitude. "Goodnight to you, and to you, Sir Lancelot."
Arthur nodded, already turning back to the dwindling crowd with the same confident ease. I watched Lance's gaze settle on me, warm though still concerned.
Would he come to me tonight? Would he be upset with me for having stood the Shadow Trial? Then another thought hit me—should I tell Lance about the worry that was still plaguing me regarding whether Arthur had truly seen me?
