Guinevere didn't cower. Instead, she stood straight and proud, meeting Arthur's gaze with those violet eyes that blazed with defiance as she dropped her hands and stood completely bare to him.
My hand moved instinctively to my sword hilt. As my fingers wrapped around it, my knuckles turned white around the steel. A fierce protective instinct surged through me, nearly overwhelming the loyalty toward Arthur that had defined my entire life.
Duty warred with fury in my chest.
Arthur was my king, my oldest and closest friend, the man I'd sworn to serve unto death. But the way he was looking at her—like he owned her—frankly scared me.
I took a half-step forward, my body moving before my mind could stop it. My mind raced through the consequences of what I was about to do—treason against Arthur, the end of my position at court, banishment, possibly my own death. Yet none of it mattered against the sight of her standing there, vulnerable and facing Arthur's wrath alone.
My face set with grim determination. I'd made my choice. Even against my oldest friend, my king, I would protect her. It didn't matter that she was a spy. It didn't matter that she had played us all for fools. It didn't matter that she had broken me.
I couldn't allow him to use her this way.
Just as I stepped forward, Arthur's demeanor shifted like a sudden storm change. The rage in his face transformed into something else entirely—raw, hungry desire.
"Come here."
She did as she was told, taking the steps that separated them until she stood directly before him.
I froze mid-step as Arthur reached his clawed hand toward her, tangling it roughly in her hair, his fingers twisting through the strands with possessive force. He yanked her head back, andI watched in stunned paralysis as he claimed her mouth in a fierce, demanding kiss. My sword lowered unconsciously, shock replacing the protective impulse that had driven me from my hiding place.
He was going to fuck her, I realized. Just like he'd been planning all along. Afterwards? I didn't know. All I did know was that look in his eyes—he was going to fuck her, and I was going to have to watch it.
Unless I intervened.
My hands trembled around the hilt of my sword as I remained frozen in the shadows, unable to look away.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
-GUIN-
Arthur tore his mouth away from mine with a violence that left my lips burning, the sudden absence of his kiss almost sending me reeling.
His fingers, which had been tangled so possessively in my hair just moments before, released their grip as if the strands had turned to snakes beneath his touch.
Then he thrust me away from him with such force that I stumbled backward, nearly losing my balance. The disgust that twisted his features was unmistakable—raw and brutal in its honesty. He looked at me as if I'd become something vile. The passionate desire that had blazed in his eyes mere heartbeats ago had been replaced by revulsion so complete that it made my stomach clench with an emotion I refused to name.
The rejection hit me harder than it should have, considering the mission that had brought me here in the first place. But there was something devastating about being pushed away by someone who had just been consuming me with such desperate hunger, as if the taste of me had somehow become unbearable.
I stood as tall as I could despite my nakedness, refusing to let shame bow my shoulders, even in the face of the monster Arthur was in the process of becoming.
As I watched him, he turned away from me, shaking his head and growling at what I could only imagine was an argument going on within his own mind. An argument with the beast inside him—a beast I had no idea was even present. I had to wonder if Merlin had known about Arthur's dragon and, if he had, why the hell he hadn't told me.
As for the beast that Arthur was continuing to fight—it was doing its best to crawl out of him. His transformation thus far had been a terrifying symphony. I'd watched, enthralled and unnerved, as his face contorted, shifting between Arthur's rugged features and the dragon's predatory snarl. His eyes blazed red, the pupils slitted while a jagged ridge of emerald scales crept across his skin, glistening under the moonlight, a strange marriage of beauty and menace.
But that wasn't all—he'd grown so large—broader, taller, his muscles swelling beneath skin that rippled with inhuman power. The seams of his braies had split along his thighs, the leather hanging in tatters that barely covered his cock. Everything else was exposed—carved abs, a powerful chest, arms thick as tree trunks.
But it was the dragon mark that held my attention the most. The tattoo no longer lay dormant against his flesh. It writhed across his torso like it was alive, emerald and obsidian scales shifting beneath his skin as though the beast itself were trying to claw its way out. The dragon's tail coiled around his ribs, its head stretched across his pectoral. The wings spread wider than they had before, spanning from shoulder to shoulder, the detailed membranes seeming to pulse with their own heartbeat.
This wasn't ink. This was imprisonment—a creature barely contained beneath human skin. And as far as I could tell, Arthur was losing the battle to keep it caged.
And yet I wasn't as frightened as I should have been. Like a moth caught by its captivation of flame, I found myself drawn to his infernal beauty. I should have been repulsed and terrified, but an undeniable thrill churned within me at his magnificent beastliness.
There was a thrumming energy in the air, palpable and electric, resonating like the low hum of a storm. The dragon within Arthur was a creature of savage strength and destruction, yet it called to something deep inside me—a pull of forbidden desire that I didn't understand. He was fearsome, certainly, but even with talons poised for violence, there was an allure about him in this feral state that I was helpless to resist.
How did one simultaneously fear and yearn for the same thing? It seemed absurd, a contradiction of the most dangerous sort, but the moment his gaze fastened itself on me once more, my breath hitched—full of panic and longing all at once.
"Guinevere." His voice was a deep rumble that reverberated through the clearing.
