Arthur's hand moved to cup my face, his claws rough against my cheeks. His eyes were still hard. "Pretty words from a practiced deceiver."
"No," I insisted. "Truth."
For a moment, we stood suspended between worlds—king and spy, man and woman, enemies and potential lovers.
"Do you not know how many lives have been lost to deception?" he demanded, his voice carrying the weight of years spent questioning every smile, every gesture, every whispered word of loyalty. The raw pain in his tone caught me off guard—this wasn't just about my infiltration, but about wounds carved deep by countless betrayals that had shaped him into the hardened ruler before me. "How many times have I had to choose between loyalty and survival?"
"No, I don't know."
"Did Merlin send you to seduce me?" he asked slowly, his thumb still tracing maddening circles against my hip. "Did he instruct you to use your body as a weapon, to make me weak with want so I would lower my guard? Or is this betrayal entirely of your own making?"
The accusation stung more than I expected, heat flooding my cheeks as anger warred with the treacherous desire his touch continued to kindle. "I was never instructed to seduce you." My voice was sharper than intended. "And I would argue I am not the one doing the seducing now—it's quite the other way around."
He looked at me like he didn't believe a single word I'd said, his expression a mixture of skepticism and dark amusement that made my stomach clench with both fear and unwanted attraction.
"Enough talk," he finally barked, his voice cutting through the charged air like a blade. His eyes narrowed further until they were mere slits. "I will take from you what I want—what the dragon wants—and decide your fate afterward."
"What do you want from me?"
His smile was smug. "I want what no man has yet taken from you."
Without warning, he moved his fingers between my legs, running his claw across the sensitive flesh just above myopening. Instinctively, I threw my head back and moaned. That seemed to urge him forward because I could feel his talon now rubbing lightly against my hole, slipping inside only slightly. Both of us were well aware that if he thrust his clawed finger within me, he would shred me. Instead, he brought his talon back to his face and held it up to the moonlight, where it glistened with evidence of my desire.
He extended his tongue and licked his clawed finger. As he did, his claw rescinded, his finger appearing human once more.
"I will claim every part of you that dared deceive me." His voice dropped lower, rougher as he thrust his finger inside me, and I bucked beneath him. "I will fuck you with the only cock you will ever take. The only cock you will ever know."
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
-LANCE-
She is mine, a voice inside me growled with primitive ferocity.
The thought shocked me with its certainty. When had this woman—this spy, thisliar—become something I considered mine to protect? To possess? The notion should have repulsed me. Yet here I remained, transfixed by the sight of her pale skin gleaming in the moonlight.
Memories crashed through my mind then, unbidden and merciless—her body beneath mine in the darkness of her chambers, the silk of her skin against my rough palms, her lips trailing fire along the column of my throat. I remembered the way she'd whispered my name, how her fingers had traced the scars across my chest with something that felt dangerously close to reverence. She'd allowed me to believe that we could be something real—that there existed a truth between us worth fighting for.
And yet it had always been a lie. Every breathless confession, every stolen moment of tenderness—all of it carefully orchestrated to serve whatever dark purpose had brought her to Camelot's walls.
Even knowing this, even with the evidence of her duplicity playing out before me, I couldn't summon the proper hatred that should have filled my heart. Instead, I watched Arthur thrust his fingers inside her with growing desperation, my jaw clenching until my teeth ached. A fierce jealousy threatened to consume me whole as I watched her body arch toward him—whether in genuine surrender or some calculated deception designed to ensnare my king as she had ensnared me, I couldn't tell.
The uncertainty was perhaps the cruelest cut of all.
The woman I knew as Guinevere (and who was to say if that was even her real name?) was a creature of masks and half-truths. How could I trust anything about her? The answer was easy: I couldn't. So, why did I still want her with such desperation?
I couldn't face the answer to that question, so I focused on another—was Arthur about to take her against her will? And, if such was the case, would I just stand here and watch? Or would I intercede? The choice before me was impossible—loyalty to my king or protection of the woman who had deceived us both yet somehow claimed a piece of my heart.
I could see them talking, but their voices were so low, I couldn't make out what they were saying. So, I was forced to make a decision based on their body language alone. And from what I witnessed from Guinevere—the way she dropped her head back and her mouth opened on a moan, the way she spread her legs so he could push his fingers into her more deeply—clearly, he wasn't forcing himself on her.
And I didn't know how to feel about that.
I'd spent my life in certainties—the clean lines of duty, honor, and service. Now everything blurred into shades of gray, with no clear path forward.
I took a single step from beneath the trees, still unsure which choice I was making. As Arthur pulled his finger free of her, onlyto begin rubbing her hardened little nub above her entrance, she moaned against him. Arthur chuckled, clearly enjoying the control he had over her. Soon, his fingers were inside her once more, plunging in and out of her tightness.
I felt my breathing quicken involuntarily. If this was what she desired, what it appeared she wanted, then I should have left; yet I couldn't tear my eyes away. I noticed how Guinevere neither fully resisted nor completely surrendered. Her complex expression mirrored my own conflicted feelings.
When Arthur took her down to the ground, I finally sheathed my sword with unsteady hands, the metal scraping softly against the scabbard. My fingers trembled violently, not just from the surge of adrenaline coursing through me but from the tempest of emotions threatening to overwhelm me.
