It was no surprise that Arthur had succumbed just as easily as I had—though I’d had years to build my resistance, but it still wasn’t enough. I was fairly sure Lance had also fallen under her spell, judging by the way his gaze lingered on Lioran during training sessions, that particular hunger poorly disguised as tactical assessment.
I was still unsure as to what had passed between Arthur and Guin the night he’d seen her true self. I hadn’t been present—a rare lapse in my surveillance that I now regretted bitterly. But I knew enough to know this obsession was dangerous.
Arthur didn’t simply want her.
Hecovetedher. And what was more? I was fairly certain the dragon coveted her just as much.
At the thought of the dragon, another memory rose unbidden, sharp as fresh grief.
Arthur kneeling beside Uther’s deathbed, the old king’s breathing rattled and wet as everyone in the room realized what was about to happen—if Uther died, the dragon would bereleased. It was then that Lance and I had carried the old man to the Wilds, to the witch.
Merlin had been with us. As for what happened that night, I wasn’t entirely certain. As far as I understood it, Lance and I had passed out. And when we’d awakened, the dragon had already been forced into Arthur, rewriting something fundamental in his bones.
That was the moment. The precise instant Arthur’s sanity began its slow unraveling.
Once I’d come to, it was to see Arthur standing there, in that unnatural circle, sweat-soaked and trembling, eyes wild with something that wasn’t quite human. I’d reached for him, but Arthur had flinched away as if touch itself had become unbearable.
“It’s done,” he’d whispered.
What none of us had understood then: it had onlyjustbegun.
I'd seen him fixate before—on enemies, on strategies, on perceived threats to his crown. But this obsession for Guin felt different. Darker. The way he spoke her name carried weight that made my skin crawl, like the dragon inside him had caught her scent and wouldn't rest until it possessed what it desired.
Now she sat in his dungeon, and I was out of time.
Truth be told, I'd never been in favor of this mission. I'd argued against it from the start. But Merlin had been determined to see Guin infiltrate Camelot. I wasn't certain why. But once she'd glommed onto the idea—in order to exact her revenge against Arthur, I was outvoted. That didn't change the fact that every second she walked among men who would kill her without hesitation if they discovered her true nature.
The irony wasn't lost on me. Arthur's most trusted spy had become a protector of the very person he'd been sent to monitor.But then again, Arthur had always been blind to the things that mattered most.
What was more, Merlin never asked me to protect her. He never mentioned she existed beyond her role as his unwitting agent. He never mentioned she was his daughter.
That alone should have told me something.
The forest path wound upward, ancient trees pressing close on either side. Their branches whispered secrets I'd long since learned to ignore. My jaw clenched as I replayed the moment I'd discovered the truth.
She's his daughter.
His only child, and he'd sent her into Camelot like a lamb to slaughter.
The rage that thought sparked made my hands shake. I'd served Merlin faithfully since the day we'd left Camelot. I'd turned my back on Arthur—my brother in all but blood—because I believed in Merlin's vision for the realm. I'd become a traitor and a spy, played both sides, all because I trusted that Merlin saw further than the rest of us.
But this? Sending his own flesh and blood into Arthur's den without protection, without backup, without even the courtesy of telling her who she truly was?
This wasn't strategy. This was sacrifice.
And now Arthur had her locked in his dungeon, discovered and exposed, with nothing but her wits and whatever questionable mercy a king possessed standing between her and execution. I'd watched from the lake as Arthur dragged her away wrapped in his cape like a trophy. Watched Lance follow at a distance, his face a mask of fury and guilt. Watched Kay slip through the shadows with that calculating gleam in his eyes that promised future complications.
I saw it all, just as I always did.
And what had passed between Arthur and Guin was something I was trying my best not to think about.
I'd always assumed she was a maiden—owing to the naivete she wore like a second skin in Annwyn. During her training sessions, I'd catch her watching me when she thought I wasn't looking. That heat in her eyes—gods, it had kept me awake more nights than I cared to admit. But it wasn't the practiced desire of courtesans or noblewomen who knew exactly what they wanted and how to wield their beauty as a weapon.
No, Guin's longing carried a rawness that made my chest ache. An innocence that spoke of someone who'd never acted on her hunger, never learned to mask or manipulate it.
She'd blush when our eyes met, quickly looking away as if embarrassed by her own thoughts. Sometimes during practice drills, her focus would slip, her gaze dropping to my hands, the breadth of my shoulders, my mouth. Then she'd shake herself like someone waking from a dream, recommitting to the lesson with even fiercer determination.
Those moments had tortured me. Because I wanted her just as much as she appeared to want me. But I could do nothing about it. After all, what could I offer her except more secrets, more lies? Not only was I her guardian, but I was Merlin's spy pretending to be Arthur's agent. I was complicated. And she deserved so much more than that.
