The voice cut through the silence—gruff, close.
I froze, heart hammering, then turned slowly.
One of Arthur's night watchmen approached from the shadowed western archway, boots scraping cobblestone. At his side, an iron hound rumbled a warning deep in its throat. Its eyes glowed crimson in the dim light, metal joints creaking as it shifted position and stared straight at me.
The watchman's torch flared high, making his armor gleam red and gold, Arthur’s dragon insignia snarling on his chest.
Immediately, the nightmare of the dragon stirring beneath my feet came to revisit me, and I had to force it back down again.
"Just on my way to empty chamber pots, sir," I mumbled, keeping my gaze fixed on the stones as I produced my own pot from under the cloak and held it up for him to see.
"I was told that the night soil needs to be taken out before morning."
The iron hound glared at me, continuing to growl.
The guard grunted, lowering his torch slightly. "Be quick about it, then."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." I bobbed a clumsy curtsy and shuffled away, only releasing my breath once his footsteps and the iron hound faded far behind me.
My feet carried me to the Bailey, where I skirted a stack of crates piled high. I moved past them and followed a narrow path that twisted past the falconry mews. Birds stirred at my passing—beaks clacked, feathers rustled. The air thickened with the scent of hay, down, and sharp ammonia.
I wasn’t sure why, but something compelled me further still—pulling me beyond the castle walls and into the wild lands that bordered Camelot. The further I walked, the more unruly the grounds became. Manicured paths gave way to dew-soaked grasses and ancient, twisted oaks. Unlike the pruned trees near the palace, these had grown untouched—roots buckling the earth like veins in an aging hand.
I paused beneath the largest tree, watching as the wind stirred its leaves, whispering in a language too old to understand.
Still, something pulled me onward.
A deep, wordless instinct—like water calling to water. It thrummed in my bones, coaxing me forward.
The trees thickened, pressing close. Their roots clawed at the path, branches tugging at my cloak and hair like jealous hands.
I didn’t stop. I couldn't.
The royal gardens had long since vanished behind me, swallowed by vines and underbrush that tangled around myslippers. This was no longer Arthur’s kingdom. This was older ground—untamed, untouched, alive.
The air shifted: heavy with moss, damp with secrets, and laced with a scent I couldn’t name.
Silence fell. No insects chirped. Even the wind had stilled.
Whatever lay ahead, the forest guarded it fiercely.
Shadows deepened unnaturally between the trees. Whispers stirred the branches—not wind, but not quite words either. My water magic pulsed beneath my skin, sharpening, strengthening, guiding me like a divining rod drawn to its source.
I broke through a curtain of willow branches and froze.
A large lake lay before me, moonlit and still, silver as polished glass. Power radiated from the water—ancient and undiluted. It hummed in the air, vibrating against my skin, still pulling—still calling me.
This was no ordinary lake. This was a sanctuary—untouched by Arthur’s decrees, protected by something older than his reign.
My blood responded to it instantly.
The water within me stirred, resonating with the magic held in the depths before me. I stepped to the edge. Smooth white stones lined the shore, glowing faintly, forming a perfect ring around the lake. Not even the breeze disturbed the surface.
But the lake wasn’t peaceful.
It was expectant.
Images suddenly flashed unbidden in my mind:a woman's face beneath the water, hands reaching upward, offering something gleaming.
