"This is Elenora," Lance said, grinning. "New to court. Popular already."
"Your Majesty," she curtsied, offering a view of her cleavage—a view that was designed to distract.
Something about her tugged at my memory. I didn’t recognize her, and yet... she seemed somehow familiar. Perhaps I’d bedded her. These days, such memories blurred.
"Sit," Lance commanded, patting his thigh.
She obeyed without hesitation, settling onto his lap like a pleased cat. His hand slid inside her bodice, exposing a perfect breast. He cupped it lazily, eyes on me as if gauging my reaction.
"Beautiful, isn’t she? Soon to be one of my favorites, I imagine."
She was yet another pretty face in a long list of Lance's conquests. With each woman, he thought he'd met the one who would make him whole again. That was the romantic in him. But none ever could. How he imagined a quim could mend what had been broken in him for so long—I couldn’t say.
I nodded, more disturbed than aroused. The woman batted her lashes at Lance, then offered him a quick flash of the flesh between her legs. She wore no undergarments.
There was something performative about her—as though this act wasn’t for Lance at all, but for me. Or maybe I was just growing too cynical to enjoy the company of a beautiful woman.
"Unless you want her to yourself, Arthur?" Lance continued, turning to face me.
I shook my head. "Enjoy her."
"Perhaps His Majesty would join us later?" She plucked a grape and pressed it to Lance’s lips. He took it with exaggerated pleasure.
But her eyes never left mine.
Cold, sharp, too intelligent by half. They didn’t match her simpering smile or soft touches. Her gaze peeled me apart—stripping the king from the man, digging through my armor for something hidden and vulnerable. I'd faced assassins, armies, sorcerers, yet this woman unsettled me just as much.
"No," I answered, almost coldly.
"What troubles you, Arthur?" Lance asked, his fingers idly circling her bare nipple. I watched as it hardened into a peak. Perhaps I would visit them later—if the mood arrested me. Or perhaps I would simply listen to him fucking her if I didn't feel like watching. "The trials go well. The candidates are strong."
"And yet I still doubt." I stood abruptly, needing distance—from her, from him, from the rot blooming beneath all this polished stone. "I need air."
“Shall I accompany you?” Lance asked, though he made no move to dislodge Elenora from his lap.
“No.” I shook my head. “Enjoy your... entertainment. I won’t be long.”
Her eyes followed me, that smile widening—sly, knowing—as if I’d just confirmed some private suspicion.
I didn’t look back.
Instead, I strode from the hall, the echo of the woman's gaze pressing between my shoulders like a blade’s point. The weight of the crown seemed heavier with each step I took, and I found myself yearning for the only companion the throne could never taint: silence.
CHAPTER TEN
-ARTHUR-
Iwalked through the silent corridors, grateful for the solitude.
The revelry behind me dulled into a distant hum, muffled by stone and space. Guards along the passage straightened as I passed, their eyes carefully averted. They knew better than to acknowledge my midnight wanderings.
The day's trial replayed in my mind like a tournament—each knight parading their power, each performance a veiled audition for war. Some had impressed me, yes. But whether any of them were truly ready to face Merlin... that remained to be seen.
One knight lingered in my thoughts: Sir Lioran, the water mage. His display hadn't impressed me—not truly. Others had conjured more spectacle. Lance hadn't been impressed either. He'd remarked that Lioran was too slight in build, too small to stand among Camelot's knights. He believed that Camelot's best knights needed to appear as intimidating as possible.
But I wasn't looking for brawn.
I was looking for power.
