And power didn't always come in broad shoulders and heavy swords—it came in control, precision, and the ability to wield magic like a scalpel instead of a hammer.
Regardless, Lioran remained on my mind.
His name had come from nowhere.
I'd made it my business to know every capable knight within Logres—some of whom had served me in the past, before I'd taken the dragonmark.
Yet no records mentioned a Sir Lioran before the trials. No land claim, no ancestral ties, no mention in the genealogical records I kept meticulously updated. It was as if he'd materialized from thin air the moment he walked through Camelot's gates.
Yes, the same was true regarding Sir Tristan (whose necromancy I found off-putting at best but powerful), but Tristan did not lay claim to Logres. He came from far-off Eastern lands, so, of course, it made sense I wouldn't know much about his background.
But Lioran… there should have been more information available about him. I understood he had a minor noble's sponsorship—a Dame someone or other. But I'd never heard of her either. That wasn't completely surprising, considering the northlands were a sprawling and untamed wilderness of scattered settlements, isolated keeps, and vast stretches of territory where a man could live his entire life without attracting notice from the crown. The region bred hardy, independent folk who kept to themselves and viewed royal authority with the same suspicion they reserved for wolves prowling too close to their livestock. So, I supposed that was reason enough for Lioran's background to be so hazy. Still, even in the North, names travel. Stories spread. And yet this man appeared without one.
I could only wonder if he had any ties to The Rebellion.
It was certainly possible, as intelligence reports from the North had grown increasingly troubling over recent months. There were whispers of dissent, and beneath those whispers ran darker currents—talk of an organized resistance, of leaders gathering followers, of weapons being stockpiled in preparation for something larger than scattered acts of defiance.
The North had always been wild, difficult to govern. But this felt different.
And Lord Carlisle's presence at court only deepened my suspicion.
Carlisle had always been a thorn in my side, and as such, I'd expected him to be at the forefront of any and all rebellions against me. The man had the pedigree, the charisma, and the tactical mind to lead a successful uprising. Yet, his appearance here—smiling, loyal, offering gifts and pledging fealty—didn't seem to fit.
It's precisely what a clever rebel would do,I thought.Hide in plain sight. Maintain the façade while building an army behind the crown's back.
Perhaps he'd come to scout my defenses, to measure the strength of my knights, and report back to whichever lords had joined his cause.
Or perhaps I was seeing shadows where none existed.
Burn them all before they burn us,the dragon insisted.
I forced the feeling down, jaw clenched.
Lioran's connection to the North troubled me for exactly this reason. If Carlisle was involved in rebellion, and Lioran came from the same region...
I didn't want to finish that thought.
Because despite myself, I wanted the boy to be innocent.
Something about him reminded me of my younger self—the scrawny prince no one took seriously, dismissed by seasoned warriors who saw only my gangly frame and assumed I'damount to nothing. They'd sneered when I'd approached the sword in the stone. They'd laughed when I'd wrapped my fingers around the hilt.
They'd laughed until I'd pulled it free.
Lioran carried that same quality: underestimated, overlooked, yet quietly determined. I wanted to believe that he was here for the right reasons—that he wanted to serve his crown. But trust didn't come easily to me, and I needed to know whose side he was on.
Of course, I'd already made inquiries. Quiet ones.
No one knew him.
Now that The Fox had returned to my kingdom, I would put him on Lioran's trail. If anyone could uncover the truth of this knight's beginnings, it was my foremost spy.
Otherwise, it seemed as if the mist had simply spat Lioran out. And, at the end of the day, predictability mattered more than loyalty in men with gifts like his.
Of all the knights, the one I was least excited to be acquainted with once more was Kay. I wasn't surprised to see him at the trials. He'd avoided me for years, but ambition always brings men back to Camelot. Becoming a knight of the Round Table meant influence, wealth, prestige, proximity to royalty, relevance, and it meant fame. Such was why most knights were attracted to the Shadow Trials, I was certain. Still, Kay's presence sat poorly with me.
Kay had always possessed magic. Even as a child, he could see the flaw in anything—a weakness in armor, a lie behind a smile. His sight was ruthless, and it never spared me.
"You'll never be half the king your father was,"he’d said the night before my coronation."I see the weakness in you, Arthur. Everyone does."
