“Yes,” I insisted. “I have no right to touch something so sacred.”
"The sword does not care for titles or ranks—it answers only to what lies beneath.”
“This can’t be right."
She extended her hand. “Come, child. What’s begun cannot be undone. The sword awaits.”
I took another step back, heart pounding. “I could never—I'm not Arthur. I'm not the king. I’m not even—” I caught myself, choking off the truth. “I’m nobody.”
"It does not matter who you are—or who you are not." Her voice rippled like water across stone. "Excalibur does not recognize status, sex, or the arbitrary divisions of men. It answers only the call of the worthy."
My eyes shifted to the sword. The visible portion of the blade shimmered in the moonlight, glowing faintly as if it held fire within.
I suddenly felt like I was going to vomit.
I'd grown up listening to stories of this weapon. How Arthur—just a boy of fifteen—had drawn it when seasoned knights and proud noblemen could not. That single act had marked him as the rightful king of Camelot, the one destined to unite a shattered realm.
"The sword chose Arthur because he was Uther’s son," I said quietly, searching for any way out of this that I could find. "Because he was a prince."
"Is that what you believe?" Her tone was mocking, as was her smile. "Arthur was raised far from court. He was unknown then—just a squire. No one knew Arthur's bloodline when he first approached the sword."
I turned toward Excalibur, its blade gleaming in the moonlight like a living thing. I thought of the kingdom Arthur had once saved—of nobles clawing at each other for power, of commoners caught beneath their boots. A kingdom that now hunted magic users like criminals simply for the sin of being born gifted.
Arthur had pulled the sword. He'd brought peace.
For a time.
"He was worthy then," I whispered.
The Lady’s expression shifted—sorrow folding gently into her features. "Worthiness is not eternal. What is given can be taken… when the heart forgets its purpose."
"Then Arthur can no longer draw the sword?" I eyed her narrowly because this single truth could unseat the king, and I was more than sure Merlin would be interested to know the answer.
"The sword has remained stuck within the stone for many, many years."
My mouth went dry. Did Merlin already know this—that Arthur couldn't pull the sword and hadn't been able to for years? "And if someone else draws it? If someone else pulls Excalibur from the stone?"
"Then Logres and Camelot will have a new sovereign." Her words were soft, but they struck like thunder.
And suddenly, I couldn't breathe. Because she wasn’t speaking in theory.
She meantme.
"There's been a mistake. I'm just a servant who wandered too far."
The Lady's smile deepened—timeless and knowing. "Are servants unworthy? Does worth lie only in crowns and castles?"
While she might have had a point, attempting to draw the sword was not why I was here. This was not, and never had been, part of Merlin's plan for me. And, what was more, it wasn't my plan for me.
"I can't. Only Arthur pulled the sword. Everyone knows that."
"And yet here it stands—sunk within the stone once again. Still waiting."
I looked at the blade.
"As Excalibur has called to you, you must attempt to free it," the Lady insisted, her voice somehow both gentle and unyielding as the tide.
What chance did I really have of pulling it free? Just because the sword had called to me didn't mean I'd actually be able to free it. And once I failed to pull the sword, then perhaps the Lady would simply vanish back into the lake, as if she'd never been. And I could get on with my mission.
