Chainmail glinted faintly in the dark. My hands—larger now, rougher—adjusted the sword at my hip.
I was now a knight. A man. A mask I wore well.
Heart pounding, I stepped into the torchlight and took a deep breath.
I was just another knight returning from too much wine and too little sleep.
-ARTHUR-
As had been the case all evening, my thoughts kept returning to the girl.
After she'd disappeared into the fog, I'd wrestled the dragon back into submission, something that had not been easy. Then I'd faced my guards, and together we tracked her to a stream that fed into the lake. But there her scent had grown cold. It was as ifshe'd simply disappeared into the water. Or had sprouted wings and simply flown away.
Regardless, we searched the entire stream, the lake, the surrounding woods, and the grounds of Camelot, both inside and out, for hours. There was no sign of her. She’d vanished as if she were nothing more than a specter, a ghost.
As soon as my search had proven fruitless, I'd gone after the only man who might succeed where I had failed: the Fox. No one could dredge the depths of secrecy better than he, and none had yet outmaneuvered him in his pursuit of truth veiled in shadows.
We met in a secluded chamber hidden within the castle's many secret rooms. This part of Camelot remained largely unknown, even to those who had spent their lives within its stone walls. I preferred it that way, especially when dealing with matters too delicate for the prying eyes and ears of my court.
The chamber door creaked open, revealing a room bathed in darkness. Only the moonlight filtering through a narrow window offered any light. Positioned at the center stood the figure of the man I sought—a shadow among ghosts, wrapped in robes dark as night. Layers of fabric masked his form, every line and edge obscured, his face buried beneath a voluminous cowl. The air even seemed to cool around him, a reminder that he existed wholly apart from the warmth of the world.
"Your Majesty." His voice, mellow yet commanding, flowed across the room, seeming to echo from nowhere and everywhere at once.
"Fox." I stepped further into the chamber, letting the door close behind me.
His voice possessed a strange quality—a layered resonance that made it difficult to discern age, origin, or even gender. Multiple tones wove together, harmonizing in a way that suggested many throats speaking as one. The effect unsettled me, and I had grown accustomed to unsettling things.
It was magic woven into the fabric of his words, designed to strip away every identifying characteristic. Just as he hid his face, he hid his voice. I had permitted this deception because the Fox's results justified his methods, but it grated nonetheless.
"I need you to find someone." I crossed to the window, keeping my back to him. Vulnerability invited exploitation, but the Fox had earned a measure of trust through years of service.
The Fox didn't respond other than to simply nod.
"There is a girl," I continued, my voice devoid of my usual commanding force. Here, masks slipped just as easily as they were donned. "I need her found."
Our treasure,the dragon blared throughout my mind.She belongs to us.
"And the particulars?"
"A servant girl. No older than twenty. Long, silvery-white hair. Small of stature and lithe of build. Violet eyes… Breathtakingly beautiful."
"Where was she last seen?"
"At the stream that feeds the lake, perhaps four or five hours ago." I paused and breathed in deeply. "I need her found posthaste."
Our treasure has been stolen. Taken. Whoever is responsible will burn in dragon fire.
"Very well, my liege," the Fox replied with a nod, the movement almost imperceptible.
All the while, Excalibur's continuous rejection gnawed at me, festering beneath my skin like a splinter. And yet the sword had chosenher—a commoner, awoman, just a slip of a girl.
Ours. How dare she leave us?
"Find her. Swiftly and quietly."
"Naturally," the Fox murmured, each motion as fluid and unobtrusive as his reputation commanded. "If she exists in this world, Your Majesty, she will be found."
Long moments passed before he melded back into the shadows of the room, and I opened the door, walking out. For all his mystery, the man had never failed me—his track record unmarred by time's passage or the complexities of the tasks I had laid before him. He succeeded where others routinely failed.
