"What you face within will be shaped by your own weaknesses: your fears, your guilt, your fury, your shame. Some are common to all men—others deeply personal. Victory lies not in brute force, but in mastery of self."
The court fell still as he continued.
"The mind is a labyrinth in its own right—filled with shadows we deny. Today, you face those shadows. Some of you will emerge transformed. Others will never return." He turned slowly, giving a meaningful glance across the stands. "Revelation is not condemnation. But failure to understand your darkness… will destroy you."
Beside me, Lance leaned in. "Bloody hell, he’s tedious."
I gave a tight nod. "Far too tedious."
I cleared my throat—loudly. Mordred glanced at me. I met his gaze and rolled my hand in a curt, unmistakable gesture:Get on with it.
Mordred's lips thinned into a barely perceptible frown, the only outward sign of his displeasure at being rushed. Nevertheless, he inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment and quickened his delivery, much to my relief. The sooner we moved past the theatrics and into the actual trial, the better.
It was not long before my thoughts wandered.
Back to white hair. Violet eyes.
Perhaps we’d missed something. Perhaps I should order another search of the castle as soon as the trial finished? Or better yet—search myself?
Yes. Maybe this timeI’dfind her.
But then the ridiculousness of the thought took hold of me like a physical blow, settling heavily in my chest. Camelot was massive—a sprawling fortress with countless chambers, hidden passages, servant quarters tucked into forgotten corners, and wing upon wing of corridors that even I hadn't fully explored in my years of rule. The sheer scope of it made my jaw clench with frustration. There was no way I could search the entirety myself, not without abandoning my duties for weeks on end.
And to force the guards to search again, to demand they turn over every stone they'd already examined twice, to interview the servants once more with increasingly desperate questions—it would cause far too much suspicion regarding the legitimacy of my sanity. Already I could imagine the whispers that would follow such an order.The King grows obsessed with phantoms. Arthur sees enemies in shadows. Perhaps the crown weighs too heavily upon his mind, as it did with his father.
The thought of such gossip spreading through my court made my hands tighten into fists. I had worked too hard,sacrificed too much, to let rumors of madness undermine everything I'd built.
She must be found, the dragon insisted.
One by one, the candidates stepped forward. Faces set in grim determination, they drank from Mordred's chalice. Then each approached a different archway. Some hesitated. Others masked their fear behind bravado. The moment they crossed the threshold, the archways reacted with a hushed exhale.
From the outside of the Labyrinth, it appeared as nothing more than a solemn circle of ancient monoliths. But crossing the threshold under each archway revealed the deception—inside, the stones staggered in jagged, deliberate patterns, forming a maze that coiled inward like a trap. Each alcove led to another passage, each turn folding deeper into the heart of the circle where magic gathered like breath held too long.
Inside, the maze would become personal. Mordred’s magic tailored each corridor to the knight’s own mind. There, they would face manifestations of private terrors—childhood monsters, betrayal, shame, failure. The Labyrinth would not simply test their strength but their souls. And the walls… the walls listened.
Victory wasn’t about reaching the center. It was about endurance, control, and mastery of self when every shadow whispered lies and truths in equal measure.
"The Labyrinth reveals each knight's darkest weaknesses—faults within themselves that could destroy them. Weaknesses that must be weeded out," Mordred said quietly to the court behind us, his strange eyes glowing faintly. "Some will find glory. Others… will not."
A ripple of whispers sounded from the court—sharp intakes of breath, excited murmurs, scandalized gasps. The nobility always relished spectacle, especially when it involved the publicunraveling of a knight’s dignity. I could feel their anticipation pressing against my back like the weight of my crown.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
-GUIN-
The Labyrinth Trial
When my turn came, I approached the chalice with shoulders squared, steps firm but not heavy, the subtle swagger of a man accustomed to armor.
Every inch of me moved with calculated ease, even if fear beat a winding path through me.
I clutched the Whisperstone in my right hand—one of the talismans Merlin had included in The Obscura. The small river-polished stone scrambled magical listening or viewing. So, any attempt Arthur or others made to see through my eyes or read my thoughts returned echoes of false impressions. If the Labyrinth somehow projected our own experiences, the onlookers wouldn't experience what I was experiencing but something very different.
"Stone remembers," Merlin had told me as he spoke his magic into this one at the moment of its creation.
Arthur’s gaze tracked me like a hawk's—sharp, unrelenting. I felt it in every step, a weight pressing against my illusion. Did some sliver of recognition remain from the lake?
The memory of standing before him at the lake returned to me with vivid, unwelcome clarity, and not for the first time. I could still feel the phantom sensation of his hands on my skin, the way his fingers had traced the outline of my jaw before traveling lower.
