"You look like you could use this." She offered the steaming cup to me as she took the untouched mead from my hands. “For the headache that follows the Labyrinth.”
I stared at her, blinking. "How did you—?"
"—everyone who survives wears the same look." She then gestured between her eyes to the exact place where my head continued to thrum in ache.
There was a disarming quality to her tone—direct, confident, unbothered. Rare, in a court where even sincerity was often rehearsed.
"Thank you." I inhaled the tea’s aromatic steam. Lavender and chamomile, yes—but notes of something else. Something unfamiliar.
"A touch of moonflower," she explained, catching my expression. “To soften the dreams that follow.”
"Moonflower is illegal in Logres. It's associated with dream magic."
Her smile sharpened. “Some rules bend—for those who know when and how to apply pressure.” Her voice dropped slightly. “Wouldn’t you agree, Sir Lioran?”
I studied her carefully now. That smile was too practiced, too knowing.
“I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced.”
“I am Elenora, and I amverypleased to make your acquaintance.”
The name lingered on her lips like a challenge.
"You flatter me, my lady." Her proximity was unsettling—and the way she was looking at me, with the slow assessment of a hunter who already knew what lay beneath my armor, made my skin prickle. "I don't recall seeing you at the trial today." Of course, I wasn't paying attention to who was assembled in the audience, so she could have very well been there, and I just hadn't noticed.
Elenora’s smile curved like the edge of a dagger. “I simply heard of your performance. Everyone has.” She nodded and gave me a knowing smile. "The mysterious knight from the borderlands with unusual magical abilities—the underdog who bested one of the notoriously difficult trials."
I was surprised to hear myself described in such a way. "Am I the underdog?"
Elenora laughed at that, as though I were foolish for asking. "Of course—you’re the smallest of the knights."
"Ah," I answered with a quick nod. I couldn't argue that. "I'm not sure I've done anything to merit such attention."
Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "In a court starved for novelty, merely surviving the Labyrinth with grace is enough." She studied me before giving me the devil's own smile. "Though I wonder what a young knight with your particular talents hopes to gain here. Arthur's favor is a treacherous current to navigate."
"I seek only to serve Logres."
"As do we all, in our fashion." She laughed. "Though 'service' takes many forms, does it not? Some serve openly with sword and shield, others more... discreetly."
She then turned smoothly on her heel and glided away—back toward Lancelot, who stood with a goblet in one hand and the half-bored expression of a man surrounded by admirers who offered nothing new. Soon, his free hand was full of Elenora.
Just before she rejoined him, Elenora glanced over her shoulder at me and gave me a lascivious smile.
I took a sip of the tea. It was warm and soothing. After another three or so sips, the tension headache I’d carried since leaving the Labyrinth eased almost completely. The clarity sharpened my focus—and that’s when I noticed it: a folded slip of parchment stuck beneath the underside of the cup.
I palmed it discreetly, waited until no eyes were on me, then moved to a far-off table and unfolded it under the table’s edge.
Not all in Camelot have forgotten the old ways.
The handwriting was neat. Refined.
I folded the note tightly and slipped it into my surcoat, my fingers lingering over it as if pressure alone might yield more information. What did it mean? And why risk giving me such a message here, in the heart of Arthur’s kingdom?
Was it a trap—or an invitation?
Of course, I had no answers. But the possibility that I wasn’t as alone in Camelot as Merlin had warned stirred something that had nearly withered inside me: a flicker of hope.
But it also raised new questions: Why did Elenora suppose I would welcome such a message? Because I was from the Northern Borderlands? And why tonight? Or was she simply the messenger, and it was someone else who was pulling the strings?
