But peace was not yet mine.
As if called forth from my thoughts, Elenora suddenly appeared from the shadows. She moved with the feline confidence of someone used to being watched, admired, and underestimated.
She carried something wrapped in silk.
"A token of appreciation for your performance today." She pressed the bundle into my hand.
I unwrapped the cloth to reveal a small crystal pendant on a silver chain—exquisitely made. The crystal, teardrop-shaped, held a tiny blossom suspended in glowing liquid. The pale petals shimmered faintly as if caught in a breeze only the magic inside could feel. Silver filigree cradled the crystal, carved with symbols too delicate to read in the dim corridor light.
"It will ward against unwanted dreamwalkers," Elenora murmured, her tone light—but her eyes serious. "But it will only work when worn flush against your skin."
"Dreamwalkers?"
She nodded and gave me a licentious smile. "One never knows who might be watching while we sleep."
The implication sent a cold ripple down my spine.
Even in Annwyn, that kind of magic was rare, dangerous, and forbidden.
"I'm not concerned about my dreams," I said, my voice even.
Her smile curved with slow amusement. "Perhaps you should be, Sir Lioran. Not all who walk the paths of sleep have benevolent intentions. Some seeksecrets. Others plant ideas—ones that feel like your own by morning." She leaned in, her breath brushing the shell of my ear. "And some of us simply enjoy watching what truths slip free when the conscious mind loosens its grip."
Then, like a shadow in reverse, she withdrew—leaving me alone in the flickering half-light, pendant in hand and pulse pounding as I watched her retreating figure, hips swaying.
What did this woman want with me? And what in the world was she going on about regarding dreamwalkers? I could only assume she was a silly courtesan who fancied herself something of a soothsayer, or perhaps she dabbled with herbs and crystals. I didn't know, but her interest in me was certainly not something I wanted to encourage.
Once in my chamber, I turned the pendant over in my fingers. The liquid inside glowed faintly with that strange light. It was beautiful—but beauty in Camelot, I was learning, often hid sharper edges.
I didn’t trust it. I didn’t trust her.
I wrapped the chain carefully, and kneeling down beside my bed, I lifted the loose floorboard I'd noticed earlier and hid the necklace in the dark space beneath. For all I knew,shewas planning on eavesdropping on my slumber. Whatever her intention, I wasn't going to take a chance with the blasted thing.
With the pendant secured beneath the floorboard, I let out a breath, feeling the weight of its potential treachery pulling sharply against my chest. Camelot had already given me enough secrets to choke on—I had little interest in adding an unknown piece of magic to the list.
And now—to release the disguise of Sir Lioran—something I'd been looking forward to all evening. Once I returned to mytrue self, I felt as if I could breathe again. As I undressed and climbed into bed, exhaustion tugged at me, but my mind refused to quiet.
Merlin had painted Camelot as a place of fear—a court where magic was hunted, its people ruled by suspicion and steel. But what I found instead was a nest of shifting loyalties and concealed agendas, where those who truly knew the shape of power rarely wore crowns or carried swords.
Elenora. Lady Isolde. Even Percival. All of them were part of a court that moved like a school of fish—each one glittering, each direction unpredictable.
And Arthur?
He'd been drawn for me in simple lines—enemy, tyrant, monster. But now… now those lines blurred. The man I saw in the Labyrinth wasn't the soulless villain I’d been warned about.
More troubling still were the doubts I now had coiling around Merlin himself. Was his version of the truth truly complete? Or had he, too, shaped me as a tool for his own ends, as Arthur had said?
The Labyrinth had opened more than doors. It had opened cracks in my certainty. In my mission. In myself.
-GUIN-
Iwoke up in a cold sweat.
My heart pounded as the remnants of the dream—no,the nightmare—clung to my mind.
I could still feel the call of the dream lingering like phantom fingers tracing along my spine. It was a relentless pull toward thelake that seemed to tug at something deep within me, drawing me toward those whispering waters and the mesmerizing viridian glow of Excalibur where it rested beneath the surface.
The Lady had appeared, rising from the lake's center like moonlight given form, her beauty both terrible and magnificent. Her voice was a symphony of chiding notes that seemed to resonate from the water itself, each word echoing with demands for duty and destiny that I'd never asked for and desperately wished to escape.
