I turned to leave but paused for a moment. “And if it wasn’t obvious—I like both of you too.”
With that I opened the rectory door and began my descent down the stairs, my body feeling lighter than it had in days.
My cards were all on the table with all of my packmates, now it was up to them to make a decision.
Chapter Thirty-Two
My hammer sent sparks flying up around me as I brought it down on the glowing red piece of metal on the anvil in front of me.
After our talk with Guinevere yesterday I had stolen away into my workshop to untangle my thoughts.
She had said fate was overrated—as if it meant nothing—and it should have made me feel uncomfortable or sad, but instead it filled me with a warmth that I did not know was possible.
It was as if she was choosing us over the fate set forth with a determination that made even me blush when I thought about the way her lips had felt against mine.
Arthur had called us all together after Guinevere had gone to bed and made each of us tell him what had happened in Merlin’s rectory, his face impassive until we told him about her kisses.
The alpha had then just chuckled and muttered something under his breath about his daring little wife.
He accepted us in that moment—even Merlin who seemed surprised by the king’s willingness to allow him to court his omega despite his oddities.
It all seemed to be coming together with ease. So, why was I feeling so damned anxious?
I had awoken from a dead sleep in the middle of the night with the urge to climb up on top of the wall and stare out at the plains surrounding the castle and the massive lake that shone under the light of the full moon.
All was calm and quiet. Even the night watch seemed to be relaxed more than usual, playing cards despite being forbidden to do so by Arthur.
They had hopped to attention upon seeing me, but I knew deep in my soul that they would be playing again as soon as I left.
Making a mental note to speak with Arthur about it, I had gone back to bed and slept fitfully for the rest of the night, too many choices to make set out in front of me and as many worries to match.
After sending a squire to deliver my message to the king, I had spent the rest of the afternoon working on the projects that I had been putting off ever since Guinevere came to Camelot.
While I favored bladesmithing the most, most of my tasks had to do with things around the castle. New door handles and hinges for the wing that was being refurbished, fresh horseshoes for the stable, and nails. So many nails.
My entire back table was covered in nail molds as they would be used for the new cottages going up on the edge of the village for our newest refugee residents who had filtered in from the village razing a month ago.
Finally, after all of my usual work was done, I was able to work on something that had come to mind yesterday when Guineverewas snapping at us in a way that made me want to kiss the frown right off of her lips.
She had shown interest in a bow and arrow—though I was uncertain of her talent with such things—but what she really needed was a way to protect herself if an enemy got too close.
Moving the cooling piece of metal back amongst the coals in my forge, I readied myself for another round of hammering.
I had refashioned nearly every tool in this workshop to work with my lack of a second hand.
Typically, one would hold the molten piece of metal with a set of tongs in one hand whilst hammering the metal with the other, but I had no second hand.
Instead, I created a longer set of tongs and fashioned a pair of vertical pads on either side.
Once the metal was ready, I used the tongs to settle the metal over the anvil before pressing the pads between my legs to hold it in place and allow me to hammer the metal into my desired shape. Then I would put the hammer aside so that I could flip the metal and repeat the process until it cooled and would need to be put back on the coals once again.
It took much longer and required more firings of the metal, but I had perfected it in the years since I lost my hand and many of the knights still commissioned their own swords from me.
I could make the most well-balanced blade on this side of Logres—even if I could no longer fight with it.
My gaze stayed on the hot piece of metal as I imagined the small blade that I would create from it.
Guinevere would need something small enough to conceal in the belt band of her dress. The handle would need to be delicate and ornate to match her beautiful looks.
