CHAPTER FOUR #2
Each passing day brought fresh evidence that the beast was gaining power over me, claiming more territory within my mind and body. The balance we'd maintained for years—an uneasy truce between king and dragon—was shifting inexorably in its favor.
And I believed Excalibur held the key to everything—that it could restore the balance between man and beast that grew more precarious with each passing day. Perhaps it could silence the ancient voice that grew stronger in my thoughts, more insistent in its demands.
I pulled.
Muscles strained. Jaw clenched. Sweat beaded on my brow despite the chill.
Nothing.
Not even a tremble.
"Fuck!" I shouted, startling a pair of crows into flight.
The sword remained unmoved, mocking me with its silence.
The sword rejects us for we are not pure.
I released the hilt and stepped back, chest heaving. Another failure. Another crack in the foundation of my reign. Another opportunity to be discovered as the fraud I had become.
I considered the false Excalibur displayed in my throne room, hung in the center of the wall for all to see.
Eventually, someone would expose it for what it truly was—a counterfeit.
And eventually, they would discover that the king had lost the ability to draw the blade and had been powerless to do so for years.
"Why?" The word tore out of me. "If I'm still the chosen one, why can’t I reclaim what’s rightfully mine?"
Nimue’s gaze softened. "You were the chosen one, Arthur Pendragon. But the dragonmark corrupts." She paused. "The dragon's fire speaks louder than your heart."
Her words struck like iron. I shook my head. "You know I sacrificed myself to take the dragonmark. Without it, the realm would have perished."
"Regardless, Arthur Pendragon, the sword now finds you unfit to rule."
My hands fisted at my sides. "There would be no Camelot, no Logres if not for me. If not for the sacrifice I made."
The growl that followed my words was draconic—yet another instance of the darkness overtaking me.
"Excalibur remembers Uther’s fall. It will not support yours.”
I remembered my father's fall too, only too well. The dragonmark was the only way to restrain the dragon, but it granted inhuman power at the same time that it warped the mind. Uther grew obsessed with dominance, control, and prophecy. Eventually, he couldn’t tell the dragon’s will from his own.
"I am not my father."
It was the same thing I’d told myself countless times.
Even now, the memory of the day Uther slaughtered his own men burned brightly in my mind.
He'd unleashed the dragonfire on his own army—blinded by rage or prophecy, I didn't know. But I’d watched it. He’d incinerated three hundred men. He hadn’t even blinked.
Of course, the kingdom had covered it up—but I never forgot.
"I am the chosen one," I insisted.
"You were the chosen one. But now the sword awaits another."
This was the first she had spoken of this—of the sword awaiting another.
The revelation struck me hard, driving the breath from my lungs as the full implication crashed over me.
My eyes narrowed to dangerous slits as my heart began to hammer in earnest. The dragon stirred within me, sensing my rising fury, enjoying it.
"Tell me who threatens my rule!" The demand tore from my throat with barely contained violence, each word edged with the promise of retribution.
The lake rippled again, stirred by forces I couldn't see.
"One will come, who carries twilight in their veins."
Twilight.
"From Annwyn?"
"Neither wholly of Logres nor of Annwyn. A bridge between worlds."
I froze.
Merlin.
"He sends an agent against me."
The thought of my former mentor pained me—the man who had raised me to become the king I now was, taught me, and then betrayed me.
"This is not Merlin’s scheme. It is destiny’s design."
A usurper would take what is ours.
"Speak plainly," I growled. "Give me a name."
We will destroy him. Burn him to cinders.
"I do not know a name to give you."
I turned away, finding Camelot in the distance. Its golden spires looked tarnished in the light. The central tower, still cracked from my final battle with Merlin, split the sky like a scar.
"I built this kingdom from chaos," I said, my voice low and steady. "I brought order. If Merlin has his way, magic will flow freely again, and the dragon will be released. Then the world will burn."
Nimue remained silent. Watching.
"Tell me how to reclaim the sword." I turned to face her once more.
"I cannot tell you what I do not know."
Memories surfaced then—of purges, executions, families broken apart in the name of law, order, and security.
"Every decision I made had to be made. Without order, Camelot would have descended into chaos."
"Fear is a poor foundation for a kingdom, Arthur Pendragon."
"You know nothing of ruling," I nearly spat the words back at her.
She said nothing more but gave me a small, sad smile. It was the same as it always was. I didn't know why I bothered returning here as often as I did. I turned, wading back toward shore.
"Magic is not your enemy," she called out behind me.
Anger burned through me at the statement. I paused, but I didn't face her. I couldn't. "Magic is everyone's enemy, and it must be outlawed.”
"You have not simply outlawed it. You have destroyed it."
I spun to face her then, anger flaring to life within me. “I had no choice! You know what will happen if I allow magic to exist unchecked!"
"I do not know, for that prophecy has never revealed itself."
“It will feed the dragon, and eventually, I will not be able to control it," I insisted as I tried to calm myself, to get control of the anger that had been visiting me more and more often recently. "I’ve made difficult choices, but history will judge me more kindly than you.”
“Perhaps. But it is not history that determines the sword’s allegiance.”
"The sword will recognize the justness of my cause in time. It must."
"Justness? Or hypocrisy?"
I froze as I glared at her. "Hypocrisy?"
"The Shadow Trials begin tomorrow, do they not?"
"They do."
"And you seek only those knights who wield magic."
"Yes."
"Is that not hypocrisy?"
"You call it hypocrisy—I call it necessity." I paused and took a breath. "I can't fight Merlin with swords. I have to beat him at his own game.”
"Is it Merlin who is your enemy, or is it the dragon within you?"
"Both," I growled. "Merlin is responsible for waking this beast. He has broken the covenant. He's gone back on his word, on the oath he took that was sealed in blood and magic. And he will suffer for his indiscretions."
I took a deep, deliberate breath through gritted teeth, feeling the familiar burn of rage kindling in my chest like embers catching flame.
The anger was building again—that white-hot fury that had been visiting me with increasing frequency.
As I exhaled, wisps of actual smoke curled from my lips.
Each breath I took carried the faintest hint of sulfur.
"Are you certain it is Merlin who is to blame?"
"There is no other explanation. And he will soon see that betraying me has consequences.
" My voice carried the weight of absolute certainty, the tone of a king who had made peace with harsh realities.
"I will capture him, drag him back to Camelot in chains if necessary, and when I do, he will buttress the ancient wards that keep this dragon in check.
His magic will serve its proper purpose once again. "
I paused, feeling the familiar tightness in my chest as the dragon stirred at the mention of Merlin's name. The beast wanted blood, wanted revenge, wanted to burn everything associated with my former mentor to ash and cinders. I forced myself to take a measured breath, tasting sulfur on my tongue.
"Is this your will or the dragon's will?"
"It is my will," I growled. "And once the dragon is caged once more, then I will be able to pull Excalibur from its stone prison and prove beyond any shadow of a doubt that I remain the rightful king of Camelot. The sword will recognize my authority when this curse is lifted."
The certainty in my words felt hollow even as I spoke them, but I couldn't afford doubt. Not now. Not with the trials beginning tomorrow and every eye in the kingdom watching.
"Will it?"
It was the doubt in her tone that first sparked the flames. But it was the look in her eyes, the disbelief in my words, that sent a roar of dragonfire surging through me.
She doubts our strength. Show her what happens to those who dare.
My hands clenched into fists, knuckles whitening as I fought to contain the surge of heat that threatened to consume me from within.
The dragon tattoo across my chest and back burned like a brand, the ancient scales seeming to writhe beneath my skin as if the creature itself were trying to tear free from its prison of flesh and ink.
I could taste smoke on my tongue, feel the familiar tightness in my throat that preceded the emergence of something far more dangerous than mere royal displeasure.
"I'm done here," I growled, the sound emerging rougher than intended, more beast than man. Without another glance, I turned and stalked away through the mist-shrouded lake, leaving steam in my wake.
By the time I reached the forest’s edge, my mind churned with familiar fears—Merlin gathering forces in Annwyn, amassing power while I struggled to maintain order in Logres.
Reports of rebellion were increasing with each passing week, mostly along the northern borders where my authority had always been more tenuous.
Village after village had begun refusing my tax collectors, and several lords who had sworn fealty to my crown were now conspicuously absent from court summons.
The northern territories had always been restless under my rule—too close to the wild lands, too influenced by old loyalties and older magic—but this growing defiance felt different. More organized. More dangerous.