CHAPTER TEN #2
Still, the radiance continued to spread in perfect, expanding rings, each wave more intense than the last. The illumination spread, bathing the tall reeds that bordered the water's edge and the smooth stones scattered along the bank.
Every blade of grass, every pebble, and every delicate wildflower became touched with magic, transformed into something precious and sacred.
I hadn't even realized I'd collapsed onto my knees against the wet bank until I noticed the tiny motes of starlight that began dancing and swirling beneath my fingertips in the mud, glittering like fallen constellations.
The water then began to spread upward, climbing toward me in tendrils.
I couldn't move. It was as though my muscles had turned to stone, every nerve ending frozen in a mixture of terror and wonder. I could barely breathe as the water continued its ascent, painting glowing trails across the darkness between us.
Soon, the enchanted water surrounded me completely, rising from the lake in countless cresting waves that wove themselves into a cocoon of light around my trembling form. It enveloped me with the gentleness of a lover's caress, as if it had been searching for me across centuries.
The water wasn’t cold—it was warm, welcoming. Alive. And it was encouraging—pulling—me toward the lake's edge—as if it wanted me to walk into it.
Around me, the forest fell completely silent. No wind, no leaves rustling. Even the crickets were now quiet, and the owl had ceased its calling. The whole night paused to witness this communion between the lake and me.
"What are you?" I whispered to it, not expecting an answer—but sensing that someone was listening all the same.
The water brightened in response. The warmth deepened.
And then the lake began to shift.
At its center, the glassy surface began to churn. Water then rose up in a spiraling column, fluid and elegant. The column twisted upward, growing taller and more defined with each passing heartbeat until the liquid started to solidify and shape itself into something unmistakably human.
It was another second or so until a woman emerged from the transformed water—the most breathtaking, otherworldly being I'd ever seen. She floated above the surface, suspended. Her skin gleamed as if it were neither wholly flesh nor magic, but something in between.
As she drifted closer, her features became clearer. High cheekbones caught the moonlight. Her lips curled into an enigmatic smile. Her eyes—shifting between blue and silver—held centuries of wisdom, judgment, and recognition.
Her hair fell past her waist in every shade of blue. It moved as if touched by an unseen breeze while tiny droplets clung to her skin like gemstones, refracting light in patterns that danced across the lake.
She wore no clothing, yet her long hair veiled her nudity like a gown.
Her presence made it impossible to draw a full breath. In fact, I felt stripped bare under that penetrating gaze—every lie I'd ever told, every disguise I'd ever worn, every mask I'd carefully constructed to hide my true self suddenly pulled away from me like gossamer threads caught in a hurricane.
Behind her, a stone platform rose from the depths of the lake like some ancient altar breaking the water's surface.
The structure appeared to be carved from a single piece of white marble, its edges worn smooth.
Intricate Celtic knotwork spiraled across its visible surfaces.
And there, embedded within the heart of that sacred platform, was the unmistakable hilt of a sword.
Even from this distance, I could feel its power thrumming through the air between us, a resonance that called to something deep within my chest, something that recognized its significance before my mind could fully comprehend what I was witnessing.
Excalibur.
And that could only mean one thing.
This was the Lady of the Lake.
"You have called me," the lady spoke, her voice like water over stone—ancient, melodic. "And I have answered."
At the periphery of my mind, something stirred—her voice carried an echo that seemed to resonate in the deepest corners of my memory.
The melody of it, that layered, flowing cadence, felt achingly familiar despite the impossibility of such a thing.
I'd never ventured beyond the hills of Logres before my flight to Annwyn and had never encountered any being of such otherworldly power.
Yet something in the way she spoke, in the gentle authority that threaded through each word, tugged at memories I couldn't quite grasp—fragments that dissolved like mist the moment I tried to focus on them.
I shook my head, backing away as my slippered feet sank into the soft mud at the lake’s edge.
“There must be some mistake,” I said, my voice unsteady. “I didn’t call anyone.”
The lady only smiled, gentle and knowing.
“The lake is part of me, as I am part of it. Its call is my call.” She gestured toward the sword. “When I am summoned, the sword must be tested. That is the ancient law.”
“But I’m not—” I stopped myself, my eyes darting around the shoreline. Still empty. Still alone. “I’m just a servant girl.”
“Are you?” the Lady asked, tilting her head, her eyes fixed on me. She wore a slight, knowing smile.
“Yes,” I insisted. “I have no right to touch something so sacred.”
"The sword does not care for titles or ranks—it answers only to what lies beneath.”
“This can’t be right."
She extended her hand. “Come, child. What’s begun cannot be undone. The sword awaits.”
I took another step back, heart pounding. “I could never—I'm not Arthur. I'm not the king. I’m not even—” I caught myself, choking off the truth. “I’m nobody.”
"It does not matter who you are—or who you are not." Her voice rippled like water across stone. "Excalibur does not recognize status, sex, or the arbitrary divisions of men. It answers only the call of the worthy."
My eyes shifted to the sword. The visible portion of the blade shimmered in the moonlight, glowing faintly as if it held fire within.
I suddenly felt like I was going to vomit.
I'd grown up listening to stories of this weapon. How Arthur—just a boy of fifteen—had drawn it when seasoned knights and proud noblemen could not. That single act had marked him as the rightful king of Camelot, the one destined to unite a shattered realm.
"The sword chose Arthur because he was Uther’s son," I said quietly, searching for any way out of this that I could find. "Because he was a prince."
"Is that what you believe?" Her tone was mocking, as was her smile. "Arthur was raised far from court. He was unknown then—just a squire. No one knew Arthur's bloodline when he first approached the sword."
I turned toward Excalibur, its blade gleaming in the moonlight like a living thing.
I thought of the kingdom Arthur had once saved—of nobles clawing at each other for power, of commoners caught beneath their boots.
A kingdom that now hunted magic users like criminals simply for the sin of being born gifted.
Arthur had pulled the sword. He'd brought peace.
For a time.
"He was worthy then," I whispered.
The Lady’s expression shifted—sorrow folding gently into her features. "Worthiness is not eternal. What is given can be taken… when the heart forgets its purpose."
"Then Arthur can no longer draw the sword?" I eyed her narrowly because this single truth could unseat the king, and I was more than sure Merlin would be interested to know the answer.
"The sword has remained stuck within the stone for many, many years."
My mouth went dry. Did Merlin already know this—that Arthur couldn't pull the sword and hadn't been able to for years? "And if someone else draws it? If someone else pulls Excalibur from the stone?"
"Then Logres and Camelot will have a new sovereign." Her words were soft, but they struck like thunder.
And suddenly, I couldn't breathe. Because she wasn’t speaking in theory.
She meant me.
"There's been a mistake. I'm just a servant who wandered too far."
The Lady's smile deepened—timeless and knowing. "Are servants unworthy? Does worth lie only in crowns and castles?"
While she might have had a point, attempting to draw the sword was not why I was here. This was not, and never had been, part of Merlin's plan for me. And, what was more, it wasn't my plan for me.
"I can't. Only Arthur pulled the sword. Everyone knows that."
"And yet here it stands—sunk within the stone once again. Still waiting."
I looked at the blade.
"As Excalibur has called to you, you must attempt to free it," the Lady insisted, her voice somehow both gentle and unyielding as the tide.
What chance did I really have of pulling it free? Just because the sword had called to me didn't mean I'd actually be able to free it. And once I failed to pull the sword, then perhaps the Lady would simply vanish back into the lake, as if she'd never been. And I could get on with my mission.
But what if I actually pulled it free?
No. That wasn’t possible. This wasn't my destiny.
I glanced around, half-expecting guards to charge from the shadows and drag me to the dungeons. The consequences of what the Lady asked felt incalculable.
"What has begun cannot remain unfinished."
I stepped toward the sword, each movement thick with doubt. What was I doing? I wasn’t a queen. I wasn’t even a knight. I was a spy, pretending to be a knight, now disguised as a servant. The absurdity of it all might’ve made me laugh—if I weren't currently stuck in this disaster.
"This will prove nothing," I muttered, more to myself than to her. "The sword won’t move for me any more than it would for a stable boy."
"We shall see."
At the stone platform, I paused one last time. If anyone saw me… But the grounds were still. No guards. No torches. Only the lake, the Lady, the stone, and the silence.
I took a breath and gripped the hilt.
The moment my skin touched the metal, warmth surged through me—not fire, but familiarity, as if the sword knew me. It hummed under my palm, the vibration echoing up my arm and into my chest.
I pulled.
There was no resistance.
The sword—Excalibur—slid free.
In the same instant, light burst from the stone, bright enough to illuminate the entire lake for a heartbeat—and in that moment, all I could feel was fear that someone had witnessed what I’d just done.
“What—” I gasped, staring at the sword in disbelief. “This can’t be.”
The blade felt too light, perfectly balanced, as though it had been forged for my hand. And that was impossible.
“Excalibur has chosen.”
Across the water, the Lady of the Lake’s expression shifted—recognition and pride glowing in her eyes.
Gods, no! Fucking no! What in the nine hells had I just done?
“The Sword in the Stone acknowledges its rightful wielder.”
I shook my head, thrusting the sword toward her. “No. Take it back. This is a mistake.”
“There is no mistake. The sword chooses by worth, not lineage."
"This can't be happening."
"Excalibur has found in you what it once saw in Arthur—what he has since lost.”
Her words crashed over me like a wave. My mission, my disguise, everything I thought I was—splintered in an instant. This couldn't—this couldn't happen! How was this happening?!
“This is wrong,” I choked out. “Arthur pulled the sword. That’s why he’s king. That’s why—” My voice broke under the weight of my panic.
I dropped the sword.
It hit the water with a splash, vanishing into the lake as though it had never been drawn. The ripples spread outward, fracturing the moon’s reflection into a thousand pieces. I stood frozen, staring at the surface, my hand still tingling from where the hilt had touched my skin.
That sword had rejected kings and chosen me—a woman. A spy. A traitor in disguise.
I glanced toward the treeline, toward the castle walls beyond. Had I been seen? Was someone watching even now? One whisper of this, and my life was over.
“You must retrieve the sword.” The Lady stepped forward, her voice gentle but urgent.
"You retrieve it."
She shook her head. "It is not for me to retrieve. This is your destiny."
I backed away from her.
"The sword has seen what lies within you—the power to unite, to heal, to restore what has been broken."
But all I felt was the cold, wild panic of someone who had crossed a line they could never uncross.
What had I done?
"This is your fate. This is how it was meant to be, child. You are the new sovereign.”
“Be quiet!” I hissed, barely breathing the words as panic spiraled within me. “Please. You don’t understand. If someone hears you—if Arthur finds out—” My throat tightened as I considered what would happen to me. “I’d be dead before sunrise.”
“The sword would protect you.”
I stepped back. I had to get out of here before someone caught me. “I… I refuse to… acknowledge what happened here. This is not… my destiny.”
“Fate would say otherwise." She took another step closer. "What is done cannot be undone or ignored, no matter how you might wish it.”
“It can be undone if no one knows what happened." Thank the gods above that it had only been the Lady who'd witnessed the monumental mistake I'd just made.
"This is your fate," she started again as I shook my head.
“I’m begging you—please don’t speak of this to anyone."
"You must claim your destiny."
"I didn’t come here to claim anything.”
“You must accept the truth. The sword has chosen. Excalibur is yours now—by right and by destiny.”
Light shimmered around her, growing brighter. The sword rose from the lake once more, glowing, dripping, radiant. It hovered in the air between us, and I couldn't even look at it. Not when I realized what it represented—death.
“No,” I whispered. “I don’t want it. I don’t want any of this.”
“Purpose and destiny are not always aligned. The sword sees what you refuse to see in yourself.”
“I’m not here to take Arthur’s crown!” The words came too loud, too sharp.
“Excalibur has already chosen. Whether you accept your destiny now or later changes nothing.”