CHAPTER NINETEEN #2
“—it chose me first,” Arthur snapped. The words cracked through the chamber like thunder.
His frustration surged beneath the surface, barely contained, and his eyes suddenly glowed orange-red as they did when the dragon surfaced.
And I believed the dragon was surfacing more often.
He was much more given to bouts of fury, and I had noticed the smoke on his breath more than once.
He drew a breath, steadying himself, then growled, “How can it now prefer a servant girl?”
He didn’t give me a chance to respond. “For years I’ve ruled Logres. I was… meant to be king. Ordained.”
His eyes burned—part defiance, part desperation—as if saying the words aloud could make them true and silence the doubts clawing at him.
I moved to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder. “The legends say the sword chooses based on worthiness... or need. Perhaps...” I hesitated. “Perhaps something within you has shifted.” Of course, I meant the dragon.
Arthur stiffened. “I am still king.”
“Of course,” I replied quickly. “I only meant—the sword’s magic has never been predictable. Even Merlin struggled to explain it.”
At the mention of his old mentor, something in Arthur’s expression softened. For a moment, I saw the boy he’d once been—curious, eager, still full of hope.
“Merlin,” he murmured. “He’d know what this means.”
"Do you think he’s behind it? That he sent this girl?”
Arthur’s fingers clenched around his goblet.
“The thought had crossed my mind." He nodded.
"And the more I consider it, the more true it rings.
" He paused, then looked at me. "Who else would dare? Who else could find someone capable of drawing the sword?” He downed the wine in one gulp. “Perhaps she never pulled the sword at all, but it was mere witchcraft. Regardless, it reeks of Merlin’s games.”
I considered it. “But why a girl? Why not take the sword himself if he could twist its magic?”
“To humiliate me,” Arthur snapped. “To shake my people’s faith. He always preferred chaos.”
He refilled his goblet with a trembling hand, and I felt a deep unease settle in my chest. I’d seen this look before—when Arthur first spoke of Merlin’s betrayal. That same haunted edge.
“What will you do if you find her?”
He laughed—a harsh, hollow sound that echoed off the stone. “Logic says I should kill her. A peasant with a claim to my throne? She could undo everything I’ve built.”
"Arthur…" I wasn't exactly surprised by this announcement, but I was disparaging of it all the same.
He held up a hand to stay me. When he spoke, his voice dropped, low and cold. “But my body disagrees.”
“I don’t—”
“—I have never desired a woman more, Lance.” Arthur looked up then, stricken, drawing a shaky breath.
“She haunts me. I dream of her every night—those defiant eyes, always challenging me, even in sleep. I see her in the steam of my bath, the shadows of my chamber… even in the swirl of wine in my cup. She is everywhere, and yet, she is nowhere.”
His fingers traced the rim of his goblet, hand unsteady. The firelight caught the silver threading through his hair, the quiet toll of eight and thirty years made heavier by the crown.
"When I close my eyes, I see her hand on Excalibur's hilt—those delicate fingers wrapped around the grip.
And then..." His breath caught, shoulders trembling with an emotion I couldn't name—fury or longing, perhaps both intertwined beyond separation.
"I see those same fingers digging into my back, marking me, claiming me as surely as she claimed my sword. "
The firelight danced across his face, revealing the stark hunger in every line. This wasn't the controlled desire of a king selecting a mistress—this was something desperate, consuming.
"It's madness," he whispered, his voice breaking on the word. "This craving, this... hunger that gnaws at me every waking moment. I cannot eat without tasting her name on my tongue—a name I don't even fucking know! I cannot sleep without feeling phantom touches that leave me aching and empty."
"Are you certain this is your hunger and not… the dragon's?"
He looked at me and nodded. "The dragon desires her just as much as I do, but our feelings… our thoughts… are separate. The dragon views her as its mate. Its treasure. He wants to hoard her."
"And what do you want?"
"To fuck her." He swallowed hard. "I want to fuck her repeatedly. Until I can't fucking move. And then I want to fuck her again." He shook his head. "I am obsessed, Lance."
"Have you not taken another woman to—"
Without warning, he hurled his goblet into the fire. Crystal exploded against stone in a shower of glittering fragments, wine hissing and sizzling as it met the flame, sending up clouds of aromatic steam that filled the chamber with the scent of expensive vintage turned to ash.
I fought every instinct to flinch, my hand drifting unconsciously toward my sword hilt before I forced it to stillness.
These violent outbursts had become disturbingly common in recent weeks—explosive releases of the pressure building within him.
The sound echoed through the vaulted chamber like thunder, sharp and final, before fading into the storm's endless roar.
"No other women can compare to her. Not only is she the most beautiful creature I have ever seen, but there is a fire that exists within her, Lance.
" He looked up at me then, and his eyes were bloodshot.
"When she looked at me, it was with defiance.
" He breathed in deeply. "And it's that defiance I want to fuck out of her. "
I cleared my throat. I'd never seen Arthur like this before—tormented, obsessed. He did not, by rule, get attached to any women. At least, he hadn't for as long as I'd known him.
"And the dragon..." Arthur's voice dropped to barely a whisper, but I heard the tremor of genuine fear threading through his words.
"The dragon drives me harder than my own desires.
It wants to own her. The beast stirs whenever I think of her, clawing at my ribs, demanding I find her, claim her, make her submit to us. "
"The dragon," I repeated carefully, knowing this was a very sore subject for him.
He looked up at me then, eyes wild and haunted, pupils dilated in the flickering light. His nod was sharp, jerky. "The dragon grows restless, stronger by the day. I hear it constantly now, and its demands are always the same—find her. Claim her. Own her. Mate her."
I stayed silent, unnerved. This wasn’t lust. This was something deeper—something obsessive, unnatural.
I had to wonder if it was the dragon at fault—if the dragon was coloring his own thoughts.
Almost immediately, memories of Uther came to haunt me—the madness that had unseated the king.
That fateful day when he'd murdered his own soldiers.
Was it possible that Arthur's sanity was escaping him just like it had his father's? Was this the beginning of the end?
“I’ve never wanted anyone more.” He looked at me again. “But she must die… mustn’t she?”
My stomach turned. The Arthur I knew—my brother in arms—would never speak of killing an innocent woman in such cold terms. But I also understood the peril. If the sword had truly chosen her, and if word spread… Camelot would fracture. His reign, perhaps even the realm, could fall.
A memory surfaced—Arthur at fifteen, wide-eyed beneath the stars, still stunned that the sword had accepted him. “What if I’m not worthy? What if the sword chose wrong?”
The boy who once questioned the sword was now a man terrified it had changed its answer.
I swallowed hard. “The sword chose her, Arthur. By the same magic that once chose you.”
“It’s… impossible.” He turned sharply, eyes locked on the fire as if it might offer answers. “It’s Merlin’s doing. A trick. It has to be.”
There could be truth to that. I was not yet ready to believe that the sword had truly chosen another, let alone a servant girl. It seemed… very unlikely.
"What do I do, Lance?"
I breathed in deeply. It wasn't an easy question to answer. “We find her… quietly."
He immediately shook his head. "I have searched for her high and low. There has not been a corner of this castle that hasn't been searched."
"Most likely because she is not within the castle walls. No, in this case, you must issue a royal decree."
He frowned at me. "A royal decree?"
I nodded. "Invite all daughters of Logres to court under the guise of a celebration."
"It will look as though I am seeking a wife."
He appeared put out by the thought, but I nodded. "Yes, exactly. And therefore, no one will question it. It's the perfect guise. A festival in honor of beauty and grace.” I paused. “All the eligible young women of the realm will be required to attend."
"And if she does not?"
"Make it a law," I answered with a shrug. "Punishable by tithe." He nodded at that and seemed to like the idea. "We’ll locate her without ever having to reveal our reasons why.”
He was quiet as he further considered it. Then he nodded more ardently. “Not a bad idea. Yes. I’ll make the announcement tomorrow.”
“We will find her,” I promised.
He looked at me then—something cold and final flickering in his eyes. “Quietly, Lance. No one can know what I saw. No one can know who she is… or what she did.”
I nodded, my mind already racing through the logistics—how to conduct a secret search under the eyes of the court and the King’s Guard.
“And when we do locate her?” I asked softly, a knot forming in my throat. I feared his answer. Feared what he might ask of me. The image of this girl—unnamed, alone, marked by destiny and now for death—unsettled me more than I cared to admit.
Arthur turned back to the window, his reflection ghostlike in the glass. “Bring her to me. Unharmed.”
When I left his chambers, I didn’t get far.
The corridor was empty, torchlit, and silent, yet I couldn’t bring myself to walk away.
Instead, I leaned against the cold stone of the wall, listening to the soft, uneven rhythm of his pacing behind the door.
Something had shifted in him tonight—something deep. And I feared what might come next.
This consuming obsession did not characterize the Arthur I had come to know over these many years.
His admission that the dragon was growing in strength unsettled me.
That he could now hear its thoughts echoing within his mind, a cacophony of dark whispers that tugged at his sanity and tested his resolve?
This wasn't just troubling; it was a warning sign, a signal that something profound and sinister was happening within him, something I feared he could no longer control.
The same thing that had happened to his father.
The gleam in his eyes when he spoke of this girl—half hunger, half desperation—reminded me of men lost to battle frenzy or dark enchantments. He was no longer the measured king I’d called friend for over twenty years.
What had become of the man who once defied his father’s court in order to defend me? I’d been nothing then—an orphan with calloused hands and threadbare clothing, fighting for scraps in dirty alleys.
“You have the heart of a true knight,” he’d said, offering his hand as nobles sneered behind him. He’d lifted me from the mud and given me purpose when I had known only rage and hunger.
I owed him everything—my sword, my loyalty, my life if needed.
But this? Hunting an innocent woman whose only crime was being chosen by the same sword that once chose him?
Could I be part of that?
Uneasy, I made for my quarters.
The corridors were quiet, bathed in moonlight. The castle slept, unaware of the fracture forming at its heart.
God help me, I hoped we never found her.
For her sake—yes. I’d seen the darkness growing in Arthur, that dangerous edge between desire and fear—the dragon's darkness, if I were being honest with myself. But I also hoped we didn't find her for his sake. He was standing on a precipice, soul tilted toward a fall he might not survive.
And what of the fact that she had actually pulled the sword (if this was not somehow Merlin's doing)? What did that mean? A threat to the kingdom we’d built through blood and sacrifice? Or something else…
Salvation?
The sword had chosen Arthur in Logres’ hour of need, and it had abandoned him as soon as he'd taken the Dragon.
What did it seek now in choosing her? Did she represent absolution?
Purification? And if such was the case, and if I had to choose between them—between my oath to the king and what was right—what would I do?
Until now, the question never needed asking. Arthur’s will had always aligned with justice—and with mine. But now? The ground beneath that belief was shifting like sand beneath a rising tide.
I'd never questioned his commands. Every battle, every execution felt justified in the pursuit of peace. The blood on my hands—so much of it—had been spilled in the name of something noble.
But this was different.
This was no war. No rebellion. Just an innocent girl and a sword that no longer belonged to Arthur. And a dragon that was growing bigger than its cage.
For the first time I could remember, something stirred beneath the weight of duty—a conscience within me I thought long buried.
When I reached my bedchamber, I paced, moonlight stretching my shadow across the walls. What haunted me most wasn’t the moral question—but how quickly it had cracked my certainty regarding Arthur.
Had he always been this man, and I simply hadn’t seen it?
Or had I seen it and chosen to look away?
Or was this the dragon's will and had nothing to do with Arthur?
The questions followed me to bed, into dreams where a woman stood before Camelot’s throne, Excalibur raised high. The blade caught the light as Arthur and I knelt—not in surrender, but in recognition.
Not of power.
Of truth.
Of something long forgotten—and desperately needed.