CHAPTER FORTY
-GUIN-
My bedchamber felt stifling, the air thick with the weight of all the revelations I’d endured earlier.
I paced back and forth, the soft thud of my boots against the stone floor echoing like the hammering of my heart. Each step sent tremors through the room, disturbing the water in the basin—droplets leaping and splashing as if reacting to the storm brewing inside me.
Why hadn’t Merlin told me the truth?
The question roared through my mind, and I clenched my fists, frustration bubbling beneath the surface like a geyser.
All those years in Annwyn under his watchful eye—had I ever truly been a student?
Or had I always been a tool? A weapon? A living plan disguised as a person? No, not as a person—his daughter!
The anger flared, and the basin erupted—water rising in chaotic arcs, circling me like wild spirits. I forced it down, my jaw tightening.
Breathe, Guin. You will get through this. Like you always have.
With effort, I found my breath again—deep and steadying. But the ache didn’t fade. Betrayal knotted with confusion inside me, each strand choking the air from me. Merlin had always spoken of legacy, of duty—always circling the truth but never stepping into it.
I halted before the basin, catching sight of my reflection.
My violet eyes stared back at me and soon filled with tears, even though I batted them back furiously.
I didn't want to cry—didn't want to give in to the sadness that was already consuming me.
But it didn't seem like my body was listening because soon the tears came even stronger—a steady stream bleeding from my eyes.
Why hadn't Merlin claimed me as his own blood? Why hadn't he told me the truth? Was he ashamed of me? Was I someone he couldn't respect? Was he disappointed in me?
The questions struck harder than I expected them to. Had my own father withheld the truth because I was not the daughter he hoped I could be? If that was the case, was this whole mission just a reason to get rid of me? Had it been doomed before I'd ever even arrived?
The room felt smaller by the second.
I slammed my hand against the table, water sloshing over the edge and splattering the walls. The sound echoed like a cry in the dark.
“He knew,” I whispered. “He knew from the beginning.”
Images flashed—every lesson, every long stare, every half-finished sentence. How many times had he almost said it? How many times had he swallowed the truth?
Was there ever a moment when I wasn’t just a pawn to him?
And then there was the deeper wound: the realization that my life had been scripted before I even knew how to read the lines.
My idyllic childhood, the eruption of power on my twentieth birthday, surviving the Standing Stones because I carried my father's blood, being taken under Merlin's wing—it had all been part of something larger. Something hidden.
Worse still, Merlin hadn't rescued me from chaos. He’d prepared me for it.
And now I'm his agent against Arthur.
His daughter, sent into enemy territory. Not by choice. Without truth. Just a mask and a mission.
I stumbled back from the basin, running my arm across my eyes, trying desperately to dry the tears because they were evidence that I cared too much. And when you care too much, you hurt too much.
My jaw set as I moved to the basin and prepared the ritual to contact Merlin, my father.
The familiar act—one I’d done so many times—now felt like drawing a blade.
Every gesture was precise, brittle, fueled by a quiet rage simmering just beneath my surface.
I wasn’t sure what I would say, only that I had to say something.
The water stilled. The scrying pool shimmered. Merlin’s study materialized through its depths—a familiar comfort that suddenly felt foreign. Cold.
A moment later, his face appeared—lined, weathered, expectant.
“Guinevere,” he said gently, always gently.
Beside him stood Corvin. At seeing his handsome face—the smile he gave me—the fissure inside me widened.
“I know the truth.” My voice cracked through the ritual like thunder, heavy and final.
Merlin's expression froze. "What truth?"
“I know you’re my father.”
The water shimmered as surprise flickered across Merlin’s face—brief and fleeting—before resignation took its place like a mantle worn too long.
But I couldn't look at it for long. Instead, I turned my attention to Corvin's expression as it shifted—shock rippling across his features like a stone thrown into still water.
His amber eyes widened, jaw slackening as he stepped closer to the scrying pool.
"You're what?" His voice held genuine disbelief, the kind that couldn't be faked.
The surprise in his tone struck me harder than Merlin's silence. Corvin—the man who'd trained beside me, who'd taught me bladework in Annwyn's twilight forests, who'd stood at Merlin's right hand for years—hadn't known this truth either.
"Corvin." Merlin's tone carried warning.
But Corvin ignored him, his gaze locked on mine through the shimmering water. "How long have you known this?"
"Since today." The words tasted bitter. "The Riddle of Blood revealed it."
Corvin turned sharply toward Merlin, something dangerous flickering in his eyes. "You never told me. All these years, and you never—"
"It wasn't your burden to carry."
"Burden?" The word exploded from Corvin's lips. "She's your daughter!"
Apparently, I wasn't the only one Merlin had kept in the dark about this carefully guarded secret.
The realization sent another wave of bitter anger coursing through me. How many others had he manipulated with half-truths and strategic omissions? How many people had he moved across his chessboard without their knowledge, thinking they understood their place in his grand design?
"Perhaps it would be best to continue this conversation just the two of us, Guinevere," Merlin started, his voice carrying that familiar tone of gentle authority he used when he wanted to guide someone toward his preferred outcome.
But I emphatically shook my head. "No." I stepped closer to the scrying pool, my reflection rippling alongside his in the enchanted water.
"Corvin stays. Everything I have to say, I can and will say in front of him.
He's been your loyal agent for years—he deserves to hear this conversation just as much as you deserve to have it witnessed. "
The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken tensions. I could feel Corvin's presence, somehow solid and unwavering, his shock still radiating through the connection we shared. Whatever Merlin's response would be, at least one person would hear the full truth of this confrontation.
"Very well," Merlin responded finally, though resignation colored his words like ink bleeding through parchment. He cleared his throat. "How did you learn of this?"
“The Riddle of Blood Trial,” I answered coldly, each syllable honed by fury.
“It showed me everything. You. The Lady of the Lake.
My real mother. My birth. The Lady's decision to hide me with the people I thought were my parents.” My voice sharpened with each revelation, cutting like a blade.
“I saw it all—the truth you kept from me while sending me to spy on your enemy.”
Merlin exhaled heavily, the sound distorted by the watery lens between us. Yet I felt its weight like stones pressing against my chest. “I planned to tell you,” he said at last. “When the time was right.”
“When would that have been?” I snapped. “After I fulfilled your mission? After Arthur was dead? Or never, if it suited your plans to keep me ignorant? Or did you want me to meet my own end here, in Camelot?”
His eyes softened with regret, but I didn’t flinch. I wanted guilt. I wanted him to feel every inch of the pain that was nearly suffocating me.
“I never wanted you to meet your own end, Guinevere. Not in Camelot, not in Annwyn. Nowhere.”
"Then why—"
"—because you weren’t ready."
“Ready for what? To be used? To become your blade in a war I never asked to fight?” My voice trembled, but it didn’t break. I refused to break—not now, not in front of him.
He opened his mouth to answer, but the words failed him. For once.
“Was it all just manipulation? Is that why Excalibur accepted me? Because of my bloodline, not my worth? Was it the sword’s magic choosing its next weapon—not the person holding it?” I paused. "Or was that your doing? Did you somehow force the sword to choose me?"
“No,” Merlin said, his voice firmer than before. “The sword chooses based on worthiness. Nothing else.”
We stared at one another, silent. Five heartbeats passed—long, deafening, full of all the things neither of us could say.
Then I glanced at Corvin and found his eyes wide, his expression one of shock.
I could only wonder at the thoughts going through his head because he remained so quiet, almost alarmingly so.
“I had hoped…” Merlin began again, his voice cracking on the edge of some long-buried wish.
I scoffed. “Hoped what? That I’d never ask questions? That I’d obey, like some loyal little soldier you forged in secret?”
Merlin lowered his gaze. The silence that followed felt like a canyon, vast and echoing.
“This was never about control,” he said finally. But even he sounded unsure.
“Then what was it about?” My frustration surged, and water droplets flew from my fingertips, striking the stone floor like angry rain. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like every step of my life was decided for me.”
“That’s unfair." Pain flickered across his features. “I searched for you, Guinevere. For years. After Nimue hid you, I—” He stopped himself and took a breath. “I felt your presence the moment you crossed the Standing Stones."
"And you knew all along why the Stones hadn't killed me when I passed through them—because I carried your blood."