CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR #2
My stomach churned as my mind clawed at possible escapes, but Kay had left no cracks to slip through. One whisper from him to Arthur—and everything I had built would collapse.
And that was the reason I had come as Kay had demanded—not as Sir Lioran, but as myself.
My white hair was currently hidden beneath a hood, my cloak drawn tight.
I moved like a ghost, pressing into the walls whenever footsteps echoed.
Luckily, Kay's chamber was not far from mine.
Even so, the weight of my identity—my true self—felt heavier than any armor I'd ever had to wear.
This was not how I’d dreamed of this moment—losing my maidenhead to a man like Kay.
I'd never imagined sharing such a private part of myself with a man I despised. And certainly not as a bargain struck for my survival. Once—long ago—I’d imagined my first time with a man would be nothing short of romantic: a tender encounter filled with gentle touches and whispered promises.
I'd dreamed of devotion spoken in hushed tones, of eyes that held love rather than calculation, of hands that sought to cherish rather than claim.
In those girlish fantasies, this choice would have been mine.
My desire would have been given freely to someone who treasured what I offered.
Yes, Corvin's image had surfaced in such tender dreams more than once, though I knew perfectly well he hardly possessed a romantic soul.
Those fantasies were nothing more than wishful thinking—girlish imaginings with no foundation in reality.
Corvin was as hardened and unyielding as any knight who had ever drawn breath, his edges sharpened by years of violence.
He was battle-tested, proven in blood and steel, forged in Camelot, where survival meant killing sentiment before it could kill you.
There was no room for tenderness in a man like that.
Still, in the deepest hours of night when sleep eluded me, my mind had wandered to thoughts of his strong hands—not wielding weapons, but tracing reverent paths across my skin.
But those were the dreams of a girl who no longer existed.
The woman I had become understood that such fantasies were luxuries I could not afford.
My fingers brushed the dagger beneath my tunic. Cold metal. A sliver of false courage. I could bury it in Kay's throat. I could end this before it ever started. But then I remembered the letter. I had no doubt Kay truly held a letter ready to expose me—ready to destroy me.
So no, I couldn’t kill him. Not tonight anyway.
But the thought of it steadied me all the same.
The chill of the evening seeped through the castle walls, but the cold sweat beading on my forehead came from something far worse than the temperature.
The corridor stretched empty before me—Kay had ensured no servants or guards lingered nearby. I paused at his door, my hand hovering inches from the wood as I weighed one final time whether any escape remained.
But none did. So, I would have to play Kay's game. Yes, tonight I would play, and tonight I would lose.
I drew a long breath, steadying myself, then knocked—once, softly.
“Enter. And be certain you’re alone.”
Kay’s voice was low, composed. Too composed.
I opened the latch, stepped inside, and halted, momentarily disoriented by the room's unexpected grandeur.
The chamber before me was a stark reminder of the vast gulf between Kay's station as the king's foster brother and the rest of the candidates.
The space sprawled easily twice the size of my modest quarters, perhaps three times, with soaring ceilings that disappeared into shadow above the candlelight's reach.
A massive four-poster bed dominated the far wall, its frame carved from what appeared to be ebony. Rich burgundy velvets and midnight blue silks covered the bed in layers of luxury that spoke of wealth I had never known.
Tapestries lined the walls between tall windows while thick fur rugs—wolf, bear, and creatures I couldn't identify—covered nearly every inch of the polished stone floor, their pelts so deep my slippers sank slightly with each step.
The hearth had burned down to embers. Now only a few candles flickered in silver holders, their glow soft and intimate, as if this were a lover’s room, not a trap. The air was thick with the scent of wine, smoke, and something darker—him.
On a carved oak table sat two goblets, one already half-empty, the other untouched. The rim bore the faint smudge of his lips.
“Lock the door,” he said.
I hesitated, then, realizing I had no other alternatives, obeyed. The bolt slid into place with a dull, final thud—the sound of my options vanishing.
Just get through this, Guin, I told myself for the nth time.
When I turned back, my feet wouldn’t move. The room suddenly felt smaller. My fingers curled into fists inside my cloak, a tremor barely contained.
“Come closer."
He stood by the window, silhouetted in the candlelight, no armor, no weapons—just control. His eyes raked over me with that same cold detachment I had seen a dozen times in the training yard. But now it pinned me in place.
“Drop the cloak.”
The words landed like iron.
My hand moved to the clasp at my throat. One breath. Then another. Then the click of release. The cloak slid from my shoulders and pooled at my feet.
I stood in a plain tunic and braies—exposed, no longer Sir Lioran, but Guinevere—delivering herself to her fate.
“So,” he said, voice smooth with mockery as he took me in from head to toe, “the great knight finally reveals her true face.”
He stepped forward as his eyes raked over me with deliberate slowness, lingering on every curve my tunic failed to hide. He circled like a predator—each step measured, each glance invasive. Where the fabric clung to my waist and breasts, his gaze lingered too long.
He studied me like a merchant inspecting a prize—calculating, cold.
“I was correct. You are even more stunning than I imagined.”
He stopped beside me. I felt him looking at me—my hair, my eyes. He was inspecting me like I was a horse at auction.
“Silver-white hair. Violet eyes,” he said, more to himself than to me. “No wonder you hid behind so much magic. Arthur’s court has seen queens, nobles, emissaries… but none quite like you.”
His hand twitched at his side, his fingers curling and uncurling as though he was tempted to touch me—but was resisting, for now.
Then he froze.
A flicker of something passed across his face—recognition, dawning like sunlight through fog. A low chuckle escaped him, soft at first. Then it built into something darker.
“I’ll be damned,” he said at last, shaking his head as a grin spread slowly and poisonously across his face. His fingers swept through his red-streaked hair as he stared at me, his expression now one of extreme amusement. “I'll be fucking damned. You’re her.”
"Who?"
His eyes gleamed.
“The woman Arthur has scoured Logres to find. The ghost who vanished, leaving our golden king in shambles. Distracted. Obsessive. Furious.”
How in the hell did he know? Arthur's furious search for the white-haired woman was not known to the knights. So how did…
Because Kay makes it his business to know everything that happens in Camelot.
He took a slow step forward. “And now that very same woman is standing in my chambers.”
He was close enough to touch me. And when he did, I felt my stomach turn.
His fingers slid into my hair, slow and deliberate, combing through the strands as if appraising fabric—savoring his control over me. I clenched my jaw. My skin crawled, but I didn't move. I wouldn't give him the pleasure of flinching.
Let him take what satisfaction he could from my body.
He would never touch what mattered most, and that was my heart and my soul.
-GUIN-
"This is just getting better and better," Kay murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction.
His eyes gleamed in the dim light of the chamber, drinking in every detail of my true appearance with obvious pleasure. Then abruptly, the smile slid from his face like melting wax, replaced by an expression of cold command.
"Say something, girl. Don't just stand there like an imbecile."
"I don't know what you want me to say." The words came out harsh and bitter, nearly spat at him through gritted teeth.
My hands clenched into white-knuckled fists at my sides, nails digging crescents into my palms as I fought the urge to strike that smug expression from his face.
Every muscle in my body was coiled tight, trembling with barely restrained fury and something that might have been fear—though I refused to acknowledge it as such.
I was still reeling from the surreal nightmare of finding myself here, serving myself up to Kay like some sacrificial offering.
The thought made bile rise in my throat.
How had it come to this? How had I allowed myself to be maneuvered into such a vulnerable position by this bitter, twisted man who wielded cruelty like other knights wielded swords?
Kay's lips curved into a cruel smile, clearly pleased by my discomfort. He leaned closer, his breath hot against my face, smelling of wine and something bitter.
"Tell me why Arthur is so taken with you. What did you do to him to cause him to lose his fucking mind?" His gaze traveled down my body with insulting deliberation, lingering in places that made heat rise to my cheeks—not from embarrassment but from fury.
"Did you bewitch him with your cunt? Some magical trick to ensnare the mighty king?"
"No."
Clearly, Kay didn't know I had pulled the sword from the stone.
It made perfect sense that he wouldn't. Arthur, with his growing paranoia and fear of challenges to his power, would never have allowed that particular detail to spread beyond those who had witnessed it—Nimue, himself, and me. That secret, at least, remained mine.
Kay began circling me again, each step deliberate and menacing. The sound of his boots against the stone floor echoed in the chamber like a slow, methodical heartbeat.
"Then what is his fascination with you?" His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "What spell have you cast over our mighty king that has him acting like a lovesick fool?"
"I was not aware he was acting like a lovesick fool."
He chuckled without humor. "I've known Arthur since we were boys, and I've never seen him so... distracted."
"I don't know why." I struggled to keep my voice steady. In truth, I had asked myself the same question countless times. What was it about me that had captured Arthur's attention so completely? Was it merely the sword's acceptance of me, or something more?
Kay stopped directly behind me, so close I could feel the heat radiating from his body.
His rancid breath stirred the hair at the nape of my neck, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine as bile rose in my throat.
I still couldn't believe that this awful specimen of a man was going to be my first.. .
It will be over quickly, I promised myself. And remember, it's this or Arthur knowing your secret, which would mean your death.
And having relations with Kay was still better than my own death.
Not by much.
"The king hasn't fucked you?" The crude question was delivered directly into my ear, his lips nearly brushing my skin.
I winced at his uncouth words, disgust and anger coiling in my stomach like a nest of vipers. My cheeks burned with indignation, but I forced myself to remain still, knowing any adverse reaction would only please him.
"No."
Kay chuckled again, a sound devoid of warmth or humor. His hand came up to touch a strand of my hair, rubbing it between his fingers as if testing its authenticity.
"The irony!" He circled back to face me.
"Arthur has been out of his mind over you, girl, inviting all the women of Logres to his ridiculous festivals with the single intention of finding you.
And yet you were right under his nose the entire time!
Dining at his table, competing in his ridiculous trials, acting as his student as he tutored and mentored you!
" His eyes glittered with malicious amusement.
"I wonder what he would give to know that his precious 'Sir Lioran' is the very woman who's haunted his dreams these past months. "
"I don't know what he would have to say about it."
He thrust his face into mine then. "As long as you do as I say, he will have nothing to say about it."
I refused to look at him. "I've done as you asked. I'm here."
Kay's fingers gripped my chin roughly, his nails digging into my flesh with enough pressure to leave marks.
"Oh, we've barely begun with what I'm asking."
His voice dropped to a cruel whisper, intimate and threatening all at once. Then he lifted my chin higher, forcing my gaze to meet his as he studied my face with calculating eyes. A slow grin spread across his thin lips, revealing teeth slightly yellowed at the edges and uneven.
"The prize Arthur would no doubt kill for—and here she is, in my bedchamber, waiting for my cock to claim her.
The mighty king's obsession, reduced to nothing but another conquest." He laughed acidly.
"Finally, I have what the king lusts for—the woman who haunts him and drives him to distraction.
All these months watching him lose his fucking mind, sending his scouts to scour every village and hamlet for even a whisper of her whereabouts.
" His eyes glittered with malicious satisfaction as he savored each word.
"And here you are, delivered into my hands like a gift from the gods themselves. "