CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE #2
There was a brief silence as all of them exchanged barely perceptible glances, clearly having no idea who Dame Yseldra was. It seemed no one knew who Dame Yseldra was, and I had to wonder if Merlin had simply made the woman up!
"Forgive us," Lady Tamsin said, her tone suddenly lighter, "but none of us have had the pleasure of knowing Dame Yseldra."
"The lady is advanced in her years," I explained. "And rather ill. Thus, she prefers a quiet life, far from courtly intrigues."
"Your training under her sponsorship must have been thorough," Brynmor observed. "Your abilities are quite the topic of discussion this evening." He chuckled then. "And I daresay all the other provinces are quite jealous!"
"Thank you," I answered, pleased to see the conversation appearing to be moving away from Fenwick Vale.
“And how do you find the fair walls of stone and the rose gardens of Camelot?” Lady Tamsin asked.
"Camelot is fascinating. Its splendor overwhelms me at times."
"And the other knights?" Lord Edwin nearly interrupted. "How do you find them?"
"Formidable competitors, each in their own right."
"It seems you've already earned your place among them," said Carlisle, his voice infused with approval.
"You'd be doing yourself a favor if you keep as far away from Kay as it's possible to be," Edwin muttered underneath his breath. "That man's got the personality of a shark."
I looked at him and gave a quick nod to say I agreed. He gave me a little wink.
For the rest of the evening, their questioning became less prying and more welcoming.
Their approval held somewhat of an allure—after all, these were the nobles of my homeland.
They were as much connected to the north as I was.
So, I felt strangely… at home with them in some ways.
Every affirming nod, every raised goblet had the power to pull me deeper into this world where masks and truths blended.
These were people I understood because they were like me: those who lived in the wildest part of Logres—people who were as untamed as their land.
They were the type who didn't appreciate rules and laws edging into their freedoms.
But amid the warmth and laughter, I remembered Merlin’s cautious words: trust, but verify. Tonight's approval could, after all, twist to tomorrow's betrayal.
As the Great Hall churned with the schemes and ambitions of its guests, I knew my role was as much to listen as it was to play the part. Watching, learning, preparing—these were my true weapons in a world held captive by golden crowns and hidden magic.
Across the hall, I caught Arthur watching our table.
His blue eyes—sharp even at this distance—moved deliberately from face to face, tracking which northern lords had welcomed me into their circle.
The king missed nothing, least of all the political undercurrents rippling beneath the feast’s polished surface.
Then his gaze settled on me.
Neither of us made any sort of motion for at least a second or two, then Arthur raised his goblet in acknowledgment of my performance earlier.
A subtle but unmistakable gesture—public recognition of my performance in the trials.
In response, the room seemed to quiet immediately.
Conversations faltered. Heads turned. Lady Melisande's brows lifted. Lord Carlisle straightened slightly, now more aware of the company he had chosen. In a single moment, Arthur had elevated Lioran’s status from promising to politically relevant.
My pulse quickened.
The attention, while flattering, carried risk. It would mean the other knights would distance themselves—some more than they already had. Arthur's good opinion was the nectar of envy and jealousy. And it would welcome scrutiny—something I absolutely did not need or want.
I raised my goblet, meeting his gaze with measured steadiness. I held it long enough to signal respect, but not so long as to imply familiarity. Then I bowed my head—acknowledging his status while maintaining my own.
The exchange lasted only seconds but sent a message that would ripple through the court: Sir Lioran had earned royal favor without seeking it. A quiet political coup.
"It seems you've caught the king's eye," Lord Carlisle murmured, casual in tone but suddenly more calculating.
"Quite the honor for a knight so recently arrived at court," Lady Tamsin added.
"Fortune has favored me in this most recent trial," I replied, keeping my voice light.
"Yes, it would appear it has," Lord Carlisle answered and raised his goblet. "Here's to fortune continuing to favor you, Sir Lioran." The rest of the table raised their glasses and drank to my continued success.
As the evening wore on, the hall relaxed.
Knights began circulating, goblets in hand, the earlier formality giving way to easier conversation.
As with the other feasts, by the chiming of the hour past midnight, the ladies of the court had already retired to their chambers.
Once again, I found myself standing beside Percival, who had become my only friend…
well, he was as much a friend as I would allow myself to have, I supposed.
Our conversation was quickly cut short by Agravaine, who seemed to appear out of nowhere but was suddenly standing before me, like a predator stalking game.
"Interesting choice—the ice restraints," he nearly spat, his smile tight and insincere. "In real combat, mercy gets you killed."
I met his gaze evenly. "The trials measure control, not cruelty. And in the end, the result was the same: my opponent was neutralized."
"Ah. Very... refined." His tone wrapped the word in suspicion.
Not wanting to focus on his ugly face, I turned my attention to the far side of the room, and my eyes instantly landed on Lancelot. He was already watching me, and then his eyes moved to Agravaine before they narrowed.
"I am certain you have other people to talk to, Agravaine," I said.
He glared at me. “Mind your tone. You address a man whose bloodlines built this realm.”
Before I could respond, the faint scent of leather and steel assaulted my nostrils. I turned to my right to find Lancelot. He stood there with his characteristic silent grace, having moved through the crowded hall without so much as a whisper of sound.
He positioned himself deliberately between Agravaine and me, his muscular arms folded across the black fabric of his tunic.
The rich material stretched taut across his broad chest, and I caught myself noting how the torchlight played with the angles of his face, making him look like some hero of fable come to life.
"Lancelot, come to play the part of savior again?" Agravaine nearly spat at him.
The temperature around us seemed to drop several degrees as Lancelot's dark eyes fixed on Agravaine with the sort of quiet ferocity that had earned him his fearsome reputation on countless battlefields.
"Careful, Agravaine."
The smaller man glared up at him. "And why should I be careful?"
Lancelot shrugged, and a rare smile lit his lips. "With such animosity... one might suspect you're making up for shortcomings in other areas." Then he pointedly glanced down at Agravaine's crotch.
Percival laughed immediately, and it was all I could do not to spit my ale out between my teeth or choke on the laugh that was caught somewhere deep in my throat. I found myself simultaneously horrified and impressed by his verbal strike.
Indignation immediately crossed Agravaine's face, and his pale green eyes brimmed with restrained hatred as his hands fisted at his sides. But clearly, he knew better than to tussle with Arthur’s second because he said nothing in response.
Instead, he grumbled something unintelligible, his voice sinking beneath the feast’s clamor.
With one last poisonous glance my way, he melted back into the throng of revelers, no doubt to find another target less shielded by Camelot's revered sword hand.
"Agravaine isn’t worth your energy," Lancelot murmured as he turned to face me, his tone more private now that the irritant had retreated.
I nodded in gratitude. "I appreciate… what you said."
"It will not keep him from you for long," he answered with a sigh. "Agravaine thrives on cutting others down in order to feel better about himself."
"One wonders why the court tolerates him," Percival grumbled.
Lancelot smirked slightly. "His magic is powerful. It always has been."
He stood so close to me that my pulse quickened in ways that had nothing to do with the lingering tension from Agravaine.
I didn't know what it was about this man, but he affected me.
He made me nervous—not because I feared him, but because I feared my own reaction to him.
Standing this close, I was acutely aware of the breadth of his shoulders, the confident way he held himself, and the subtle power that radiated from him like heat from a forge.
To my surprise, he didn’t move on. Instead, he gestured toward a quieter alcove, partially shielded by the great hearth’s stone column.
“Would you walk with me? The hall is stifling, and there are matters we should speak of. The next Trial approaches.” Then he looked at Percival.
"I apologize for stealing your companion, Percival. "
"Think no more of it, Sir Lancelot," Percival smiled in response, and with a nod of dismissal toward me, he blended in with the rest of the crowd.
As for whatever conversation Lancelot wanted to have with me—an invitation from Arthur’s champion couldn’t be refused—not without raising suspicion.
Not that I wanted to refuse it. So, I inclined my head and followed him.
We stopped near the hearth’s edge, where shadows softened the flickering firelight and lowered voices could go unheard.
“Your victory against Balan was clean,” Lancelot said, getting straight to the point. “Not just skillful, but calculated. You didn’t overpower Balan—you dismantled him.”
“Thank you, Sir Lancelot.”