CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
-GUIN-
When the revelry quieted down with the advanced hour, I slipped away, craving my solitude.
The fight with Balan had taken more from me than the crowd realized. It had left me hollow. Not broken, but scraped clean, like a riverbed after a flood.
Needing to escape the congratulations and endless conversations, I made my way to the battlements.
They rose like sentinels against the night sky, the stone jagged, resembling the harsh mountains of the north.
I pressed a hand against the cool stone, feeling it anchoring me to a place that was foreign but growing familiar.
Each tower and parapet, crafted from ancient slabs, whispered stories carried by the wind.
Here, the breeze brought with it an amalgam of scents—the metallic tang of horse tack, the distant smoke from the kitchens below, and, when the air was still, the faintest sweetness of roses carried from the gardens.
Peering over the edge, I watched the courtyard below. The nighttime solitude welcomed me, and I was beyond grateful for it. Stars twinkled above, celestial witnesses to the convoluted events unfolding beneath them.
"If you continue to disappear during every celebration, it might be said that you harbor a particular distaste for the company of others." A woman's voice drifted from behind me.
I flinched inwardly. I’d been so focused; I hadn’t heard anyone approach.
I turned slowly.
Elenora stood there, observing me with an unreadable expression. Her presence was always poised, her voice calm, but there was something just underneath the charm that spoke of something sharp.
I bowed in greeting. "I just… needed some time to myself. I do intend to return."
"Of course," she replied. Her words always carried a hint of amusement, but underneath lay something sharper—an observation that felt less like casual commentary and more like a carefully aimed blade.
"Did you follow me?"
She laughed at that. "Presumptuous of you, wouldn't you say, Sir Lioran?"
"Yes. I apologize."
"Don't. And… yes, I did follow you."
"Why?"
She studied me with a coquettish smile. "I find you of interest."
"I don't know why that would be."
"The smallest of the knights who defeats the largest?" she asked with a shrug. "Who wouldn't find you of interest?" She stepped closer then, her gaze lingering on mine. And even though I wanted to thwart my attention, I found I couldn't. "Your duel with Sir Balan was… effective."
"Thank you."
"Not simply effective—elegant. That kind of control is rare, even among Arthur’s favored. Most prefer brute force. Blades over brains."
"It was the only way to survive him."
"Still, you succeeded in a battle that should have seen you killed. I've always believed that magical combat should favor cleverness over cruelty. But I am, after all, only a woman—so who would listen to me?"
I met her gaze evenly. "Power is neither masculine nor feminine. Only effective or not."
Her smile returned, sharper this time. "Well said, Sir Lioran."
"The king seemed pleased with the outcome," I ventured, curious to test her loyalties.
"His Majesty appreciates results," she replied evenly, "even when they're achieved through methods he might not initially prefer." Her gaze held mine a moment too long. "You've caught his attention, Sir Lioran."
"Have I?"
She nodded. "A mixed blessing, that."
Before I could parse the warning beneath her words, Elenora shifted topics.
"Sir Balan will likely be reprimanded."
"You believe so?"
She nodded. "Several overheard his comment after the match. And poor sportsmanship cannot be tolerated, especially during such public trials."
A chill passed through me as I remembered exactly what Balan had said to me.
Fighting like a woman—he'd snarled the words in the heat of humiliation, but if others had heard him… would they dismiss his words as the angry rambling of a sore loser? Or would they wonder?
"His frustration was understandable," I said carefully. "Grace in defeat isn’t always easy."
"No. But his insult was... telling."
My stomach dropped. "His insult?"
She tilted her head slightly, her voice soft but clear. "I believe he said something about you… fighting like a woman, was it?"
I feigned ignorance. "I don't recall."
"Rest assured—most see Balan's reaction as a reflection of his own weakness, not yours."
"That is rather reassuring."
I didn't know what to say to her. Nor why she was here. And that brought up another interesting subject.
"You went to quite some effort to find me," I said, glancing back toward the heavy oak door that led back into the castle proper.
The climb to the battlements wasn't a simple jaunt through Camelot's halls.
Elenora would have had to leave the great hall, navigate the narrow spiral staircases up two flights of steep, uneven stone steps designed to favor defenders in a siege.
Then she had to come through the cramped guard corridors that wound through the walls themselves, past sentries who wouldn't typically grant passage to a courtesan without question.
"I did go through some effort," she admitted.
I was surprised the guards had even granted her access. I'd been allowed entrance because of my status as a knight. But Elenora?
"The guards let you through?"
"I can be quite… persuasive when necessary." Her smile didn't reach her eyes.
"Still. It's not exactly an evening stroll."
"No," she agreed. "But then, neither is seeking solitude on the battlements when one should be celebrating their victory below. We both went to considerable effort tonight, Sir Lioran. The question is—which of us has more to hide?"
I looked at her with interest. "I have nothing to hide."
She laughed. "Is that so?"
I nodded.
Then she came closer. "Do you know what I find curious?"
"What's that?" I kept my voice steady even as unease coiled through me.
She reached out slowly, her fingertips barely grazing the fabric of my tunic, and it was all I could do to keep from stepping back.
Her feather-light touch sent an involuntary shiver through me, her fingers moving with the confidence of someone conducting an investigation rather than offering a caress.
"Why haven't you returned my interest?" Her voice was low and pouty.
I blinked. "Your interest?"
"Of all the knights, you're the most standoffish." She cocked her head to the side then. "Well, with the exception of Galahad, but he's such a bore; no one wants him around anyway." She studied me with those calculating eyes. "But you're different."
I swallowed hard. This was the last conversation I wanted to get into. "How so?"
"No matter how wildly flirtatious I am with you, you respond with polite indifference." Her fingers traced the edge of my collar. "Certainly you must know I desire you, Lioran?"
My throat went dry. "I did not know."
She looked up at me and smiled. "Have you noticed how all the other knights fancy me? How they watch me with hunger in their eyes?"
"I have noticed your popularity, though I imagined you were spoken for by Lancelot."
"Lance well plays the part of the courtly rake—a collector of hearts he never intends to keep," she laughed, the sound rich with genuine amusement.
"He's a man whose affections wander as often as his blade, and he would never tie himself to just one woman.
He enjoys variety far too much for exclusivity. "
"I see."
"But I don't want to talk about Lance. I want to focus on you." She took another step closer, eliminating what little space remained between us. Her breath was warm against my face, smelling faintly of wine and something sweeter—honeyed fruit, perhaps.
I froze, every muscle locked tight.
Her gaze dropped to my mouth, and panic flared through me. What was I supposed to do? If I pulled away too abruptly, would she wonder why? If I let her kiss me… Oh, Gods, I didn't want her to kiss me.
Before I could form another thought, she reached for my hand with deliberate slowness, as if savoring my obvious discomfort.
Her fingers wrapped around mine with surprising strength—not the delicate touch of a court lady, but something more purposeful, more predatory.
She then guided my palm upward with inexorable determination and, untying her kirtle, placed my hand inside it, directly against the soft warmth of her breast. Then she held it there with her own.
The intimate contact sent shockwaves through my entire body, and my heart started hammering so loudly I was certain she could hear it echoing in the stone alcove around us. Every instinct screamed at me to pull away, to flee, to do anything but stand there frozen like a deer before a hunter.
I could feel her heartbeat beneath my fingertips—steady, controlled, completely at odds with the frantic racing of my own pulse. Her eyes never left mine, watching, cataloging every expression that crossed my face.
"You must know," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper but somehow more commanding than a shout, "that you could have me. Right here, right now. I've made myself available to you since you arrived, Sir Lioran. Yet you've shown no interest whatsoever."
I stood there, hands pressed against her breast, her nipple hardening, while my mind raced through a thousand scenarios regarding how to escape, including simply leaping over the parapet to certain death.
"Why is that?" she pressed, her voice still soft but edged with something harder. "What makes you so different from the others?"
My pulse hammered beneath where her hand rested. "I…"
Gods, what the fuck was I supposed to say? I didn't want to offend her, but I also didn't want her to start gossiping about things that might come back to bite me.
"Aren't you the least bit curious?" she purred against me.
The wind picked up, carrying with it the distant sounds of revelry. Below us, Camelot celebrated, and I wished I'd never left.