CHAPTER THIRTY
-LANCE-
The Hunt Trial
"That was impressive," I said as we continued into the Whispering Wilds, searching for our next quarry.
Lioran turned back to look at me. "You allowed me to slay the beast on my own." There was no accusation in his tone, just curiosity.
"Yes."
"You wanted me to prove myself."
I nodded. "I did."
He didn't say anything for a few seconds but then looked up at me again. "I appreciate the opportunity."
He was a strange man, to be certain. Most knights would have bristled at such a test, their pride wounded by the implication that their skills needed proving.
They would have demanded to know why I'd held back, why I hadn't joined in immediately as any brother-in-arms should.
Some might have taken offense at the perceived slight to their honor, interpreting my restraint as doubt in their abilities.
But Lioran did none of those things. Instead, he accepted my judgment with a grace that spoke of either supreme confidence or unusual humility.
The lack of a wounded ego intrigued me almost as much as it troubled me.
What manner of knight possessed such quiet self-assurance that he could endure what others might see as a challenge to their worthiness?
As I watched him, each step he took was sure and soundless, his attention drawn naturally to every rustle and shifting shadow that surrounded him. I should have admired his skill, but instead, I found myself watching him too closely.
The soft edges of his face, the delicate curve of his jawline, the way his lashes framed those too-large eyes. His beauty was unsettling.
“Stay alert,” I said, more brusquely than necessary, trying to shake off my thoughts. “The shadows shift here. Don’t let your guard down.”
“I won’t." His eyes faced forward, his tone calm and steady. No hint of fear—only quiet certainty.
It was I who needed a distraction—desperately. Something, anything, to steady myself and anchor my wandering thoughts before they strayed further into dangerous territory. I needed to stop noticing every characteristic about him that set my teeth on edge.
I shouldn't have given a damn that he was so small compared to me, shouldn't have cared that his frame was lean where mine was broad, delicate where mine was scarred and hardened by years of warfare.
I shouldn't have noticed how his movements were graceful, how his waist was almost as small as a woman's.
But I fucking did notice. Every detail burned itself into my mind against my will, each observation adding another layer to the growing unease that had settled in my chest like poison.
I thought about the fact that now was the perfect opportunity to ask about Lioran's upbringing—to dig into the questions Arthur wanted to know: his past, his family, his beliefs.
Yet, I couldn't bring myself to do anything but walk. I didn't want to know about his upbringing. I didn't want to know another blasted thing about him! In fact, I wished this farce of a partnership had never been thrust upon me in the first place. Damn Arthur!
We continued walking, our boots crunching against the forest floor strewn with fallen leaves and broken twigs.
The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken tension and my own stubborn refusal to acknowledge whatever the hell was happening to me.
I kept my eyes fixed straight ahead, watching the dappled shadows dance across the well-worn path as we moved deeper into the Whispering Wilds.
But the quiet was becoming unbearable. It pressed against my temples, amplifying every small sound—the rustle of Lioran's cloak, the soft whisper of his breathing, the gentle jingle of his sword belt.
Each noise seemed magnified in the oppressive stillness, drawing my attention back to him despite my best efforts to ignore his presence entirely.
In fact, the silence became more suffocating with each step we took.
Soon, the weight of it became too much for me to bear.
“Once, we tracked a dire wolf terrorizing a village,” I suddenly said, needing a reprieve from the quiet.
"Did you?"
I nodded. “It was massive—bigger than any I’d ever seen. We cornered it in a glade. When it charged, I thought it would take my head clean off.”
"And what happened?" His tone was light with curiosity as he turned to look up at me. Those eyes—wide and innocent, yet somehow knowing—fixed on mine in such a way that my chest tightened unexpectedly.
Gods, he was fucking beautiful.
I felt something.
Something I didn't want to feel.
Something I had no business feeling.
A stirring in my gut, a warmth that spread through my limbs, a pull toward this young knight. And it was a pull that defied all logic and reason. The sensation hit me like a punch to the gut, leaving me momentarily breathless.
Of course, I'd felt desire before—countless times, with countless women who threw themselves at Arthur's greatest knight.
But this was different. I couldn't even say it was desire.
It was nothing that strong. Admiration, perhaps?
No, it wasn't as clean as simple admiration. Whatever it was, it was dangerous.
I cleared my throat roughly and immediately looked away, focusing my gaze on the twisted branches overhead where shadows danced in the filtered light. My voice came out rougher than intended when I finally answered.
"It leapt over me and mauled the knight behind me."
“Unfortunate for the knight behind you,” Lioran said and laughed—a soft sound that was the opposite of masculine. “It seems as if you survived by luck.”
“Luck and skill,” I corrected, still refusing to look at him. “But mostly luck.”
The silence grew between us once more. For exactly five steps.
“Another time, we hunted a griffin. We nearly lost half the party before we stopped acting like heroes and started working together.”
He laughed that peculiar sound that held no deep resonance once more. I turned to look at him then, searching his expression, trying, perhaps, to find the thing that unnerved me about him.
“You’re different from the others,” I said quietly.
He seemed taken aback. "Am I?"
I nodded. “Most knights try to impress me—boasting, showing off. You don’t.”
“Perhaps because I think there’s more to learn from listening than from speaking.”
I nodded slowly, considering him. “Wise words.”
The terrain shifted gradually beneath our boots, transforming from the soft, moss-covered earth we'd been traversing to increasingly treacherous rocky outcroppings that jutted from the forest floor like ancient bones.
Each step required more careful placement as loose stones threatened to send us tumbling into the shadowy crevices between the weathered granite formations.
When I spotted a massive fallen oak blocking our path ahead—its trunk easily twice the width of a man and covered in a slick coating of emerald moss—I found myself turning back toward Lioran without conscious thought.
The gesture came as naturally as breathing, my hand extending toward him as if he were some delicate lady who might struggle with such an obstacle rather than a knight who should have been perfectly capable of managing on his own.
Yet even as the foolishness of the action registered in my mind, I didn't pull my hand back.
And strangely, he didn't reject my offer.
Instead, his fingers brushed mine as he accepted my hand, and a sudden, entirely unexpected spark of sensation ran through me at the contact—sharp and electric.
The feeling shot up my arm and settled somewhere deep in my chest, a strange and inexplicable warmth.
For a heartbeat, we lingered there in that frozen tableau—his hand warm and surprisingly soft in mine, our bodies close enough that I could catch the faint scent of leather and…
lavender? I felt the calluses on his palm—evidence of years spent training with a blade.
Yet something about the shape and size of his hand stopped me.
It wasn't overtly feminine… but not masculine either.
When he made no motion to release my hand, I immediately released his.
“These woods play tricks on the mind,” I said abruptly, facing forward once more as I tried to focus on the task ahead of us and not the small proportions of his hand. “Stay alert. The creatures aren’t the only danger here.”
Still, the sensation of his touch lingered longer than it should have. I tried to shake the feeling off, focusing on the hunt instead, but the memory clung like glue. I shook my head against it, feeling my hands beginning to clench as I fought the strange feelings.
My heart was thundering in my chest, though I couldn't say why. What was it about him that made me feel so… off-balance? Not just curious. Compelled.
“What troubles you, Sir Lancelot?”
“Nothing,” I replied too quickly, refusing to look at him.
But the question clung to me like a burr.
What was troubling me? What about this—this man—was bothering me?
I’d always known who I was—what I wanted.
I was a connoisseur of women. And not masculine women either.
The type I hungered for were generous in their proportions—ample breasts, ample hips, ample asses.
They were generous in the characteristics that made them women.
The type of woman I bedded was the woman for whom all other men lusted.
The type of woman who filled every space she entered with heat.
What was more, I hungered for the very thing that made a woman exactly that.
There was nothing I enjoyed more than tasting a woman's cunt, thrusting my tongue inside her sweetness and covering my face with that slick ambrosia. In truth, I could never get enough.
My tastes had never wavered.