CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO #2
I sipped from my chalice of ale that I no longer tasted, my eyes never straying far from the pair of them. This was leverage. The most dangerous kind: emotional, volatile, unspeakable.
Lancelot stood abruptly. He murmured something to Arthur and left the hall, distracted, brow furrowed.
He was unraveling.
I stood, unable to stop myself, and followed him, blending with the stone as I trailed him through Camelot’s dim corridors. He didn’t hear me. No one ever did.
Weakness hid in plain sight—if you knew where to look. And I did.
I caught up with him just as he stepped into the rose gardens at the rear of Camelot, where the numerous flowers bloomed like a painting. I hid in the shadows as I watched him stand, rubbing his temples, jaw tight. Lost. Haunted.
For a fleeting moment, I almost felt sorry for him. But sympathy wasn't part of my plan; opportunity was.
“Troubled by something, Sir Lancelot?” I stepped from the shadows with deliberate casualness, gauging his reaction carefully.
Startled, he turned to face me, surprise quickly morphing into annoyance. “Kay,” he snapped.
I offered a smile. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Just thought you might welcome a friendly ear.”
His scowl deepened.
“I couldn't help but notice you've been… rather distant,” I added, my voice light. “Ever since you and Lioran returned from the hunt."
There it was. The flicker. Barely a blink—but I saw it.
“I have nothing to discuss with you.”
“Mm.” I let the silence stretch. “Did you not capture all your intended creatures?” A sly smile crept onto my lips as I pressed on.
"You would not be the only one. Did you hear that Sir Rowan and Sir Brannoc never returned from the hunt?
I daresay the guards are still looking for them.
And there were many other knights who failed to capture their quarry. "
"We captured all three of our quarry," he snapped.
"Ah, then you should be in quite the festive mood, should you not?"
He turned to glare at me. "I came here to be alone, Kay."
"Very well, I'll leave you to your solitude." I paused. "But first, a line of advice." He turned to face me but didn't say anything, so I continued. “Perhaps you should consider what draws your attention away from Elenora.”
His jaw tightened, but he said nothing. I took a slow step closer, careful not to overplay my hand, but damn me if I didn't want to poke the beast at least enough to make it stir.
“What are you implying?” he asked finally, low and dangerous.
“Oh, nothing. Nothing at all,” I said smoothly. “Just… interesting how our attention can shift."
His eyes narrowed. “What the fuck do you want, Kay?"
That was the real question, wasn’t it?
I straightened. Not too much. Just enough.
“What any knight wants.” I shrugged with a chuckle. “Position. Power. The usual currency.”
I held his gaze. Let him wonder what else I knew.
Then I smiled—wide, empty of warmth.
“Well. Sleep well, Sir Lancelot.”
I bowed low. He didn’t speak. Just watched me as though he wasn’t sure if I was a threat or a ghost.
Soon, he’d learn I was both.
-GUIN-
I paced my chamber like a caged animal. Three steps. Pivot. Repeat.
My lips still burned from Lance's kiss, the sensation refusing to fade despite the hours that had passed. I touched them again, tracing the outline where his mouth had pressed against mine with such unexpected hunger.
What had I done?
In the corner, the silver bowl waited. I’d delayed reporting to Merlin twice. I couldn’t delay again.
I drew in a steadying breath and approached the bowl with reluctant steps. My fingers trembled slightly as they made contact with the water's surface. The ancient words of summoning felt heavy on my tongue as I spoke them—syllables in the old language that now tasted like lies.
The water's restless movement gradually ceased, transforming into a perfect mirror that reflected the familiar interior of Merlin's workshop deep within Caer Gwyll.
“The Hunt Trial was successful,” I said, my voice steady. “We captured all three creatures. Lancelot praised my skill to Arthur.”
I described the magical creatures in detail, explained our tracking methods, mentioned Lance's battle precognition—everything except the moment when we'd tumbled down that slope together, when my control had slipped, when I'd pulled Lance toward me with a recklessness that still shocked me.
"This positions Lioran well for the next trial," I finished as the water began to swirl, transforming from clear stillness to a miniature whirlpool that pulsed with a blue light.
Slowly, the vortex calmed, and Corvin's face materialized in the liquid mirror, his features sharpening with each passing second. At the sight of him, something within me seemed to break, though I didn't know why.
Even through the watery portal, I could feel the weight of his penetrating gaze.
"Guin," he said in greeting. "Are you well?"
He could always tell when I was upset, even when I tried to hide it. "Yes, I'm fine," I snapped in response. "Where is Merlin?"
"Not here. I believe he's in the garden, trying to find some mugwort."
"What are you doing in his study?"
“Trying to fix the table," Corvin answered with a laugh. "He says it keeps wobbling."
I wished I could partake in his good humor. "Oh, well… can you tell him everything I just said?"
"Yes." He studied me for a moment and then shook his head. "Alright, out with it, what's bothering you?"
"What do you mean?"
He glared at me, his expression hitting me just as it always had, even though we were so far away from one another. "Guin, I always know when you're upset about something, and… you're upset about something."
"I'm not."
"You are."
I blew out a breath. "I just…" I took another breath. "I was just paired with Lancelot for a trial, and it took quite a bit out of me, that's all."
A truth. Filtered.
"And… did he notice anything about you that he shouldn’t have?”
I hesitated, searching for something to tell him that might pull him away from the truth. “He questions my training and my background. And he questions my small stature.”
“But not your identity?”
“No."
Not a lie. Not exactly.
Lance didn’t know I was Merlin’s agent. He didn’t know I was Guinevere.
But he suspected something—and his hands in my hair had said more than words ever could.
“You’re holding something back,” Corvin said softly.
I tensed. Had the water betrayed me somehow? Sometimes the element itself carried emotions through the connection.
I kept my face still. “I’m tired. The trials are taxing. Magic and deception are not easy allies.”
Another truth. Wounded. Masked.
Corvin studied me a moment longer, then gave a faint nod. "Be vigilant," he warned. "Arthur is beyond paranoid. If he suspects your true nature, he won't hesitate to eliminate any perceived threat."
"He doesn't view me as a threat." I paused and took a deep breath. "He's even opted to train me personally. I have him right where I want him."
"Very good, but… be careful, Guin." Then he paused, and we just stared at one another for a few seconds. Then, "It is good to see you."
I felt my tension soften slightly. "It's good to see you too."
"Things haven't been the same here without you." His smile was strangely sad. "There's no one to talk back to Merlin and consistently drive him to want to drink." He paused. "I would add myself to that sentiment as well."
We both laughed, and I was suddenly overcome with nostalgia—a sudden need to be…
home, I supposed. Was Annwyn my home? Perhaps it was.
As much a home as any place I'd ever lived.
But the nostalgia within me wasn't just about returning to Annwyn.
It was more—I wanted to see Corvin's face in person. Just to… what? I didn't even know.
The water darkened. The connection broke. I passed a hand over the bowl.
I stood and crossed to the window. Moonlight glazed the courtyard. Beyond the courtyards, beyond the rose gardens, beyond the treeline, the lake shimmered in the distance—flat and cold as a blade.
I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, closing my eyes. I thought of the sword lying beneath its surface. Of the moment I’d pulled it free. Of the moment I’d let it go.
Before that moment, everything had been simple. Clear.
Infiltrate Camelot. Learn Arthur’s weaknesses. Report to Merlin. Wait for further instructions.
Now?
Now I'd pulled the sword that crowned kings. I'd kissed Arthur's champion. And I'd begun to question the war I’d been sent to fight.
And Lance… Lance.
It was just a matter of time before he put the pieces together—that I truly was a woman and the same one the Invisible Stalker had revealed in the forest. My disguise was now hanging by a precarious thread.
I closed my eyes and almost instantly pictured his face—those storm-dark eyes, the way they’d locked on mine in the forest. The weight of his kiss. The heat of it. The feel of him above me.
“What’s happening to me?” I whispered, pressing my palms to my temples.
Three years of training with Merlin had taught me that magic required clarity of purpose. Doubt corrupted it, made it unpredictable, dangerous. Yet here I stood, riddled with doubt about everything—my mission, my loyalties, my own identity.
This could only mean one thing—my walls—the ones I’d spent years building—were cracking. Worse, I was starting to care for Lance. Not as a target. Not as a tool. As a man.
I sank onto the bed, cold with the realization that my feelings were getting in the way of my mission. Emotional entanglement was death. It risked the mission. The disguise. My life.
“This can’t happen,” I murmured, echoing his voice from the forest.
At the blur of white at my window, I recognized Peep. I strode to it, eager to see my only friend. I supposed Percival was a friend of sorts, but then I rejected the thought. How much of a friend could I be to Percival when he didn't even know my true sex?