CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE #2
"I lost a handful of men that day. Only one escaped—one who had been hiding under the cover of the woods. I suppose his own cowardice served him well that day. He alerted the nearest encampment of guards, and they went after the girl, but they lost her beyond the Standing Stones."
"You said the town burned?"
He looked at me and nodded. "After the death of my men, the other guards in the area took it upon themselves to raise the town to the ground, burning it until there was nothing left. Not on my orders, mind you—but all things that are carried out by my men get attributed back to me."
I breathed in deeply, trying to keep my expression neutral. But inside, I was fuming. How could he speak of this in such casual, frank tones? People died that day! My life was forever changed that day!
"My point in telling you this," he continued, "is to illustrate the danger of magic. To explain why my laws are as important as they are."
Ah, this little ride was to make sure I wasn't aligning myself with the northern lords. Clearly, Arthur was still paranoid that might happen, so this was his attempt to try and show his side of the situation, to convince me that magic was bad.
"But you are actively encouraging magic here," I said, hoping I hadn't gone too far.
"Yes," he answered with a quick nod. "Because I have no other choice. I cannot wish to go up against Merlin's forces without magic forces of my own." He paused for a moment. "The only trouble is I have no idea how many men Merlin has in his army."
Merlin didn't even really have an army. He had the Twilight Wardens, but there weren't very many of them.
And he had his pupils—those of us who had made it past the Standing Stones before Arthur's magical warding had killed anyone who tried.
When Merlin had taken Annwyn for his own seven years ago, he'd been alone, well aside from Corvin.
Over the years, Merlin had built Annwyn up somewhat, but nothing compared to the numbers Arthur had.
"I would wish for nothing more than peace with Merlin, truth be told," Arthur continued as he glanced back at me with a sad smile.
"And you don't believe that peace is possible?"
He shook his head. "No, not after what passed between us.
The rift is… too deep." He inhaled deeply.
"And besides, we both view magic very differently.
I doubt that will ever change. Merlin always insisted magic should remain free and unregulated, but I've witnessed the consequences of that freedom firsthand. " He shook his head.
Neither of us said anything for the span of a few heartbeats. Then Arthur turned to face me. His gaze cut through me. “You understand, don’t you? Why I had to act.”
He didn't give me time to answer.
“I wasn’t afraid of magic, Lioran, though some will tell you I am.
No, I was afraid of what it could become without guidance.
Without limits.” His voice shifted again—quieter now.
Almost reluctant. "When I implemented the first registration requirements against magic, Merlin burst into court, accusing me of betraying everything we'd built.
His rage was..." Arthur paused, "...terrifying.
I remember how the air crackled with power I'd never felt from him before.
" He stared down at his gloves, twisting the leather between his fingers. “We nearly destroyed the throne room.”
And yet, there was something about this that didn't ring true.
While Merlin had never told me why Arthur had eliminated magic in Logres, Arthur's explanation didn't really make sense to me.
Instead of outlawing magic altogether, why not just go after those people who were using it for negative ends?
By eliminating it, he'd essentially weakened his own people.
All those mages who had died in his purges could have been used to supplement his army.
So why had he put them to death instead?
“What the histories don’t record,” Arthur continued, “is that Merlin struck first.”
I looked at him sharply, not having heard this before.
“Not to kill,” he added. “But with overwhelming force—to humble me before the court.”
He pushed up his sleeve to show me a scar that ran from his wrist to his elbow. Twisted. Violent. My breath caught.
“His magic tore through my defenses like parchment.”
I couldn’t speak.
“I fought back out of fear,” he said simply. “I saw the same raw power in his eyes, and I didn't trust it."
He nodded toward Camelot. “Do you see the central tower? The crack running through it?" I nodded. "No mason or magic has ever been able to repair it. It resists healing.” He met my eyes. “Like the rift between Merlin and me.”
“I… didn’t know,” I said. It was all I could manage.
“Most don’t.”
He paused, his gaze drifting back to the mist. “The ban on magic—it wasn’t born of hatred.
It was damage control. But Merlin wouldn't accept any ban at all.
" He took a breath. "It was only ever my intention to pause magic—never to ban it indefinitely. I simply wished to create safeguards.” A beat of silence.
"But Merlin's departure to Annwyn and his subsequent positioning as my enemy made compromise impossible. "
I stood frozen, absorbing all of this information. I still didn't know why Arthur was telling me this, but there was something missing, something he wasn't telling me. I didn't know why I felt this way, but I did all the same.
“I thought I was protecting the realm,” Arthur went on.
“Merlin believed I was enslaving it. And so, we became what the other feared.” Then he was quiet as he looked out at the Standing Stones in the far distance.
There was a strange expression on his face.
“Remember what I told you today, Lioran.” He looked back at me then.
“History is rarely what it claims to be.”
I hesitated, then asked, “May I ask, sire… why me?”
Arthur looked at me for a long moment and smiled. Not with warmth. With understanding.
“You’re from the Northlands. And there have been… questions about loyalty there.” A pause. “I thought it best you heard my side of the story—since I’m sure you’ve heard others.”
I simply nodded, managing a small smile. “I appreciate that—more than you know, Your Majesty.”
As we walked back to the horses, I kept replaying the image of Arthur tossing that stone into the mist. The grief in his voice when he spoke of Merlin—it didn’t sound like the lie of a tyrant.
It sounded like the truth. But a truth that was obscured by…
something. I just could not part with the notion that there was more to this story than he was letting on.
“I apologize if I’ve burdened you with old wounds,” Arthur said, catching my silence. “But the story had purpose.”
He paused.
“The Shadow Trials… they’re my attempt to rebuild what we lost. Knights who wield magic with discipline. With honor. Sworn to protect rather than dominate.” He looked away and shook his head. “Perhaps it’s too late.”
When he turned back, his expression was quieter. Older.
“History will say I banned magic,” he said. Then, after a breath: “It won’t remember that I once believed in it.”
-GUIN-
The training yard rang with the clash of steel and barked instructions.
I arrived deliberately late—less time for conversation, less risk of being seen too closely. Less opportunity for my eyes to stray to the most handsome knight in black armor.
But it was no use. My eyes found Lance immediately. He was demonstrating a parry—graceful, precise, dangerously focused. Sunlight caught in his dark hair. His tunic clung to muscle and movement.
Something fluttered in my chest.
I crushed it by digging my nails into my palm until the pain cleared my head.
Professional distance.
I was Lioran. I was Merlin’s agent. Not a woman with foolish longings for Arthur’s most loyal sword. All I had to focus on was the truth—that if Lance knew who I really was and why I was really here, he would run me through with his blade—no questions asked.
When Mordred called for paired drills, I turned sharply—away from Lance—and approached Gareth, as Percival had already paired with Galahad.
“Care to spar, Sir Gareth?”
Gareth's auburn brows rose in genuine surprise, though his expression quickly shifted to one of pleased anticipation.
A slow grin spread across his attractive features, transforming his usually serious demeanor into something almost boyish.
He straightened from where he'd been adjusting his leather bracers, the movement causing the morning light to catch the subtle flame motifs in his armor.
"Gladly," he said, rolling his broad shoulders in preparation. "I've been hoping to test my fire against your water, Sir Lioran. The other knights speak highly of your elemental control, but I confess I'm curious to see how ice fares against flame."
"Well, let's put it to the test, shall we?"
His hand moved to rest casually on the pommel of his sword, fingers drumming against the worn leather grip with barely contained eagerness. There was no malice in his challenge—only the honest excitement of a warrior eager to measure his skills against a worthy opponent.
"Fair warning though," Gareth added with a chuckle, already beginning to circle toward an open section of the training yard where we'd have room to maneuver. "I've been working on some new techniques since the Hunt Trial. Mordred's been... generous with his instruction lately."
I was surprised to hear that Mordred was training Gareth's elemental power, although I supposed I shouldn't have been. Everyone had their favorites.
As Gareth and I walked away, I saw Lance glance up and watch us. Perhaps he'd expected me to choose him as my sparring partner? Or perhaps he was attempting to avoid me as much as I was attempting to avoid him?
Our eyes met—briefly. And I saw it. Surprise. And behind that? Disappointment.