Page 100 of Secrets of Avalon

Wraith laughs, the sound surprisingly light coming from the usually stoic knight. Fen flashes me a wide grin, his eyes twinkling with amusement. Boaz stands quietly next to them, his face softening with a small smile.

"She seems quite back to herself, Hawke," Boaz remarks. "But I have to agree with the lady. It's well past time for a morning meal and she’s dressed for bed."

Hawke turns to me, his stormy eyes softening as they meet mine. "Of course, sweet girl. Let's take care of your clothes first."

He takes a step back, his hands still holding mine. The familiar tingle of his magic builds, like static electricity in the air around us. His eyes never leave mine as he speaks, his voice low and intimate.

"Close your eyes," he murmurs.

I obey, letting my eyelids flutter shut. The spark of Hawke's magic intensifies, wrapping around me like a warm breeze. I feel it dance across my skin, light as a feather's touch. The fabric of my clothes seems to shift and flow, as if it's become liquid. My skin feels fresh. My hair is lighter and up off my neck.

"Open them," Hawke says, his voice filled with warmth and love.

I open my eyes and look down at myself. The buttoned-up robe has vanished, replaced by a stunning gown. The fabric is a soft, shimmering blue that reminds me of the sky just before dawn. It hugs my curves gently before flowing out in an elegant skirt that brushes the floor. The neckline is modest but flattering, with delicate silver embroidery that catches the light. I’ve even got soft slippers on my feet.

"Hawke," I breathe, running my hands over the smooth fabric. "It's beautiful. How?"

His smile is tender as he takes me in. "You're beautiful," he corrects, pulling me close. "The dress is merely a worthy setting for such a precious treasure." His eyes sparkle with a hint of mischief. "As for how, well, Fae magick allows me to bend the fabric of the world to my will."

He runs a hand along the shimmering fabric of my sleeve, his touch sending a shiver down my spine. "With a thought and a touch of power, I can transform the very essence of what's around us. It's as natural to me as breathing."

Before I can respond, he leans in and captures my lips with his. The kiss is soft at first, a gentle press of lips that speaks of love and reverence. But as I melt into him, it deepens, becoming something more heated. His hand cups the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair, while mine fist in the fabric of his shirt.

Through our bond, I experience his love, his pride, and a fierce protectiveness that makes my heart swell. I pour my own emotions back to him–gratitude, adoration, and a sense of home I've never felt before.

We break apart, both breathless.

Kellan clears his throat loudly and I glance around, suddenly remembering we're not alone. The other knights stand nearby, their expressions a mix of amusement and feigned disinterest. Wraith raises an eyebrow, while Fen poorly conceals a grin behind his hand.

Heat rises to my cheeks, but Hawke just laughs, keeping an arm wrapped securely around my waist. "Off we go then. Breakfast awaits."

Hawke guides me through corridors adorned with ancient tapestries and gleaming suits of armor, each step revealing more of his world. My mind races, trying to process everything that's happened. The battle, the near-death experience, the sudden influx of power—it all swirls together in a dizzying mix. Excitement bubbles up within me at the thought of exploring Hawke's world, but it's tempered by a gnawing anxiety about what comes next.

The air shifts subtly as we walk, the floral scent of the solarium giving way to hints of polished wood and old stone. I breathe deeply, letting the rich history of this place wash over me. It's overwhelming, yet oddly comforting—like I'm finally stepping into a story I've always been meant to be part of.

As we round a corner, Boaz stumbles slightly. Hawke's concern pulses through our bond, and I catch him exchanging a worried glance with Wraith. Before I can ask what's wrong, Boaz straightens, his face a mask of perfect composure once more.

Servants bustle past, offering quick bows as they go about their duties. Each deferential nod sends a jolt of surprise through me. I'm not used to this kind of treatment. I’m not even used to people seeing me. I’ve hidden my whole life. Except here… I don’t have to hide. Not any more.

With each turn, my anticipation grows, tinged with a mix of curiosity and trepidation. Finally, we approach a set of ornate double doors. I can hear the muffled sounds of activity on the other side. Taking a deep breath, I steel myself for whatever comes next.

Hawke squeezes my hand reassuringly as the doors swing open, revealing the breathtaking expanse of the great hall. I thought Camelot was elegant, but this palace is in a class of its own.

The ceiling soars impossibly high above us, its vaulted arches adorned with intricate frescoes. Sunlight streams through enormous stained-glass windows, casting kaleidoscopic patterns across the polished marble floor.

The air is thick with a tapestry of scents - the rich aroma of roasted meats, the sweetness of fresh-baked pastries, and underneath it all, a subtle, ethereal fragrance I can't quite place. It reminds me of moonlight on water, if such a thing had a scent.

The hall buzzes with life. The low murmur of conversations from simply dressed servants create a soothing background rhythm.

As we move further into the room, I'm struck by the play of light on various surfaces. Crystal chandeliers refract the sunlight, sending tiny rainbows dancing across the walls. The golden threads woven into the tablecloths seem to shimmer and move of their own accord.

It’s stunning. Majestic. And even though it’s grand, it’s cozy. Hawke walks us to the table closest to the roaring fireplace. His parents are already seated, but no one has touched the food yet.

Through our bond, I take pleasure in Hawke's joy at my reaction. This is his home, and now, somehow, it feels like it could be mine too.

As we near the table, King Theon Stormblood rises, his imposing figure casting a long shadow. My breath catches in my throat, and I squeeze Hawke's hand tighter. The king's face is unreadable, his piercing blue eyes—so like Hawke's—scrutinizing me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.

Queen Isolde stands too, her movement graceful despite the tension evident in her shoulders. Her eyes lock onto Hawke and me, and I'm struck by the myriad of emotions flickering across her face—relief, concern, and something that looks almost like hope.

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