Page 37 of The Sword & the Stone

I rummaged through my pack, pulling out a spare tunic and breeches. They'd be comically large on Arthur's slight frame, butat least they were dry. I tossed them to her, along with a thick woolen cloak.

"Here, these should fit you well enough." My words were gruff, but I couldn't quite meet her gaze. The sight of her in that sodden white dress, the fabric clinging to every curve. It stirred something primal in me. Something I had no right to feel. “We’ll head back for the horses and our packs in the morning, but for now, this will have to do.”

Arthur took the clothes with a grateful nod, her fingers brushing mine and sending a jolt of awareness through me. I pulled back, busying myself with laying out a bedroll near the fire.

The soft rustle of fabric drew my attention, and I made the mistake of glancing over my shoulder. Arthur had her back to me with the dress pooled at her feet as she shrugged into my oversized tunic. The firelight danced over her pale skin, casting tantalizing shadows along the elegant line of her spine. I swallowed hard and forced myself to look away, focusing intently on adjusting the one bedroll we had with hands that trembled slightly.

Gods, how long had it been since I allowed myself to look at a woman this way? Decades? Maybe more. But Arthur drew me in. Like a moth to an open flame, and even my shadows danced in her presence.

The cave suddenly felt too small, the air too thick with tension. I could hear the whisper of fabric as she finished dressing, the crackle of the fire, Lancelot's steady breathing. Everything seemed amplified, my senses hyperaware.

"So," Arthur said, her voice still rough from her ordeal. "About that orb."

I turned to face her, steeling myself against the sight of her drowning in my clothes, her damp hair curling around her face. She looked so young, so vulnerable. It made me want to wrap herin my arms and shield her from the world. But that wasn't my place.

I cleared my throat. "Right. The Lady of the Lake. What exactly did she say?"

Arthur settled herself on the bedroll, drawing her knees up to her chest and pulling the cloak tight around her shoulders. Lancelot sat down next to her, close enough that their shoulders brushed. A flare of something hot and angry twisted in my gut at the sight, but I pushed it down.

Arthur's brow furrowed as she stared into the dancing flames. "She gave me a riddle."

“Can you remember it?” Lancelot asked as he ran his fingers through his long, wet hair, combing out the tangles.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Arthur said with an amused huff. “I can’t get it out of my head.”

"Daughter of stars and stone, born of magic's blood, To claim your fate, a bridge you must cross. But beware the path, for it is fraught with peril, And the price of failure is a fate far worse than death. Across the bridge, three guardians stand, Each a riddle, a test of wit and will. Answer true, and passage shall be granted, But fail, and your quest will be forever lost."

“So the second trial will involve some kind of bridge, where three guardians will test you with a riddle,” I mused aloud.

"I don't like the sound of that last part. 'A fate far worse than death'? What could be worse than dying?"

Lancelot glanced at Arthur, something flickering in his golden eyes. Something that reminded me of a similar sparkle in Merlin’s gaze when he looked at Arthur sometimes. Irritation twisted inside me. I wasn’t an idiot. I knew what happened between Arthur and Gawain this morning. All of us knew.

I wasn’t angry at Gawain for touching her. But Iwasjealous. I wanted to be the one with my fingers in her warm cunt, making her writhe against my skin.

It was impossible, though. How could she ever feel safe with me after my shadows attacked her after my nightmare? Shame still weighed on me, and sometimes it was hard to look at Arthur, even if she said she understood.

I watched as Arthur's eyelids grew heavy, her body finally succumbing to the exhaustion of the day's trials. She curled up on the bedroll, nestling into the warmth of the fire and Lancelot's solid presence beside her. Within moments, her breathing evened out into the slow, steady rhythm of sleep.

Lancelot and I sat in silence for a time, listening to the crackle of the flames and the soft patter of rain outside the cave. The shadows danced along the rocky walls, casting everything in a shifting, ethereal glow. It felt like we were in a world apart, suspended between reality and dreams.

My gaze kept straying to Arthur's sleeping form, tracing the delicate curve of her cheek, the way her damp curls clung to her neck. Even in sleep, there was a strength to her, an innate stubbornness that attracted me more than it should have.

"She's going to be the death of us, you know," Lancelot murmured. "She'll break all of our hearts in the end."

I huffed out a mirthless laugh. "Bold of you to assume we still have hearts to break. This life hollows you out until there's nothing left."

Lancelot shook his head. He glanced down at Arthur, something raw and aching in his gaze. "I used to believe that too. But I’m not so sure anymore."

I studied him, taking in the tension in his broad shoulders, the way his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. I recognized that restless energy, the warring emotions. How many times had I felt them myself, that painful yearning for something I couldn't have?Didn't deserve.

"What about Gwen?" I asked, careful to keep my tone neutral. "I thought you and she were?—"

Lancelot's eyes snapped to mine, burning with a heat that had nothing to do with the fire. "Gwen and I are done. Have been for a long time. Whatever we had, it wasn't real. Not like..."

He trailed off, but I heard the unspoken words as clearly as if he'd shouted them. The realization hit me like a blow, knocking the breath from my lungs. So Lancelot had feelings for Arthur too. It seemed the heir had a universal pull none of us could resist, drawing us into her orbit like helpless souls caught in the gravity well of a newborn star.

First Gawain and Tristan, now Lancelot and Galahad. Hell, even I felt that inexorable tug in my chest when I looked at her, much as I tried to ignore it. And I'd bet my best sword that Merlin would fight to the death against any man who tried to take her from him.

---