Page 62 of The Sword & the Stone

Percy scoffed, sending Galahad a withering look. "And risk losing her entirely? I don't like those odds."

"Since when have you been a coward, Perce?" Gawain teased, arching a brow. "Afraid of a little competition?"

"Fuck off," Percy grumbled, but there was a laugh in it. "I just know how unfair it would be to the rest of you sad sacks. I’ve already had her once, so I think I have a leg up."

The mental image hit me like a punch to the gut, making me grit my teeth. It wasn’t that I hated Percy for touching her. No, strangely enough, it wasn’t that at all. It was the thought of not being able to do the same that made my chest burn hot.

I shook my head.Since when did I give a fuck about just one woman?Even with Gwenevere, I couldn’t be bothered to ask if she was sleeping with other men, and I don’t think I would have cared. I’d bedded others while I was with her, and never hid it from her.

But Arthur…The thought of her with any other man aside from the six of us on this quest was fucking unbearable.

“You’re taking out of your ass,” Gawain snapped at Percy, ice beginning to run up the length of his arm until it froze the glass.

Tristan held up a hand, his silver eyes flashing with warning. "Enough. This isn't a pissing contest. We're all in love with her, and we need to figure out what to do about it before it tears us apart."

A heavy blanket of silence draped over the room, settling uneasily on my shoulders. The words hung in the air, taunting me with their absurdity.In love? Me?

Love was a concept reserved for romantics and fools, not someone like me who had been burned too many times to count. Someone who’d been betrayed by the woman he thought lovedhim as much as he loved her. Love was messy and brutal. It destroyed nations and toppled empires. Love wasn’t worth the risk of what you stood to lose.

At least, that’s what I’d been telling myself for the last nine hundred years.

Galahad sighed, breaking the tense silence. "What if we just...let things happen naturally?" he suggested, his voice hesitant. "We all pursue her, and what happens, happens. You’re the only men I’d trust with her.”

I stared at Galahad, not immediately saying no. The idea was both tantalizing and terrifying. My heart raced at the thought of allowing myself to explore these foreign feelings for Arthur, but the cynic in me balked at the risk of my sanity.

"And what happens when she inevitably chooses one of us over the others? Are we supposed to just smile and pretend it doesn't gut each and every one of us?" I had to ask. It had to be said out loud or else we’d all end up in a mess of trouble between the five of us.

Gawain leaned back against the bar, his expression thoughtful. "Maybe she won't choose. Maybe she'll want us all."

I scoffed, shaking my head. "You're delusional if you think that's even a possibility. She’s going to be a queen. Queens take king consorts, not six of them."

“Six?” Gawain asked, arching his brow.

“If you think for one fucking second that Merlin wouldn’t turn us all into a pink mist in the wind if we tried taking Arthur from him, then you’re delusional,” I said dryly.

Percy chuckled, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "This isn't Albion. The fae have always been a bit more...open-minded when it comes to matters of the heart…and the flesh."

I hated to admit it, but he had a point. Our kind had never been bound by the same rigid moral codes as the humans. Love,lust, and everything in between were celebrated, not shunned. The idea of Arthur taking multiple consorts wouldn't even raise an eyebrow among the fae.

Tristan nodded, his silver hair gleaming in the candlelight. "Percy's right. We’ve been living among humans for too long, I think."

I ran a hand over my face. "Fine. Since I have a feeling none of you lovesick fools are going to let up anytime soon, we’ll just agree to let her decide. And whatever she chooses, we respect it. No jealousy, no resentment. We're in this together, no matter what."

Galahad clapped me on the shoulder, his green eyes shining with the challenge of a hunt. "Well said, brother."

Gawain raised his glass, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “To the queen," he said, looking around at each one of us. "And to the poor bastards foolish enough to love her."

Chapter Twenty-Three

ARTHUR

I stoodin front of the standing mirror and marveled at the ethereal creature gazing back at me. The sheer golden fabric clung to my body like a second skin, accentuating every curve and contour. It was a daring choice, far more revealing than anything I had worn before in Albion.

The golden runes painted across my skin glimmered in the candlelight, ancient symbols of power and protection, or so the servants had told me. They’d traced intricate patterns along my arms, my collarbone, and my exposed midriff. Each stroke of the brush had been a nearly ritualistic act, imbuing me with the blessings of the fae ancestors.

The Night of the Ancients had arrived, preceded by the Dawn of The Ancients. On this sacred day, the barrier between realms was thin, allowing the powerful magic that sustained the land to flow freely. I’d never heard of it before, but I was excited to see it firsthand.

My chestnut curls were wild and silky, untamed and free. Gone were the tight braids and rigid updos of my mortal life. Thecurls framed my face like a lion's mane, and made me feel a bit wild inside too. Like I could set the world on fire if I wanted to.

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