Page 88 of The Sword & the Stone

The Elhorn nickered softly as Arthur settled onto its back. I could see exhaustion written in every line of her body. In the slump of her shoulders, the way her hands trembled slightly as she gripped the Elhorn's mane.

"We should make camp as soon as possible," I said, my voice rough and raw from screaming. "Arthur needs rest. The Wandering Wood can wait another day."

Merlin nodded sharply, his blue eyes flickering between Arthur and me. I couldn’t tell what was going on in the sorcerer’s head. It was no secret that he was in love with her too, but something always seemed to be holding him back. Druids didn’t take official mates, but I knew that if they did, Merlin would have claimed her already.

Galahad's gaze suddenly lifted to the sky, his brow furrowing in concentration. Following his line of sight, I caught a glimpse of a magnificent creature soaring overhead. Its wingspan must have been at least thirty feet across, with feathers the color of obsidian. The beast's long, serpentine neck ended in a head crowned with spiraling horns, and as it banked in a wide arc, I could see flashes of iridescent scales along its underbelly.

"Is that a...dragon?" Arthur breathed out in awe.

Galahad shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Not quite. That's a wraith. They're distant cousins to dragons, but they're not nearly as intelligent or dangerous. Beautiful creatures, though."

The wraith let out a haunting cry that echoed through the canyon before disappearing behind a distant peak. Galahad blinked a few times, as if coming out of a trance, then turned back to our group. "There's a grove of trees just past the mouth of the canyon," he said, his voice carrying a note of relief. "It's secluded away from the main paths the giants use for hunting. We should be safe there for the night."

As we made our way out of the canyon, the landscape gradually shifted from towering stone walls to a gentler terrain. The air grew thick with the scent of damp earth and blooming night flowers again, leaving the dust and clay behind us.

I kept a watchful eye on Arthur, noting how she swayed slightly in the saddle. Her new wings were folded against her back, shimmering like spun crystal in the fading light. The sight of them still took my breath away. She hadn’t meant to manifest them, but her desperation made it possible without even trying. I had a feeling our queen had no idea how powerful she really was.

We reached the grove Galahad had mentioned. The trees hung like willows, only their petals were a midnight blue color that twinkled with sparkling dew. The hanging branches created secluded little bubbles of privacy, away from the prying eyes of the forest.

Merlin immediately went to Arthur's side, his arms encircling her waist as he helped her down from the Elhorn. She leaned heavily against him, exhaustion evident in every movement of her body. Merlin's eyes glowed with a soft blue light as he whispered in the language of the druids, covering her with wards.

Percival and Tristan set about creating a perimeter of protection spells, their magic weaving an intricate web of shadows and starlight around our camp.

I gathered fallen branches and set about building a fire pit. With a wave of my hand, frost crystals formed along the wood, and Lancelot gave it a spark. The magical fire that gave off no smoke cast dancing shadows across the grove, making the leaves shimmer like sapphires.

Merlin carefully laid Arthur down on a bed of soft moss, conjuring a blanket of gossamer threads that seemed to be woven from moonlight itself. He brushed a stray curl from her forehead.

"She could have died today," Lancelot said, his voice barely above a whisper. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, betraying the tension coursing through him. "If those wings hadn't manifested..."

I nodded, the memory of Arthur plummeting through the air still fresh and raw in my mind. "But she didn't. And I feel like the world’s biggest fool."

"What are we doing, Gawain?" he asked, running a hand through his golden hair. "This...arrangement. All of us loving her. What does it mean for her? For Camelot? She’s going to be a queen."

I sighed, leaning against the bark of a few fallen logs we'd placed into a circle around the fire. The bark was surprisingly soft, almost velvety to the touch. "I don't know," I admitted, my eyes drifting to where Arthur lay sleeping. "But I do know thatI can't imagine a life without her. The thought of returning to Avalon and leaving her behind? It feels wrong."

Lance nodded. "But a queen with multiple consorts? It's unheard of, at least in the mortal realm."

I chuckled softly, plucking a luminescent flower that grew near my feet. Its petals glowed with a soft, pulsing light, like a tiny heartbeat. "When has Arthur ever done anything the conventional way? She's a half-fae thief with druid blood, wielding Excalibur, and just put a giant to sleep in a language that’s been dead for centuries. I think we're well pastconventionalat this point."

His lips quirked into a small smile. "Fair point. But still, the politics of it all. The noble houses of Camelot will expect her to make a strategic marriage alliance. And what about heirs?"

I twirled the glowing flower between my fingers, watching as its light seemed to dance and swirl. "Fae can only conceive when both partners intend it," I reminded him. "And even then, it's rare. As for the politics, well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, let's focus on keeping her alive long enough to sit on that damned throne."

As we continued our hushed conversation, the others gradually joined us around the fire. Galahad settled onto a moss-covered log. Tristan took a seat next to me, his silver eyes reflecting the dancing flames. He seemed lost in thought, his gaze occasionally drifting to where Arthur slept. The mating mark on his neck stood out starkly against his dark skin.

Percival materialized from the shadows, his form seeming to coalesce from the darkness itself. He moved with liquid grace, settling onto the ground with his back against a tree trunk. The shadows clung to him like a second skin, writhing and twisting in response to his mood.

Merlin was the last to join us. He looked exhausted, the lines around his eyes more pronounced than usual. I wondered howmuch of his energy he'd expended trying to save Arthur during her fall.

Percival's low voice broke the contemplative silence. "What language did Arthur speak to the giant? I've never heard anything like it."

"It was the dead language of the Old Religion," Merlin said softly, almost reverently. "A tongue that hasn’t been spoken in centuries, known only to the most ancient magical beings. Gaius taught about it, but even he doesn’t know enough to speak it. The fae can understand the words, but speaking it is nearly impossible."

"But how?" I asked, leaning forward. "Arthur's never studied ancient languages, has she?"

Merlin shook his head, his expression a mixture of awe and confusion. "No, she hasn't.”

Tristan frowned and tossed a twig into the fire. “I felt something through our mating bond. It was...strange. Overwhelming. Like there were multiple presences inhabiting her body all at once."

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