Page 15 of The Sword & the Stone

I grunted, taking a long swig of the rich, full-bodied wine. The warmth spread through my chest, easing some of the tension that had settled there. "It had to be done. Better to get it done now, before things become complicated."

Gawain chuckled. "Well, look on the bright side. With Gwen out of the way, you're free to pursue other...interests." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and I felt a flush creep up my neck.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I growled, but the memory of those amber eyes and chestnut curls flashed through my mind once more. I shook my head, trying to dispel the image.

Tristan's silver eyes suddenly flashed an eerie, glowing white that contrasted strikingly with his deep, night colored skin. The room fell silent as we all turned to stare at him, the air suddenly heavy with tension. I felt a chill run down my spine as I watched him, his body rigid and his face contorted in a mask of concentration.

Tristan hailed from the Unseelie Court of Avalon, from a long line of seers and mind magic. There might even be a bit of druid blood in his line, but we weren’t sure.

The seconds ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity. Galahad and Gawain exchanged worried glances, but I kept my gaze fixed on Tristan. I'd seen him have visions before, and it ever failed to make me uneasy.

Just as suddenly as it had begun, the glow faded from Tristan's eyes. He blinked, his shoulders sagging as if a great weight had been lifted from them. His gaze darted around the room, taking in our concern.

"What did you see?" Percy asked.

Tristan inhaled deeply, his hands gripping the edge of the table. "Mordred," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I saw Mordred."

The name hung in the air like a curse, sending a ripple of unease through the room.

Gawain leaned forward abruptly. "What about that bitch?"

Tristan shook his head. "She was in a dark place, and all I could hear was the sound of hundreds of crows. She was in pain. Screaming, but there was no sound coming from her lips.”

Dread filled me instantly and sobered every knight in the room. Mordred was dangerous, and Uther had let her run amok in Camelot for far too long before her exile. She craved the throne and would stop at nothing to get it, even going so far as to use dark magic to force the sword from the stone and steal it for herself.

If Tristan was seeing her in his visions, then it meant nothing good for us.

Nothing good for Arthur either.

Chapter Five

ARTHUR

I sattall in the saddle, my heart racing with a mix of excitement and nerves as I looked out at the sea of faces in front of me. The castle gates loomed ahead, and beyond them, the cheering crowd stretched as far as the eye could see. Their voices blended into a wild mix of good wishes and hopeful shouts, filling the air with a buzz.

Next to me, the five fae knights were on their horses, their black riding clothes replacing their armor. Gawain shot me a cheeky grin, his dark locks tied behind his head. Percival looked serious and cold, his pale skin and night-black hair shrouded under a hooded cloak.

Galahad’s amber eyes were filled with excitement and humor as he waved to the crowd, chest puffed up, while Tristan’s gaze was far away, like he was lost in a different moment in time. And there was Lancelot, his long dark golden hair waving in the gentle breeze while his golden eyes searched the crowd. He was always on alert, with his hand hovering just over the hilt of his sword.

I took a deep breath, taking in the scent of leather and horse mixed with the sweet smell of wildflowers on the hillside. My horse, a stunning chestnut mare, was pawing at the ground, itching to get going. I ran my hand along her neck, feeling her strength just beneath that shiny coat.

A woman emerged from the crowd, her long golden hair flowing behind her like a river of molten sunshine. She moved with a purposeful stride, her emerald green dress hugging her curves before cascading to the ground in a waterfall of shimmering fabric.

The crowd parted for her, whispers rising like a gentle breeze as she approached Lancelot's horse. He stiffened in his saddle, his hand tightening on the reins. I watched, curiosity piqued, as they locked eyes, a silent conversation passing between them.

The woman's face was a mask of emotions—sorrow, longing, and something else I couldn't quite place. Tears glistened in her eyes, catching the light like tiny diamonds. She reached out a delicate hand, as if to touch Lancelot, but pulled back at the last moment, her fingers curling into a fist.

Lancelot leaned down from his saddle, his voice low and urgent. I strained to hear, but their words were lost in the murmur of the crowd. The woman shook her head, her hair dancing around her shoulders. She cast a glance in my direction, wariness etched into the lines of her face, before turning away, her skirts swirling around her legs as she disappeared back into the sea of people.

I turned to Lancelot, a thousand questions burning on my tongue. But the look on his face stopped me cold. His jaw was clenched, his eyes stormy with a maelstrom of emotions I couldn't even begin to untangle.

I tore my gaze away from Lancelot, pushing the mysterious woman to the back of my mind as the castle gates creaked open. It was time. With a deep breath, I urged my mare forward.The knights fell into formation behind me as we rode into the courtyard. King Uther stood at the top of the steps, his silver hair glinting in the sun. His face was lined with age, but his eyes sparkled with power as he looked down at me.

"Arthur," he said, his voice carrying across the courtyard. "Today, you ride out to claim your destiny. May the gods watch over you and guide your path."

I inclined my head, gritting my teeth against the urge to shout something back at him that might earn me some chains on my wrists. Then I remembered my own position, and how the wind had changed in my favor. I wasn’t just a girl anymore. I was the rightful heir to the throne of Camelot. The thought made me grin back at Uther.

With a final bow, I turned my horse towards the gates. The crowds pressed in on either side, their voices rising in a cacophony of cheers and shouts.

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