Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

ARTHUR

I stood before the ornate mirror in my old chambers, preserved for me all these years. With a critical eye, I studied my reflection, feeling strange in the fashions of Avalon rather than the stiff uniform of a knight of Camelot.

The silken black pants hung low on my hips, the material loose and airy. My chest was bare, the runes painted across my skin glinting in the candlelight. It was a traditional way to dress for the Night of the Ancients, but I couldn't help feeling exposed after spending centuries in Albion, where humans tended to be a bit more conservative.

It felt fucking good to be back where I belonged. Back with my people, and a part of me wanted to say fuck it, and never return to Albion.

My door clicked open, and Galahad poked his head into the room, a grin spreading across his face as he took in my appearance. "Well, don't you look festive," he teased, stepping fully into the chamber.

He was dressed similarly, though his runes were silver instead of gold. His red beard was twisted into various braids with glass beads interwoven in the strands.

I grunted in response, turning back to the mirror. "Let's just get this over with."

"Oh come on, Lance. It's a celebration! Try enjoying yourself for once. Surely even you can crack a smile for one night."

I shot him a sidelong glance, my lips twitching despite myself.

He snorted, shaking his head. "You're hopeless, brother." His expression softened, growing thoughtful as he studied me. "Have you seen your family yet?"

I stiffened, a dull ache blooming in my chest. "No," I said shortly, turning away from the mirror. "And I don't plan to. Not until this quest is done."

Galahad frowned. "But why? Your sisters miss you. And you've missed them, even if you're too stubborn to admit it."

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. The clean golden strands slipped through my fingers like silk. "A bit longer won’t make a difference," I said quietly, my voice rough. "To see them now, only to leave again so soon...it would be too painful. For all of us."

It was hard enough to leave seven hundred years ago, but I’d done it. I managed to lock away the pain for long enough to become the knight I had to be. I could keep it up a while longer.

Galahad's expression softened, understanding flickering in his eyes. "I get it. I just like to give you shit."

We made our way to the bar cart, where decanters of delicious amber liquid and faerie wine awaited us. We both grabbed a glass from the tray and poured a generous amount of wine, ready to let loose for the evening.

"Have you seen yours yet?" I asked, desperate to change the subject.

Galahad's face lit up, a broad grin splitting his bearded face. "I just got back, actually. Roark and Elyan ambushed me at the door, the little shits.”

I chuckled, picturing Galahad's younger brothers. They were notorious troublemakers, even by fae standards. "Sounds about right. I'm surprised they didn't tie you up and leave you there."

They had to be fully grown males now, after seven centuries. Still young compared to us, but old enough to be finding their own way soon. I wondered if either of them were planning on following Galahad’s footsteps and joining up as Seelie Court knights.

Galahad laughed, taking a sip of his wine. The dark liquid stained his lips before his tongue darted out to lick them clean. "Mother would have skinned them alive if they tried. She's missed me too much to let them get away with that."

I hummed in acknowledgment, swirling the wine in my glass. The delicate floral notes mixed with the heady scent of fermented berries, a familiar aroma that brought back countless memories of nights spent with our own kind.

"Did you tell her?" I asked, glancing at Galahad out of the corner of my eye. He knew what I was referring to without me having to spell it out.

Just then, the door opened, and Gawain and Tristan entered. Tristan must have known we’d be here. He knew everything, and it irked me sometimes. I waved them in, pouring them each a drink.

Galahad met my eyes and nodded, his expression growing thoughtful. "I told her. She's thrilled, of course. Wants to meet Arthur as soon as possible."

"Of course she does," I muttered, draining my glass in one swift gulp. The wine burned pleasantly down my throat, a welcome distraction from the thoughts swirling in my head. "Everyone wants a piece of the prophesied queen."

Gawain clapped me on the shoulder, his gray eyes glinting with amusement. "Don't be such a sourpuss, Lance. This is a good thing! If Arthur wins over Galahad's mother, she'll have the support of one of the most influential families in the Seelie Court."

I shrugged off his hand, scowling. "And what about the Unseelie Court? You think they'll just welcome her with open arms?" I poured myself another generous glass of wine, the bottle clinking against the rim. "She's walking into a vipers' nest, and we all know it."

Tristan leaned against the wall, his eyes thoughtful as he sipped his wine. "She's faced down worse threats than a few scheming fae nobles."

Tristan, a member of the Unseelie Court himself, stood out as one of the few good ones. Unlike his queen, he was trustworthy and kind. But I had to remind myself not to judge an entire court of fae based on the actions of their ruler.

I scoffed, shaking my head. "It's not her strength that I doubt. It's the depths these bastards will sink to in order to get what they want."

My mind flashed back to the countless times I'd witnessed the cruelty and manipulation of the Unseelie Court firsthand. The games they played, the lives they toyed with like pieces on a chessboard. It made my blood boil just thinking about it.

As if on cue, the only other member of the Unseelie Court graced us with his presence. Percy’s shadows filled the room before he stepped through the door.

Gawain chuckled, the sound rich and deep. "Always so cynical, Lance. Try having a little faith, would you?" He took a long sip of his wine, savoring the taste as he waved Percy over before handing him the rest of the bottle.

“So,” Gawain said as he slammed his glass down on the table. “How delectable do you think Arthur will look tonight?” His black brows wiggled up and down, and I groaned, rolling my eyes. “What? I can’t be the only one looking forward to seeing our queen painted and primped for us.”

I rolled my eyes at Gawain's lecherous grin, but I couldn't deny the flicker of anticipation that sparked in my gut at the thought of seeing Arthur dressed for the Night of the Ancients. The way the fae dressed was far more revealing than anything she would have worn in Albion, and I couldn't resist imagining how her moonlight would look painted with shimmering runes, her curves draped in gossamer and silks that left little to the imagination.

"Try thinking with your brain instead of your cock for once, Gawain," I growled, but there was no real heat behind my words. We were all guilty of letting our thoughts wander in that direction when it came to Arthur, as much as I loathed to admit it.

Percy chuckled, shadows dancing around his fingers as he toyed with the half-empty bottle of wine. "You're one to talk, Lance. I've seen the way you look at her when you think no one's watching."

I scowled, but I couldn't deny the truth. Arthur had a way of getting under my skin, of making me feel things I had long thought buried. It was unsettling, the power she held over me without even realizing it.

Tristan sighed, pushing off the wall to join us by the bar cart. "We're all in the same boat here, lads. There's no point in pretending otherwise."

I drained the last of my wine, the sweet burn doing little to ease the tension coiled in my gut. Tristan's words hung heavy between us, an uncomfortable truth we had all been dancing around for far too long.

"So what do we do about it?" I asked, my voice rough. "We can't all pursue her."

Galahad ran a hand through his fiery locks. "Maybe we should let her decide," he suggested. "Give her the choice, and respect whatever she chooses."

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 loved him 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."