Chapter 6

Chapter Six

TRISTAN

I sat back against a gnarled tree trunk, my eyes drifting over the others. Arthur looked pensive, her brow furrowed as she stared into the fire. The orange glow highlighted the freckles dusting her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, making her look younger and more vulnerable.

It was easy to forget that beneath the prophecy, magic, and crown, she was still just a girl thrust into a role she never asked for. She was a beautiful woman, and I never gave that compliment lightly. I had no interest in human women, and the last seven hundred years in Albion hadn’t done much to soften me towards them.

But Arthur was fae. Well, she was half fae, but the half that was seemed to be dominant. Her ears were as delicately pointed as any of ours, and her eyes were just slightly larger than a human. She was also lithe and graceful. Probably how she managed to become a skilled pickpocket.

Gawain had moved to lay beneath the stars, away from the fire, so Merlin sat close beside Arthur now, his shoulder brushing hers, and I didn't miss the way they seemed to gravitate towards each other, like two stars caught in a shared orbit. There was a history there. A bond that ran deeper than just friendship. The thought made my stomach sour a bit, and I didn’t feel like exploring the reason why.

The other knights, my brothers, were scattered around the fire, their faces half in shadow. Lancelot was sharpening his blade with long, sure strokes, the rasp of stone on steel a familiar rhythm. Gawain was whittling a piece of wood, his deft fingers coaxing a shape from the grain that only he could see. Percival had his eyes closed, but I knew he was far from asleep, his senses attuned to the slightest rustle or snap in the distance.

Galahad was busy tending to the horses, murmuring soft words as he checked their hooves and brushed out their coats until they gleamed like polished chestnuts in the firelight. Sometimes I wondered what they murmured back to him.

As the night deepened and the stars winked to life overhead, a comfortable silence settled over our small band, broken only by the occasional pop and hiss of the burning logs. The scent of wood smoke and damp earth filled my nostrils, mingling with the sweet notes of the wildflowers that carpeted the forest floor.

Arthur shifted, drawing her knees up to her chest and resting her chin on them. "Tell me about Avalon," she said softly. “I've heard stories, but nothing from the source."

A small smile tugged at my lips as memories of Avalon surfaced, vivid and bittersweet at the same time. "Avalon is much more beautiful than the human realm. It’s a land of perpetual twilight, ruled by two queens, one for each half of the realm. Queen Maeve of the Unseelie Court, and Queen Tatiana of the Seelie Court.”

Arthur's eyes widened slightly, and I saw the flicker of both fear and fascination in them.

"Maeve was a warlord in the ancient days. Percival and I were knights of the Unseelie Court before coming to Albion. Queen Tatiana, the Seelie Queen, is warm and kind, but still strong. Her people are devoted to her." I paused, lost in the memories of the two queens, their faces as clear in my mind as if I had seen them only yesterday.

“There was war in Avalon, even before the queens came to power. The war raged for centuries between both fae courts. Excalibur once belonged to the goddess Odessa, the bringer of the dawn and bestower of peace. It was stolen from the Unseelie vaults and taken to the human world. The thief thought he could rule Albion with its god power, and that the sword would secure his place as high king.”

Arthur scooted forward, enthralled. “I’ve heard the myths, but I always thought they were just stories. So you mean it’s all true? Excalibur turned on the one who stole it?”

I caught Percy’s eye, noting the way his shadows coiled tighter around him. “It tricked him. Made him think he was plunging it into the human king’s back, when in fact it was a cursed stone created by the god Wrath, to capture the blade and hold it. Excalibur buried itself so completely that men for centuries tried to pull it free, but ultimately everyone failed, making fools of themselves. Especially the kings.”

“Odessa herself sent the five of us to this realm to find the one who could wield Excalibur. She ordered Maeve and Tatiana to end the war between courts, and hand-picked their best warriors. We swore an oath to watch over the sword until a new wielder appeared.”

“You’re serving different queens then?”

“We serve one queen,” Percy said sharply. All eyes went to him as he stared at Arthur. “We serve the One and Future Queen now.”

I felt a pang of sympathy for Percy. His cousin, Davian, had been the one to steal Excalibur from Avalon all those centuries ago, a betrayal that had shaken the very foundations of our realm. The courts had been baffled when Odessa chose Percy as one of the sword’s protectors.

For Percy, the weight of his family's disgrace shadowed every step he took. He now dedicated his life to finding and serving the true heir, determined to restore honor to his bloodline. As if sensing my thoughts, Percy's gaze met mine across the flickering flames. I nodded, understanding how much it still bothered him.

“I was never allowed to know the fae part of my heritage,” Arthur finally said. Merlin, who sat beside her, slung an arm over her shoulders as she leaned into him for warmth. “I don’t even know which of my parents was fae and who was human. Both of them died before I was old enough to ask them about it.”

I watched the shadows play across Arthur's face. My heart clenched at the vulnerability in her eyes, the unspoken longing for a connection to a part of herself that had always been denied.

"Your fae heritage is your birthright," I said. "No matter which of your parents carried that blood, it flows through your veins, as much a part of you as your human side."

She sighed. "But I don't know the first thing about being fae. I grew up in the human world, with human customs and beliefs. What if...what if I'm not fae enough? What if I can't live up to what's expected of me?"

"Your human upbringing gives you a unique perspective, actually. A compassion and understanding that a lot of full-blooded fae lack. It's what makes you special. When you’ve lived for as long as we have, you start to feel less empathy. It’s hard to go on caring about the suffering of the world when you watch humanity repeat the same mistakes of their forefathers time and time again. Eventually you become numb."

Merlin nodded, his arm tightening around her shoulders. "Tristan's right. Your duality is your strength, not a weakness. It's what will make you an incredible queen, one who can bridge the gap between our worlds."

Arthur's lips curved into a small, grateful smile. “I sure hope you’re right.”

Lancelot's voice cut through the warmth of the moment like a blade of ice. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Being half-human might give her a unique perspective, but it also means she's untested and completely untrained in our ways. She's a liability until proven otherwise."

Arthur flinched, her eyes narrowing at Lancelot. I felt a surge of anger rise in my chest on her behalf. Merlin cursed, and Galahad scoffed. Percy just laid his head back down and closed his eyes again.

"Count on you to be the pessimist, Lance," I hissed. "She’s done nothing to deserve your attitude. She’s been thrown into this role with no warning or any preparation. You dishonor yourself with your quick judgment."

"I dishonor nothing. Blind faith is a stupid gamble. She still needs to prove herself before we pledge our lives for her cause."

The tension crackled between us, the air thick and charged. The other knights shifted uneasily, their eyes darting between Lancelot and me like spectators at a joust, waiting for the inevitable clash.

But it was Arthur who broke the stalemate, rising to her feet with a quiet dignity that I had to admire. “I’m tired. I think I’ll get some sleep while I can.”

With that, she turned on her heel and strode off towards the edge of the camp, where we’d laid out the bedrolls among the rustling ferns. I watched the sway of her hips, the proud set of her shoulders, and felt a swell of admiration for the small woman.

Lancelot stared after her, a muscle ticking in his stubbled jaw. For a moment, I thought he might call her back, challenge her again, but he just shook his head and returned to sharpening his blade with renewed focus. Merlin rose and followed after Arthur, and I didn't miss the warning look he shot Lancelot over his shoulder.

When they were out of earshot, Gawain said, “Do you think they’re fucking?”

The question had a bark of laughter falling from Galahad, and even Percy cracked his eyes open with a raised brow. I groaned, running a palm over my face. But the sudden image of Arthur, naked and writhing in pleasure, flashed through my mind. My cock thickened, and all I could do was groan, shaking my head at Gawain.

Galahad tossed a twig at Gawain's head. "You've got the subtlety of a charging boar, my friend. But it wouldn't surprise me in the least."

Gawain ducked, grinning unrepentantly. "What? Like we weren't all thinking it. They've got history. Any fool can see that."

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Their personal lives are none of our concern. Our duty is to protect and guide Arthur, not gossip about who she fucks."

Gawain was probably right though; I had to admit it to myself at least. I saw the way Arthur and Merlin looked at each other. The tension between them was palpable. Then again, I’d seen her giving a similarly appreciative look to Gawain earlier in the day.

Did that mean she was unattached?

The prospect sent a thrill through my body, and my eyes followed Arthur’s dark form as she readied for bed in the shadows. She was braiding her long hair while Merlin leaned against a tree. They spoke in hushed voices, too far away for any of us to make out.

Lancelot made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. "A fine job we're doing of that. Letting a half-trained girl and her pet sorcerer lead us on a fool's errand."

I rounded on him, my patience fraying. "I'm getting tired of your nastiness tonight, Lance. The sword chose Arthur, which means she was literally chosen by fate itself. Who are we to question that?"

His eyes flashed my way. "Fate can be misread. Prophecies can be misinterpreted. Until I see proof of her worth with my own eyes, my reservations stand."