I’m not any better at serving.

  After I spill Arthur’s wine for the third time, he threatens to send me to the dungeon unless I stay away from his goblet.

  “Just stand back and observe,” he says, waving me off. “Watch Derwin.” He points out a rough-looking man at least two decades older than me—perhaps three—waiting on the king.

  The king. The man I’m here to speak to. But now that I get a good look at King Wthyr, a shiver runs down my spine.

  His is the face of power. Of ruthlessness. There is no mercy in the lines of age and time around his mouth and eyes.

  Silence wraps around me, and the fear I feel is my own.

  I can still get an audience with him. Tomorrow at supper I can simply ask to talk to him about a family matter.

  I live at the manor now.

  Fluttering fabric distracts me. I glance over to see several maidens circling like vultures, gathering near Arthur, bending their heads to whisper to him. Their floor-length tunics come in the more expensive colors of red and indigo and green, cinched around the waist with ropes and leather ties. Arthur stands to speak to them, addressing a golden-haired woman who hides her laughter behind her hand when his wine sloshes in his cup and spills down the front of his shift.

  “You’re Arthur’s new manservant?”

  I turn around to see the princess approaching. She wears the same green dress I saw her in the day of the execution. I bob my head. “Yes, your highness.”

  “I’m the lady Morgana, Arthur’s sister.” Her smile is kind and disarming. “He’s a kind master. He’ll be good to you.”

  I nod back at him, where Arthur has helped himself to a fourth cup of wine. “He’s drinking a lot. Should I stop him?”

  Her blue eyes follow. “The girls make him nervous. And he’s upset over the loss of his previous manservant. Llew was with him for four years. Since they were both young boys.”

  What had Wthyr said? That Llew ran off with a woman?

  I watch Arthur knock the wine back, his cheeks flushed. “It was just a servant. We’re replaceable.”

  “Not to Arthur. Llew was his friend.”

  I can’t keep back my snort of disbelief. “Sure.”

  She eyes me, though I can’t tell the emotion behind her expression. “What’s your name, boy?”

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  Boy. I bristle at the same time my face grows hot. It’s like she wanted to remind me of my place. “Myrddin,” I say, the name more comfortable on my tongue than a week ago.

  “You’re not from here. Your accent is . . . western?”

  I nod.

  “From whereabouts? I only know a few of the western territories.”

  “Caer—” I begin, but I’m interrupted by a disruption at the head of the table, near King Wthyr.

  Several soldiers sweep through the hall, surrounding a tall man draped in armor and bright colors.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Wthyr says, standing. “I said no entry!” He turns angry eyes to the many guards behind him, but the man speaks, his voice filling the hall as it echoes off the walls.

  “I will make a stand here on these grounds and start a battle with you now, Wthyr, if that’s what it takes to be heard.”

  Silence rings out in the vacuum that follows his words. Wthyr narrows his eyes, and then he says, “Declare yourself. Who are you and why are you here?”

  “I am King Afon of Pentywyn.”

  I can’t hold back my gasp. It’s audible, resounding in my ears, but I’m not the only one who’s made a noise of surprise or interest. My eyes flit around me, but nobody noticed my outburst.

  Prince Madoc’s father.

  This is the man I need to kill.

  Kill him! The du dance around me, excited, and my blood leaps. My hand falls at my belt, feeling for the dagger, before I rein myself in.

  Shut up! I holler at them. Now is not the time!

  I will have my revenge. But not here, not when my life would be forfeit for the action.

  “Have you come to wage war, then, King Afon of Pentywyn?” Wthyr asks, distracting me.

  “Yes. But not with you, if you’ll help me. My son and heir to the throne, Prince Madoc, was found murdered in one of my villages, Caerfyrddin, not even a two day’s journey from here. My soldiers witnessed a young woman fleeing the scene, and my hunters have traced her here.”

  Blood pumps so fast through my neck that I see spots. I think the guilt must be written across my face, but then I remember—I’m not a woman.

  Nobody knows where I’m from. And nobody knows who I am.

  Now nobody can ever find out.

  Wthyr stares at him with interest. “A woman killed your son?”

  Afon hesitates, then says, “He was likely compromised.”

  I don’t miss the smirk when Wthyr says, “He likely was.”

  Afon shifts and directs his gaze downward at Wthyr. “I’m willing to offer one of the villages that borders our land in exchange for the use of your men.”

  Wthyr’s eyes sharpen, his gaze becoming more keen. “Which one?”

  “Llanteulyddog.”

  I know this village. It sits just on the other side of the hills to my own.

  Wthyr shakes his head. “I don’t need another parcel of farmers. I’ll give you my personally trained Equites for Dinefwr.”

  Dinefwr is familiar in name only. It’s one of King Afon’s strongholds, with a hill fort strategically placed to view the surrounding countryside and protect from invaders. He hesitates, enough to betray that letting go of Dinefwr is a sacrifice. But then he nods. “Done.”

  Wthyr snaps his fingers, and his servant Derwin darts away. “If this woman is here in Caerleon, we’ll find her,” he says.

  My heart rate picks up again, and I take slow, deep breaths.

  No one saw me as a girl. No one can trace me to the murder.

  “Arthur will be going with the Equites,” Lady Morgana says, drawing my attention back to her. “He might need reminding, given the state he’s in.”

  “They go tonight?” I ask, my breathing too fast.

  She smirks. “They’re too sodden with drink to stay atop their horses. But they must make a show of giving it importance, so it’s time for them to leave the party. Did Arthur show you your quarters?”

  “My quarters?” I whisper. The room spins around me, sounds distorted like when I get water in my ears. I’m Arthur’s servant. King Afon is here hunting me, and Arthur will aid his search.