The princess looks at me with sympathy, and I know she sees a confused young boy. Maybe even a half-witted one.

  “You live here now,” she says. “Your room is adjacent to Arthur’s so you can be there anytime he needs something. If you can’t locate it, find me after you put him to bed, and I’ll show you. He’ll be in no state to help you.” She turns to leave, and then turns back. “Where did you say you came from?”

  My heart thumps so hard I think she’ll see it. “East of here,” I say. “Southeast.” I intentionally give her the opposite direction of Caerfyrddin.

  She cocks her head. "But your accent is western."

  My lie is already becoming more complicated. "That was my home before—before I went east."

  "Displaced by the Saxons? The barbarians.” She spits on the soft thresh covering the floor. “Oh, and make sure Arthur goes to bed alone. I would not put it past one of these damsels to seduce a marriage agreement from him.”

  The lady rolls her eyes and glides away, leaving me to examine the tinkling girls she referenced. One of them wears a soft purple tunic of brushed wool cut in a low V at the neck, and she doesn’t appear to have a shift beneath. She latches onto Arthur, providing an advantageous view of her breasts, but he doesn’t appear to notice her at all. He leans his head toward a young man with dark hair dressed in the armor of one of the king’s personal horse soldiers. The Equites, as Wthyr calls them.

  Recognition jolts through me. I saw him that day in the woods, also.

  I thank the gods none of them saw me.

  Another lady approaches, and though she wears her linen shift high on her neck, the long sleeves of her green tunic emphasize her trim form as she nears them. This time Arthur lifts his eyes, watching her steps as she glides between him and the soldier.

  He notices this one.

  And I can see why. Her golden hair catches the lit torches of the hall, and her delicate, pale features seem carved of fish bone.

  She smiles at him and places her hand on the soldier’s arm before leaning forward and whispering in his ear.

  “Arthur.” Wthyr steps behind him, and the women jerk away, melting into the crowd as if they’d never been present. Wthyr doesn’t comment on this. “Gather four of my best men in the morning and begin the search. Go at first light. The celebration is over for you.” He turns to the other young man beside him. “If you hope to be counted among my best men, it’s over for you as well.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  “Yes, sire,” the dark-haired boy says.

  “Come to my room in half an hour,” Arthur says to him. “We can discuss the venture.”

  The young man smiles, and they clasp arms in a gesture that speaks of more than friendship. It speaks of brotherhood and loyalty and devotion.

  My eyes flick back to Arthur, and I can’t help but wonder about this prince who drinks for the loss of his servant and treats his father’s soldiers like they’re his brothers.

  “Where’s my servant?” Arthur spins around, a bit wobbly on the balls of his feet, but clearly looking for someone.

  For me.

  His dark blue eyes land on me just as I take a stumbling step forward.

  “My lord,” I say, my tongue thick in my mouth.

  “It’s time for me to retire,” he says.

  Still I stand there. “Yes, my lord.”

  He leans toward me and says in a loud whisper, “This is where you take me to bed.”

  The deep timbers of his voice, spoken in a husky tone, send a painful shiver through my core as it tightens around my navel. I’m suddenly heady and wondering what it would be like to be one of those tinkling damsels, trying to get Arthur into her bed. My eyes dart over his forearms, and my mind conjures up an image of those muscular arms holding his body, with that lean and tight torso, over mine.

  I take a step back, my eyes widening, startled by the turn my thoughts took. No man has ever taken me to bed, and it’s an act I’ve avoided thinking of out of a sense of dread more than anticipation.

  But suddenly I’m breathing rapidly, my blood hot as it races through my veins.

  Arthur arches an eyebrow. “You really don’t know anything about being a manservant, do you?” His words slur slightly, but not enough to conceal his amusement. “Fine. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

  Just like that, the strange desire vanishes, leaving my blood cold. Arrogant prat. What does he need me for, anyway?

  He spins on his heel, and I take five quick sips of air before following him.

  Arthur makes it up the stairwell but stumbles once we reach the narrow corridor outside his room. I stand two feet away, not about to help him. He got into this drunken state by himself. He can get down the hall by himself.

  He stops outside his room. “This is my room,” he says, turning to address me over his shoulder.

  “So go in,” I say.

  The noise he makes is a cross between a snort and a laugh. “You’re supposed to open the door for me.”

  “Even in your drunkenness, I’m sure you’re capable.”

  He turns entirely to face me, his expression perplexed as he blinks at me. “You do know I’m the son of the king, don’t you?”

  The prince. A dark mist of du seep out of the walls, leaving their oily residue behind, and I try not to stare at it. “Oh, yes, I know.”

  Kill him.

  They drone in my ears, and my fingers twitch.

  Something needs to die.

  Why are they so loud here within the manor? Has the talisman quit working?

  He furrows his brow and squints at me. “Have we met before?”

  My heart skips a beat, and I can’t tear my eyes from his.

  Surely he doesn’t recognize me from the forest. I was a young woman then. Now I’m a boy.

  With the features of my brother, who bares a resemblance to me.