“Bree?” Nick says my name again, but this time it’s a question.

My hand flips to hold his wrist, squeezing. It feels like him. My voice cracks. “Nick. Is this real?”

“Where are we?” he asks, eyes darting over the table. The knights around us have gone so quiet that it takes me a moment to realize that they are bathed in complete darkness now, still.

“We’re… this is the Rite of—”

“Kings. That must be why I… I felt something.” He taps his chest. “Right here. A pull to you… then…” Nick takes in the outline of Arthur first, then he finds me beneath the king. “How…”

“I don’t know. But I’m coming for you, okay?”

“No!” He shouts. “Don’t come after me!”

The words are a slap against my face. “What?”

He shakes his head. “It’s too dangerous. My father—”

“I don’t care—”

“Do not look for me, Bree. Promise me you won’t.” He grasps my arm, tight enough to hurt. “Swear it.”

A slicing sound, shrill in my ears. Nick’s hair lifting in invisible wind—

“Are you ready to complete the Oath, Crown Scion?”

Without warning, Nick is gone. In his place, Sir Lancelot is a heavy presence.

“Bring him back!”

“Are you ready?” Fierce expectation rolls off Nick’s ancestor, in the way he peers at me under his brows, in the hungry way he scans my face.

I jerk back, attempt to pull my hand out of his grip, but his fingers tighten and hold me still. “Where is Nick?”

The low voice that reaches me from beneath the worn metal is now urgent. “You must pledge service to us if we are to pledge to you….”

“Let me go!” I shout.

He releases me and I stumble out of the chair, breathing hard. When the other knights’ helmets turn to follow me, I feel the full weight of the twelve men. No longer waiting, but demanding.

Lancelot’s eyes harden. “Will you make this Oath, or not?”

My heart races in my chest. Blood rushes in my ears.

“Will you?”

“I…”

The room squeezes me like a fist. Will I make this Oath to the Table?

An answer falls from my mouth. “No.”

At my refusal, the light from my—no, Arthur’s—body floods into a bright red, dousing the room into deep black and crimson. Lancelot raises a hand to shield his eyes, just as Nick did when he first saw me with Excalibur. With a loud snap, the knights fade from their seats until the Table is empty.

And yet I am not alone. A beat of silence. Then—

“Estron wyt.” You are a foreigner.

Arthur’s voice reaches me from every corner, blasting all thought with its deep rumble.

He can see me even though I can’t see him.