He’d guessed. He had to have guessed. That final night at the inn, when she’d won two shillings off Lance at cards, and had shrieked in pleasure, forgetting to lower her voice.

Her hands were shaking, and she barely dared to breathe as she blurted, “So did I.”

“You already know?” Arthur looked surprised. But not upset.

Emry frowned. “What are we talking about?” she asked carefully.

“The weird nightmare I had last night,” he said.

Emry laughed. This was what Arthur had needed to talk about. In private? Ugh. It figured he’d nearly given her a panic attack over nothing.

“Why? What are you talking about?” Arthur asked.

“Nothing,” she said quickly. “Please tell me everything about your weird nightmare. This is clearly of the utmost importance. Have you checked your horoscope recently? Or your tea leaves?”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “You’re mocking me,” he accused. “If you dreamed of my death, I’d expect you’d tell me about it.”

That had Emry’s attention.

“Oh,” she said, embarrassed. “Go on, then.”

Arthur explained about how he’d found her trapped in a block of stone. How he’d tried to rescue her . . . but couldn’t.

Emry slouched back in her chair, nibbling her lower lip. “I had that same nightmare,” she said. “Back on Avalon.”

She’d dismissed it as nothing. But now Arthur had dreamt the same thing. They were both quiet a moment, thinking.

“That’s not normal, is it?” Arthur asked, breaking the silence. “Us having the same nightmare?”

Emry bit her lip. “I don’t think so,” she allowed.

“When I woke up, my scabbard was warm,” Arthur confessed. “I’d just assumed it was random. But what if it’s not? What if it’s a warning?”

Emry frowned at the scabbard hanging below Arthur’s waist. And then averted her gaze, cheeks burning, because of course she hadn’t just been staring at the scabbard.

“If I see any magic stones, I’ll try not to get trapped in them,” she promised.

“Good plan.” Arthur rolled his eyes.

“I wish we knew more about your scabbard.” Emry drummed her fingers against the table, thinking. “You’re sure it didn’t come with instructions?”

“All the Lady of the Lake said was that it carried an enchantment that makes the wearer unkillable in combat, and that it was on loan from the King of Anwen.”

Emry stared at him accusingly.

“You’re just mentioning that now?”

“I’m sorry, wizard, do I report to you?” the prince retorted.

“You do when it’s about magical enchantments,” she replied.

So the sword and scabbard had come through the stones. That made sense. Of course it took magic from the Otherworld to produce an enchantment that let the wearer defy death.