“You’ve been saying that for the past fifteen minutes,” Arthur grumbled. He ached all over from training, and he was starving besides. He’d been standing still for the better part of an hour, having new clothing pinned with painstaking precision. The outfits were all for the king’s upcoming birthday festivities, and they were designed to impress.

Arthur stared at his reflection in the mirror. The current suit was black with gold buckles, and elaborate swirls of embroidery at the cuffs. Its high neck was banded with crimson velvet, and boots of soft black leather stopped just below the knee, the toes tipped in hammered gold.

He hardly recognized himself. He looked regal. Intimidating. He looked like a prince.

Which was, of course, the desired effect. Especially since King Yurien had accepted the invitation to attend the festivities.

“I’m worried I might have pinned this too tight,” said the tailor. “Can you lift your arm?”

Arthur experimentally raised his right arm, and a spasm of pain shot through his shoulder from where he’d rotated it badly during training.

“Are you well, Your Highness?” the tailor looked concerned.

“Perfectly,” Arthur said, shrugging out of the half-finished garment. “The jacket is a masterpiece.”

And then, before the tailor could protest, he left to visit the wizard’s workshop to see if there was anything that might help his shoulder.

“Ah, Arthur,” said Master Ambrosius. “I’d been wondering when you’d come and visit.”

“It hasn’t been that long,” Arthur admonished. But when he tried to remember his last visit, he realized that it had been a while. He’d been so focused on everything to do with his father’s birthday celebrations—and the sarding sword-fighting contest—that he’d abandoned everything else.

And everyone else.

He looked around, hoping he’d spy Merlin slouched in a chair by the fire, or coming out of the storeroom with an armload of herbs.

“Merlin isn’t here,” Master Ambrosius said wryly, “if that’s who you’re looking for.”

Arthur was about to protest, but the old wizard silenced him with a look.

“Take this,” he said, pressing a small jar into Arthur’s hands. “And tell me what’s in it.”

Arthur grinned at the challenge. He removed the lid and gave the contents a sniff.

“Tallow,” he said. “With lavender. And something else. I’m not sure about the spice.”

“Magic,” the old wizard said. “It’s a healing salve. For your shoulder.”

Arthur wondered how the old man knew. “Thank you.” He pocketed the jar. The old wizard had given it to him only once before, cautioning him that it was in short supply, the ingredients rare and the spellwork difficult.

“It will dull the pain, although it won’t be nearly as much help to you as my apprentice,” said Master Ambrosius.

Arthur sighed.