The poison, he now suspected, had been henbane. Not deadly, but humiliating. Amongst other nasty things, the drug caused extreme hallucinations. He would have looked a right fool if its effects had kicked in while he was in the ring. He could just picture the dark whispers that he was unfit to be king if he’d begun raving and screaming in front of half the nobles in the kingdom. Or worse, if he had fallen to the ground writhing in agony before his opponent had so much as touched blade to his armor.

And he had a theory about who was responsible for such a vile concoction: his uncle, the Duke of Cornwall, who would stand to inherit the throne as regent with Arthur out of the way. It would have been easy enough for him to dispatch his squire to Arthur’s tent unnoticed.

But the one thing Arthur couldn’t figure out was how the duke had managed to tamper with his scabbard. Or how he’d known about the enchantment at all.

“Who’s winning?” Lance asked, glancing up from the plate of fruit and cheese that he and the wizard were demolishing.

Far below, on the castle lawn, Sir Kay bested the furious Duke of Cornwall, to the delight of the spectators.

“Your uncle,” Arthur said.

Lance groaned. “He’s going to be even more insufferable now.”

“At least he defeated the duke,” said Emry, through a mouthful of cheese.

“I’m not sure that’s such a good thing,” said Arthur. “My uncle doesn’t like to lose.”

He leaned back against the windowsill, offering his friends a thin smile. They didn’t smile back. If anything, they looked as grim and serious as he felt.

“At least no one knows you were poisoned,” Lance pointed out. “Other than Gawain.”

“Excalibur does well to hide the lingering effects,” said Arthur. He nodded at Emry. “Thank you, by the way, for retrieving it.”

“Always happy to burst into the royal box and demand that the prince needs his sword back,” said Emry dryly. “Besides, you didn’t look as though you’d make it back to the tent without it.”

Arthur hated that the wizard was right. “You try walking in full armor,” he grumbled.

“You try concocting a poison antidote after being run through with a sword,” Emry returned, smiling sweetly.

“Speaking of which, we need to figure out who has it in for the prince,” said Lance.

“Other than the duke.” Arthur grimaced as he said it. His uncle was the most obvious culprit.

Except for the scabbard. It simply didn’t add up.

“I can talk to the guards who’ve been down in the vault,” Lance suggested. “See if anyone was sniffing around.”

“Do that,” Arthur instructed. “Whoever did this has access to magic, and knew what the scabbard was.”

“The big question,” Emry said, “is whether they simply removed the enchantment, or if they were able to somehow transfer it.”

Arthur stared at her. That hadn’t even occurred to him. “Is that possible?”