“I’m not excusing what I did,” Emry went on, “but if it makes a difference, it was only supposed to be a week. But Emmett refused to change back, so I got stuck pretending to be him indefinitely, which was never the plan.” Emry loosed a sigh. “Not that there was much of a plan. And if we had switched back, it would have been a disaster. Because my brother is lazy, and selfish, and terrible at magic. And the truth is, it should have been me all along.”

Her chin jutted forward, and a storm brewed in her eyes. Even now, she was every inch the stubborn, overconfident wizard Arthur had always known.

There was no doubt she was Merlin’s daughter. And that she was in over her head. And panicked. And hurt. She stared up at him, her expression a mixture of hope and fear.

“Why didn’t you stab me?” he asked. “When you suspected the scabbard wouldn’t work, you could have stabbed me.”

She bit her lip. “No, I couldn’t,” she said.

“Why not?” Arthur asked, leaning forward until his face was inches from hers. It was a challenge. A dare. This connection between them—he needed to know if she felt it, too.

“I think you know why not,” she whispered, lowering her lashes. “And for the record, when you kissed me, I enjoyed it very much.”

Arthur gazed down at her. At the faint blush coloring her cheeks. At the soft pink of her lips. At the way, in just her tunic, her shoulders seemed so slim and delicate. And her legs. Dear god, she’d been walking around the royal court in tights.

He knew that if she looked up, she’d see it on his face, how he felt about her. How he’d felt for a long time.

Before she could, the tent flap opened and Lance stumbled inside, out of breath and holding an armload of padded wool.

“Found some,” he said. And then he took in the scene with a frown. “What’d I miss?”

The trumpets sounded their ten-minute warning, and Arthur sighed, scraping a hand through his hair. What an absolute mess.

“I don’t suppose you knew about this?” he asked Lance.

“The scabbard? No.” Lance was very carefully not looking at Merlin—rather, Emry—who was curled miserably in the chair, arms hugged around her knees.

“But you knew about the wizard ?” Arthur asked.

Lance’s expression turned sheepish. “I had a hunch,” he admitted, and Arthur stared at him, betrayed. Lance had figured it out? And he hadn’t said anything? Seriously?

“To be honest, I’m surprised you didn’t guess,” Lance went on. “You’ve been acting really weird.”

“I have not!” Arthur protested.

Maybe Lance had a point. Arthur sighed. “This is just perfect,” he muttered. “What on earth am I supposed to do now?”

“About me?” Emry asked nervously.