“Careful,” Lord Agravaine said, a sharp smile touching his lips. “Your anger betrays you. You’re hiding something. And so is the prince.”

“What on earth could we be hiding?” Gawain said nonchalantly.

“Perhaps it has to do with why that infernal wizard has been hovering around his tent all morning,” his father guessed. “An area out of bounds to anyone except competitors and their squires, let me remind you.”

Gawain’s stomach twisted. He had only to reveal Emry’s secret to redirect his father’s wrath. He saw it immediately, how he could sacrifice the wizard to save himself, returning to his father’s good graces once again.

“Merlin—” Gawain began.

This was it. The ugliness coiled within himself that he’d always known he would have to face. He’d avoided it—barely—by withdrawing from the match against Arthur. But it had caught up with him again.

He was sweating inside his armor. His father glared at him, waiting. And then he thought of the way Emry always made him laugh. How she’d fought bandits twice her size without flinching, and matched him drink for drink in a brothel, and been at the prince’s side when he was in need.

“Merlin—” Gawain said again, and then he shook his head.

He couldn’t do it. Because when it came down to it, he didn’t want to spend his life gathering secrets and using them as steps to gain greater power.

“Merlin was obviously ordered to do so for good reason,” Gawain finished. “And if you think I know Arthur’s mind, you clearly misinterpret our relationship.”

“I told you to get close to that wizard,” Lord Agravaine accused.

“And to enter this tournament, and to mind my brother. Am I to have no time to breathe between your constant lectures and assignments?”

The slap, when it landed across his cheek, stung like a fierce thing.

Gawain took it without flinching.

“I’ll find out what you’re keeping from me,” his father threatened. “I always do.”

And then he turned and walked away, cape billowing.

Gawain raised a hand to his stinging cheek, watching his father get smaller and smaller until he was swallowed by a crowd of drunken revelers.

It had felt good, standing up to his father. Today, when it had truly mattered, he’d chosen to do the right thing. And really, it hadn’t been a choice at all.

CHAPTER 33

Arthur stood at his bedroom window, looking down on the final match of the tournament. Excalibur was belted at his waist, and he was fairly sure the sword was the only thing keeping him from collapsing of exhaustion.

In those horrible moments after he’d felt his throat go tight and his vision blur, he’d thought he was done for.