“Really, cousin, it’s obvious,” Gawain drawled. “And you should note that I’ve said nothing. For weeks.”

“It’s true,” Emry agreed. “He didn’t even blackmail me.”

“And I could have,” Gawain added. “I did take her to a brothel, though. Just to watch her squirm.”

Arthur’s mouth fell open. Lance chuckled.

“I didn’t squirm,” Emry replied, rolling her eyes.

“It was terribly disappointing,” Gawain reported.

“What’s next?” Arthur grumbled. “Is everyone secretly hanging out with Guinevere?”

“Of course not.” Gawain bristled. “And I notice she’s not part of your little war room, either.”

“This isn’t a war room,” Arthur protested.

“My apologies, then, for crashing your ménage à trois.”

Arthur turned red.

“I came looking for you for a reason,” Gawain said. “You know I’ve been Camelot’s eyes and ears at the French court.”

“A spy, you mean,” said Lance.

“If you’d like,” Gawain said impatiently. “So whatever it is you’re planning, I want to help.”

“Who says we’re planning anything?” Lance asked.

Gawain shot him a look. “What have you got so far?”

Arthur filled his cousin in. After he’d finished, Gawain was quiet a moment, and then he said, “I have an idea. But I’ll need the wizard’s help.”

Arthur approached the corridor that led to his father’s private chambers, his stomach churning with dread. It never got easier, facing the king’s displeasure. And he suspected withdrawing from the sword-fighting contest was cause for displeasure enough.

He tried to gather his nerve, and found his thoughts once again snagging on Emry. He’d never met anyone with her talent for magic. Even Master Merlin hadn’t been able to cast spells by thinking them. Yet somehow Emry had that ability.

Lancelot had always been his best knight, no matter what sword or uniform he wore. And Emry felt like his wizard. No matter that she wasn’t her brother, a lad Arthur had never met, and from the sound of it, was better off not knowing. But he knew without a doubt that it would matter to his father. Which was why the king couldn’t find out.

Arthur adjusted his cuffs and nodded to the guards.

They flung open the doors, and there was King Uther, in the midst of preparing for that evening’s ball. He wore only a pair of velvet breeches, his chest bare, and was sipping a goblet of wine.

A valet was fussing over the rest of his ensemble, while a serving maid added logs to the fire. Lord Agravaine and Lord Howell stood by the window, scowling deeply.

“What were you thinking?” Uther demanded, apparently deciding to dispense with pleasantries.

Arthur looked wearily to his father’s attendant, the maid, and the two advisors. “Must we have an audience for this?”

The king motioned for his attendant and maid to clear the chambers, and Arthur wished he could go with them.