“Yes, I know,” Arthur said calmly. “I understood the term ‘wizard’ to be gender-neutral. Surely such a small matter could have been handled more discreetly.”

“But she stole—” Lady Elaine began.

“No doubt Lady Elaine indulged overmuch at last night’s festivities, and has painted a story of events that never took place,” said Arthur.

“I am not mistaken!” insisted Lady Elaine. “The girl is out for revenge!”

“Against me?” Arthur said with a frown. “Whatever for?”

“Against the entire royal family!” insisted Elaine.

“The girl is a liar and a witch,” said Lord Howell. “Many have been hanged for less.”

“Are we hanging witches now?” Arthur shook his head in disdain. “What a shining example of progress Camelot will be.”

“Enough!” bellowed the king. “You increase my headache by the minute.” He waved a hand. “Guards, take the girl to the dungeons. She is to be executed in the morning.”

Emry felt as though the ground had opened up under her. As though she was falling, and there was nothing to grab on to. Her knees went weak, and she could barely breathe.

“Father, please. Be reasonable,” warned Arthur.

The king’s jaw clenched, and his eyebrows knitted together. “You accuse me of being unreasonable?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. “This is my castle. My kingdom. And if you continue to question my authority, you can spend your days in the dungeon. Perhaps young Maddoc will come of age in the meantime.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” said Arthur.

“Do not test me,” growled the king. “Guards, the girl!”

Two guards seized her again. More roughly this time.

“Arthur!” she called.

“I’ll fix this,” he promised, his expression grim.

But she could see the panic in his eyes. And as a guard pushed her roughly forward, she knew her fate was sealed.

CHAPTER 37

Emry stared bleakly at the rough-hewn stone walls, trying to figure out how everything had gone so wrong. She was locked in the dungeons. And she stood accused of treason. Accused of using a false identity at court. Accused of trying to hurt Arthur.

She’d known the risks. She’d known what Uther might do if he found out who she truly was. And now he had, and she was here, awaiting her execution.

She felt too hollow to cry, like sobbing would only rip open the ache in her chest even more, until it was too big to ever close.

She shifted, trying to get comfortable, the irons heavy across her wrists. They contained the same spellwork she’d noticed on the castle wall her very first day. And whatever spell was on them had clamped down on her magic. No matter how much she reached for it, or tried to summon even the smallest, most innocent spell, her power remained just out of reach. It was a maddening stretch, and one she couldn’t hold for long without gasping for breath.