“Arthur will make a great king,” Emry went on. “He’s brave, true, clever, and kind. And if you’ve been waiting to use your magic for something important, Arthur is that something.”

Emmett stared at her, considering. And then he drained his wineglass in one gulp. He sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Will you leave me alone if I say yes?”

Emry’s only answer was to throw her arms around him.

Two days later, Emry watched her brother leave, her heart aching.

It was never yours, she reminded herself. But that wasn’t true. It hadn’t been hers at first, but the castle—and the people in it—had become hers.

Losing them felt like a constant, painful reminder of a world she’d been allowed to visit briefly, a world that had closed its doors in her face while welcoming her father and brother.

There’s still Gawain, Emry remembered. But he deserved to be more than someone’s back-up plan. And anyway, she doubted Gawain’s offer to accompany him to the continent still stood after the king had declared her a traitor to the crown and ordered her executed.

So she tied a kirtle over her dress, did the best she could with her hair, and went to the theater to see if Marion needed help.

“Emry! Pay attention!”

Emry startled as Marion waved a hand in front of her face. They were backstage at Brocelande Hall, assisting with a performance of The Faerie King. Ordinarily, it was the kind of thing Emry loved, yet she was somehow bored by it. She had drifted off, thinking once again of Castle Camelot, and of Arthur.

But, judging from Marion’s panicked expression, she’d missed her cue.

“Sorry,” she said, flicking her wrist.

Rain fell onto the stage, soaking it. The actors stopped in place, shocked as water drenched their costumes.

“Emry!” Marion hissed.

“What?”

“It’s supposed to be an illusion!”

Emry’s eyes went wide as she realized what she had done. “Oh, right!” She waved a hand, and the rain stopped. A twitch of her finger had the water cleared from the stage, and the actors’ costumes made dry.

“Sorry,” she apologized again, casting the illusion properly this time.

“It’s fine.” Marion smiled reassuringly, but Emry could tell her friend was worried about her.

She hadn’t meant to lose control like that. To cast the real thing instead of the illusion. But the truth was, every day since she’d come home, she went out to the woods behind their cottage and practiced magic. Everything Master Ambrosius had taught her, and more.

Because whoever had taken the spell off Arthur’s scabbard was still out there, and she had a bad feeling about what they wanted.