He didn’t know how he was supposed to do any of it without Emry. Sitting around the table in his apartments with Lance and Gawain and Emry, strategizing what they should do, he had felt, for the first time, like he didn’t have to face the future alone. But Emry was gone, and Gawain was headed back to France in a matter of days, and Guinevere was his inevitable future.

He climbed the stairs to the wizard’s workshop, knowing the room that awaited him would be thick with memories. The quiet joy of her laugh. The glint in her eyes just before she made a joke. The feel of her in his arms, in the library, when he’d forgotten for a few blissful moments that his future wasn’t his to spend as he pleased.

And then he stepped into the workshop and there she was, slouched at the old wooden table. His heart leapt at the sight.

“Merlin!” he cried, pleased.

The wizard turned around.

It wasn’t her.

The resemblance was uncanny: the boy had the same wide mouth and dark eyes—was wearing the same shabby burgundy doublet even—but there was an undeniable smugness about him, as though he always got his way and saw no reason why that should ever stop.

The boy’s eyebrows went up in alarm, and he gave a hasty bow, along with a mumbled “Your Highness.”

“My mistake,” Arthur said. “I thought you were someone else.”

“Emmett Merlin. I arrived last night.” He paused before adding, “My sister said you were in need of an apprentice wizard.”

“She knows me well,” said Arthur.

“So I’ve heard.” There was unmistakable heat behind the young wizard’s reply. “If you weren’t the crown prince, I’d have a lot to say about that.”

“Don’t hold back on my account,” said Arthur.

They regarded each other coolly. How unlike his sister Emmett was. Arthur could feel the barely caged pride that seeped from the edges of the boy’s smirk.

“Arthur!” Master Ambrosius said brightly. “Are you joining us this morning?”

“No time,” said Arthur. “I just needed some feverfew.” He helped himself to the wizard’s stores, pouring a mug of water. “Heat this up for me?” he asked Emmett, an edge to his smile as he slid the mug across the table.

The young wizard suddenly looked nervous. “Um,” he said, taking out his wand. He rolled his shoulders, taking a couple deep breaths before whispering, “Calesco.”

Steam curled from the mug, and Arthur noticed the wizard breathe a sigh of relief.

“Thanks,” Arthur said, steeping his headache cure in the boiling water.

It was a simple spell. The kind Emry would have mumbled under her breath, without even glancing up from her book. Or saying nothing at all, but slanting him a smirk as the mug scalded his hands.

Well, at least her brother had managed it.