It was nights like this he wished he could make a girl smile and laugh, and know it was for real. These days, too much of his father’s court treated him like a prize to be won, or a piece of clay they intended to mold. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to it. Especially when, for most of his life, they couldn’t dismiss him fast enough.

It was the end of September, and he was supposed to be at university, dividing his time between the library, the laboratory, and whatever dark watering hole everyone crammed into, just another scholar in the crowd. But that dream was long gone, replaced by a future that was never supposed to be his.

He tried to put it out of mind as Lance sauntered back to the table with two frothing mugs of ale, sending one in his direction with a practiced slide.

“These ones aren’t stale,” Lance bragged, nodding his chin in the direction of the barmaid. “I think she likes me.”

“She likes your purse,” Arthur said. “Anyone can see you’ve won half my coin.”

“Consider it charity.” Lance swallowed a mouthful of ale. “Guard’s pay is a joke.” He paused, calculating. “Hold on, was that only half?”

Arthur shrugged, pushing the cards the rest of the way across the table. In truth, Lance had almost cleaned him out, but he wasn’t about to admit defeat. He just needed to bluff a hand or two, let his friend get cocky, and wait for his moment. Or else get so drunk that he didn’t mind staggering home with an empty purse. Honestly, both were solid options.

Lance gave the deck an elaborate shuffle and started to deal, just as the bells over the door jingled. A blast of cool night air rushed into the tavern—along with a rumpled, nervous squire whom Arthur recognized immediately.

“Everyone, come quick!” the squire urged. “Sir Kay is about to pull the sword from the stone!”

Arthur stiffened. This was bad—very bad. He shot a panicked look across at Lance, who’d slid low in his seat, his hood shadowing his face. Arthur did the same, just as a stout man at the bar let out a booming laugh.

“Sure he is,” said the man. “Just like the sop last night, and the night before that.”

Suddenly half the tavern was laughing, and the other half shouting insults.

The squire blanched. And then he held up a heavy purse that clearly belonged to his master. “S-see for yourselves,” he stuttered. “For those who b-bear witness, the next round is on S-Sir Kay.”

“Why didn’t ye say that in the first place?” someone called.