Thankfully, it had not gone so far as all that. In the end, King Uther had banned Lance from becoming a knight. Four grueling years spent as a page for nothing. Dark whispers followed Lance through the castle corridors, and instead of squiring for Sir Kay, as everyone had expected, he had moved from the comforts of the castle to the barracks in disgrace.

Arthur was well aware that his friend had only become a guard because of him. That Lance had stuck around waiting for him to leave for university before facing down his suddenly uncertain future. But after Arthur was named heir to the kingdom, there was no way his father was letting him go.

“The last thing you need is more books,” Uther had snapped. “You’re going to be a king one day. Now act like it.”

What his father had really meant was: act like someone you’re not.

Selfishly, Arthur was relieved that Lance had stayed. At least they were stuck together.

Although it didn’t make Lance’s predicament any less unfair. Nor did the fact that Jereth had received no reprimand at all. Instead, he’d been hustled away to boarding school, where he’d continued to raise hell and stir trouble. His life had gone on unaffected, while Lance slunk through the castle he’d once called home, wearing a guard’s uniform and acting as though he wasn’t devastated by the stares and the whispers. The whole thing made Arthur furious.

“You’re wasted as a guard, you know,” Arthur said, not for the first time.

Lance gave him a sad smile, the way he always did. It was a subject they never quite addressed head-on, at least, not in a way that truly mattered.

“Oh, I know.” Lance gazed out the window for a moment, looking genuinely upset. But then his self-deprecating grin was back. “Honestly, I’m worried they might kick me out. I’m too good at standing in front of a door. I’m giving the other guards a complex.”

“And how are you at standing in front of a gate?”

“Magnificent. My Latin tutor would weep to see it.”

They were both silent a moment, wishing for a different world. A different past. A different future. And then Lance picked up his helmet and slipped away into the quiet dawn.

CHAPTER 8

Emry stifled a yawn.

She slouched at the old wooden table in the wizard’s workshop, an empty mug of tea at her elbow, and the Herbalist’s Guide open to chapter four. The room was cloyingly warm, and it was dreadfully early, and she could barely keep her eyes open.

“Have you finished the chapter yet?” called Master Ambrosius.

“Nearly,” she mumbled, blinking down at the book.