When was the last time he’d seen his father without a drink? Not for a while, that was certain. Ever since the queen’s funeral, his fleeting moments of kindness were gone, replaced by unpredictable dark moods and fits of anger. It was as though he’d lost his drive to be a good ruler. Or maybe he’d simply lost the one person who had kindled that desire.

These days, he made no secret of taking Lady Howell to bed, and had executed a bishop who had dared to sermonize against adultery in his presence. He denied an audience to most of his petitioners, played obvious favorites within his court, and had delegated far too many of his responsibilities to Lord Agravaine.

While Arthur found Lord Agravaine tiresome and overbearing, the man was undeniably good at what he did. Probably thanks in large part to the network of spies he was rumored to lead on Camelot’s behalf. The incompetent Lord Howell, however, was a blustering fool from a well-connected family, who did little more than fawn over the king.

Perhaps the only subject the two advisors agreed on was that Arthur was preferable to the alternative: King Uther’s younger sister had been married off to the ruthless Duke of Cornwall, in an attempt to bring the king’s greatest opponent into the family. Princess Clarine had died of the coughing sickness years ago, but their son, Maddoc, a spoiled, coddled boy of thirteen, stood next in line after Arthur. And if Maddoc ascended the throne before he came of age, the duke could rule as regent.

Arthur frowned at the map spread across the table, staring at the tiny but formidable duchy of Cornwall at the bottom left. His eyes couldn’t help but sweep up to wealthy Camelot, then proud Cameliard directly to the north. Beyond that sat rocky Northumbria to the west, and the small kingdom of Lothia to the east, where King Yurien ruled from his ill-gotten throne. And he couldn’t forget the seafaring kingdom of the Isles, whose royal family was desperate to marry off their large brood of royal children.

He had known these borders and kingdoms for so long. Yet the sword in the stone told another tale. Of a united kingdom. One that he was destined to lead.

“Enough,” growled the king, raising a hand to silence Sir Bors. “I grow weary of King Yurien. Is there further news, or will we continue rehashing his secretary’s letter?”

“My apologies, sire,” said Sir Bors.

“Lord Agravaine will draft my response. And affix my seal.”

Lord Agravaine bowed. Arthur frowned, wondering when his father had stopped composing his own correspondence with the neighboring kingdoms.

“What’s next?” Uther demanded, draining his wine goblet. “And it better not be more tiresome news of Cameliard’s endless jousting tournaments.”

Lord Howell cleared his throat. “There is still the matter of the prince’s marriage.”