“Uther exerts no will at all. Soon he will fade into obscurity. But Arthur is destined for greatness.” The Lady’s eyes flickered, going momentarily white. It was almost as though they had filled with mist. “You will return here together. There will be blood and sorrow and pain.”

Emry stared at the Lady, unnerved. But the Lady didn’t seem to realize she’d said anything.

They had reached the dock. The boat was waiting, along with a yawning, tousle-haired Arthur, who had an unfamiliar sword belted around his waist, and looked extremely ready to get the hell out of Avalon.

CHAPTER 19

Arthur fiddled absently with his magic scabbard as they sailed away from the Isle of the Blessed. He still didn’t know what to make of the visions he’d had in the tomb. They unsettled him, deeply. And he didn’t feel as though he’d gained any knowledge by coming here. If anything, he had even more questions.

The Lady of the Lake had confirmed his greatest fear: That it was no mistake he’d pulled the sword from the stone. That this High King business was real.

Which was terrifying. But not unexpected. At least, not after what he’d experienced in the tomb. He was just now coming to terms with what it meant to one day become King of Camelot. With all of the ways his future belonged to the kingdom, to be spent in its best interest.

And he had a terrible suspicion that best interest was war. Because what use were a magic sword and scabbard except to kill people? The stories he knew of Excalibur were of great battles won, or horrible monsters slain. Excalibur and its scabbard were the sword and sheath of a killer who couldn’t be killed in return.

He didn’t want that to be his fate. Surely there was some other path. One that didn’t lead to blood-soaked battlefields, where he’d always be amongst the few left standing, his blade stained red and his path home littered with corpses of men who had fought under his command. Men who had left families and friends and unfinished lives behind, never to return.

He’d never pictured himself at the head of an army. He’d imagined so many other things: the hushed calm of a university library, the merriment of a tavern full of drunken scholars. The girl he might have met, who came to know him as a person before discovering he was a prince.

He’d certainly never imagined he had any great destiny. It had been a relief, being told he was a spare. Being given that freedom, and that measure of control over his future. And it had been difficult, watching it all vanish, and realizing he would need to lead the kingdom after all.

But nothing had prepared him for the fear that the course of history rested squarely on his shoulders. That he would need to do more than any King of Camelot had done before.