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.

He sighed, wondering how everything had gone so sideways. When he’d undertaken this quest, he’d thought the Lady of the Lake would tell him what to do with his existing sword, not give him another actually magic one.

But just as curious as this extremely magic sword was what the Lady had said about Merlin. She’d told Arthur he would be a great king with the wizard by his side. And then, what he’d seen in the mist . . . the two of them together.

What? He didn’t—he’d never felt that way about another boy—and yet, something within him stirred at the thought of pressing his lips against the young wizard’s. Which was the last thing he needed with his future wife arriving at the castle within the week.

“Okay, what?” Merlin asked, interrupting Arthur’s thoughts. “You’re staring at me weird.”

“I wasn’t staring at you.” Arthur protested, even though he had been. “I was staring pensively into the mist.”

“My mistake.” The wizard smirked and took out a book. It was borrowed from the castle library, Arthur noticed. He craned his neck, trying to get a look at the title.

“You’re definitely staring at me now,” Merlin accused.

“Because you’re reading a book. In a boat.”

“I’ll put it away if you tell me about that sword you’re wearing,” the wizard bargained.

Well played, Arthur thought. He’d wondered if Merlin would notice. He stared down at the worn leather scabbard helplessly, unsure how to even begin.

“Well, it’s magic,” he tried.

“Obviously.” Merlin looked smug. “So it all worked out. You lost one sword, and the Lady of the Lake had a better one waiting for you.”