Magic. That had to be what was drawing his attention. The wizard was made of magic, radiating it even in his sleep. It was probably the magic Arthur couldn’t stop noticing. The magic that had made his heart beat faster when Merlin had grabbed him around the waist to stop his sword from jumping ship. The magic that made him want to protect the lad, even before the Lady of the Lake had hinted he might need to.

“Finally!” said Lance, when the prince and the wizard turned up at the inn. “Dakin was convinced you’d capsized.”

In truth, Lance had nearly been convinced of it himself. It had been agony, waiting and not knowing. He’d never been so relieved to see anyone in his life.

“What are you talking about?” Arthur asked, confused.

“We were gone one night,” Merlin added.

Lance frowned. How could they not know? “It’s been four days,” he told them.

Arthur’s brow creased with concern, and Merlin looked absolutely horrified.

“Four days?” the wizard yelped, turning toward Arthur. “Why didn’t you tell me time moves differently on Avalon?”

“I didn’t know!” Arthur said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Sard, has it really been four days?”

“If I was messing with you, I would have come up with something a lot worse than four days,” Lance pointed out.

It was no wonder the island stood apart, belonging to no kingdom, if it couldn’t keep time with the rest of the world.

“Fair enough,” said Arthur. “Listen, before the others realize we’re back, there’s something I want to show you.”

“Is it a hangover cure?” Lance asked hopefully. “Because I could really use one.”

His head was killing him. Freed from their guard’s duties, Dakin and Brannor had gone hard the last three nights, and he’d foolishly tried to keep up. There had been glasses of something called whiskey, and a fiddle, and Brannor on the table belting out the filthiest sea shanties Lance had ever heard. Dakin had miraculously seduced a barmaid, and that morning, Lance had woken up in the rosy-cheeked stable boy’s bed, wearing his tunic back to front, and unable to remember how he’d gotten there, or even the lad’s name.

“Why would he have a hangover cure?” scoffed the wizard as Arthur sheepishly rooted through his pack, pulling out a small cloth pouch.

“Dried fennel. Needs to be steeped in hot water.”

Thank god for Arthur.

“You’re an absolute prince,” Lance said, clapping his friend on the back. “Now what was it you wanted to show me?”

“Not here,” Arthur said, slanting Lance a look he knew all too well.

Something was up. Something big.

“Follow me,” Lance said, setting off toward the woods and dumping the fennel seeds into his water pouch. “Hey, wizard, want to heat this for me?”