The early morning sunlight streamed through the wide windows of Merlin's cottage, casting fractured beams of golden light across the ancient tapestries that depicted Camelot's storied history. Threads of gold shimmered faintly as if the magic of the past still pulsed within them. The faint scent of herbs and parchment drifted through the room, mingling with the cool, dew-kissed breeze that slipped through the slightly open window.
Gavin stood by the pane, one hand resting on the smooth wooden frame as he gazed out at the distant castle, its spires piercing the sky like a beacon of power. His other hand absently traced the silver edge of Excalibur's hilt, its familiar weight grounding him even as his thoughts swirled with uncertainty. The worn letter, folded and refolded countless times, sat crumpled in his grip, the royal summons from King Hectorâa man who, by blood, was his uncle, but by memory, a stranger.
The letter's words were formal, their message clear, yet Gavin read between the lines, searching for meaning, for warning. He wasn't sure if this summons was a sign of his destiny unfolding or another overwhelming challenge lurking on the horizon.
Behind him, Felicity's soft footsteps approached, muffled by the stone floor. She didn't need to announce herself; he already recognized the quiet cadence of her step, a sound that had come to mean comfort and stability.
"You've been staring at that letter for an hour," she said gently, her voice like a warm breeze brushing against him.
Gavin exhaled and turned to face her. The sunlight caught her auburn hair, making it glow like embers as she stood there, concern and understanding etched into her features. "It's not every day you get summoned by the king," he said, his voice quieter than he intended. He hesitated, as if saying the next part out loud would make it real. "What if this is it, Felicity? What if Hector's called me to officially name me as his successor?"
Her smile faded slightly, but her gaze never wavered. "Knowing the king as I do, he isn't going to turn over his title easily."
"That's what I think, too," Gavin replied, scratching his chin as he thought aloud. "I don't think this is just a formality. There's something more. So, why do you think he really wants to see me?"
She shrugged, her arms folding loosely as she leaned against the table. "Maybe he's heard you've returned to Camelot. And with you wielding Excalibur, he wouldn't ignore that."
Gavin nodded thoughtfully, his gaze shifting to the sword at his side. "Well, if he wants proof of who I am, I suppose I can show him Excalibur."
"Indeed," she said, a playful glimmer returning to her eyes. "Everyone knows only the rightful king could pull the sword from the stone."
"But I still don't think..." He trailed off, clutching the letter in his hand. The tension in his shoulders tightened, and he couldn't suppress the vulnerability creeping into his voice. "I'm not ready."
"Yes, you are," Felicity said firmly, her voice cutting through his self-doubt like a blade. She crossed the room and placed a hand on his arm, squeezing it gently. "You have proven it time and time again. You've faced trials that most would have fallen to, and you've come out stronger each time. You will face Hector with the same courage you've used to face every challenge so far."
Gavin looked at her, her unwavering belief in him like a lifeline tethering him to solid ground. The warmth of her hand on his arm, the steady conviction in her eyesâhe felt it all settle deep in his chest, pushing back the storm of doubt. After a moment of silence, he nodded, as if borrowing strength from her faith. "I hope you're right."
"I am right," she insisted with a small, confident smile. Then she leaned in and kissed his cheek, her lips soft and reassuring. "And you had better come back and tell me everything about your visit to the castle. I want details," she added, her smile broadening. "I can only imagine what it looks like on the inside. That's why you have to tell me, so I can see it through you."
The comment caught him off guard, and realization dawned on him like a cold splash of water. He had never considered that Felicityâhis closest companionâhad never set foot inside the castle. Merlin might have visited, given his long-standing connection to the royal family, but Felicity, for all her loyalty and sacrifice, had been left on the outside.
He wouldn't let that be the case for much longer.
"I promise," he said, his voice soft but filled with resolve. "As soon as I become king, you'll see it for yourself. Every corridor, every chamber."
Her eyes softened, a quiet gratitude passing between them. "I'll hold you to that."
"Plan on it." He winked, lightening the mood, and her quiet laugh echoed softly through the cottage. With one final glance at her, he turned toward the door, Excalibur shifting on his hip as he stepped outside into the morning sun. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of fresh earth and distant blossoms, but all he could focus on was the looming silhouette of the castle.
This was his momentâhis first step toward claiming the destiny that had followed him since birth. And no matter what awaited him in King Hector's chambers, Gavin knew one thing for certain: he wasn't just doing this for himself. He was doing it for the people who believed in him. For Camelot.
And for Felicity.
The journey to Hector's court led Gavin through the heart of Willowmere Forest, a place so steeped in legend that even its name carried an air of magic. The winding dirt road twisted like a serpent through towering trees, their leaves forming a canopy so thick that only scattered beams of sunlight broke through, dappling the forest floor with patches of shifting gold. The steady rhythm of his horse's hooves against the path mingled with the sounds of natureâthe rustle of leaves in the breeze, the occasional chirp of birds hidden high in the branches, and the distant murmur of a stream winding its way through the underbrush.
Excalibur hung at his side, its weight familiar but never quite forgotten, a constant reminder of the destiny he was riding toward. But the deeper he ventured into the forest, the more that destiny felt as elusive as the shadows dancing along the path. The air thickened, scented with damp earth, wildflowers, and the unmistakable musk of ancient woods. As he traveled deeper, the trees grew larger, their knotted trunks stretching skyward as though they had been here since the dawn of time, their roots twisting through the earth like veins feeding the forest's secrets.
A thin mist began to rise, curling lazily around the roots and creeping toward the path like fingers reaching for him. It gave the forest an otherworldly quality, as if he had crossed into a place that existed outside of time.
Then, faintly at first, he heard itâa melody drifting through the trees, carried on the breeze like a whisper of forgotten dreams. It was the sound of a lute, its soft, haunting notes weaving a tune that was both sorrowful and sweet. The music seemed to speak of longing, of stories untold and loves lost to the past. It stirred something inside him, a mix of curiosity and unease.
Gavin pulled his horse to a stop, his brow furrowing as he strained to listen. The melody was unlike anything he had heard before, its beauty tinged with a sadness that tugged at his chest. Compelled by the mystery, he dismounted, his boots sinking slightly into the damp earth. The mist thickened around him as he followed the music, weaving through the towering trees as if the forest itself were guiding him.
The trees parted, revealing a small clearing bathed in sunlight. The mist thinned here, swirling lazily at the edges of the glade as if reluctant to intrude. In the center of the clearing sat a woman on a large, moss-covered stone, her back straight, her posture regal. Her fingers danced across the strings of a lute, each note flowing effortlessly into the next, as though the instrument itself were alive in her hands.
Gavin stopped in his tracks, his breath catching in his throat.
The woman was breathtaking.
Her golden hair fell in long, cascading waves down her back, catching the sunlight in a way that made it glisten like spun gold. Her skin seemed to glow softly, as if she had absorbed the very light of the forest. Her eyesâstrikingly blue, like a cloudless summer skyâmet his, and in that moment, the rest of the world seemed to fade away. Her gaze held him captive, not with magic, but with something deeper, something pure.
She smiledâa small, gentle curve of her lips that radiated warmth and understanding, as if she already knew the burdens he carried, the doubts that weighed him down. Somehow, that simple smile quieted the storm in his chest, if only for a moment.
Not far behind her was a large estate manor. Although it wasn't anything like Camelot's castle, the woman's house was a site to behold.
The main house was an architectural marvel of stone and timber, with ivy creeping up its weathered walls, adding a touch of timeless beauty. Its tall, arched windows glimmered softly in the light of the setting sun, framed by wrought-iron balconies adorned with flowering vines. The roof was steep and angular, with carved gargoyles perched at its corners, remnants of an older design meant to ward off evil spirits. The front doors were massive, made of dark oak, intricately carved with symbols of the family crestâa lion intertwined with roses.
Setting the lute gently to the side, she stood, her movements so fluid and graceful that it seemed as though she was gliding across the ground rather than walking. Her flowing gown, a pale shade of ivory, brushed the grass, its fabric shifting like silk in the breeze. The way she moved was almost mystical, like a creature of legend or a spirit of the forest.
But she was not a spirit or a mythical creature. Gavin had seen many wonders in his timeâbeasts of shadow, creatures of enchantment, beings shaped by magicâbut there was something unmistakably human about her. Yet, she seemed more than that. As if she existed in a space between worlds, where myth and reality blurred together.
"Good day," she said, her voice soft, melodic, as if it carried a hint of the song she had just played. "It's rare for someone to find this place."
Gavin swallowed, his hand brushing the hilt of Excalibur out of habit. "I wasn't exactly looking for it," he admitted, his voice sounding far more unsure than he'd intended. "I heard your music."
She tilted her head slightly, as if studying him, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "The forest has its ways of guiding those who need to be here. Perhaps it knew you needed to hear the song."
He wasn't sure what to say. Part of him wanted to dismiss her words as cryptic musings, but another part of himâthe part that had pulled Excalibur from the stone, the part that had faced trials he couldn't explainâknew better than to ignore the possibility.
"Who are you?" he asked softly, taking a step closer. His voice lacked suspicion, only curiosity.
She smiled again, her gaze never leaving his. "Some call me Guinevere. Others know me by different names, depending on which story they've heard."
Her name was as captivating as the woman herself, and as it lingered in the air, Gavin felt something stir deep within himâa strange, almost haunting sense of familiarity, as though he had known her in another life. He recognized her, but not from the world he now stood in. Back in his land, she was a character from the stories, the movies, and the legends he had grown up with. This woman was destined to be his wife. The same woman who, in the tales, would betray him with Sir Lancelot.
But this wasn't a legend written in stone. Gavin wouldn't allow that fate to unfold. This time, things would be different. This time, he would rewrite the ending.
"And why are you here?" Gavin asked.
She stepped forward, closing the distance between them until she stood only a few feet away. "To offer guidance," she said simply. "Many who pass through this forest are lost in more ways than one. And you, Prince Arthur, are carrying the weight of something heavy."
He stiffened at the sound of his name. He hadn't told her who he was, and yet she had spoken it as if she had known him all her life. "How do you know me?"
Her gaze softened, as though she understood his unease. "I know of you, just as the forest knows. You are not meant to be ordinary, Gavin. You carry a legacy older than you realize."
He felt the weight of Excalibur at his side, its presence suddenly heavier. "If you know about my destiny, then you know I have doubts."
"Everyone does," she said gently. "But it is not the absence of doubt that makes someone worthy. It is the courage to move forward despite it." She reached out, her fingers lightly grazing the edge of his cheek. "And you have that courage."
For a moment, silence filled the clearing, the distant sounds of the forest fading into the background. Her touch was brief, but it left an imprint, a warmth that spread through him like the glow of sunlight breaking through clouds.
"I can't stay," he said finally, though his voice wavered slightly. "I'm on my way to see King Hector."
"I know." Guinevere stepped back, her gaze lingering on him as if she wished to say more but knew she shouldn't. "Then take this as a reminder, Gavin: Sometimes, the answers you seek won't come from kings or swords. Sometimes, they come from within."
The wind stirred again, rustling the trees and weaving through the clearing, carrying her words like a whispered promise meant only for him. Gavin's breath hitched as he stood rooted to the spot, unable to tear his gaze away from her. He couldn't tell if she was a vision conjured by the forest, a spirit sent to guide him, or simply a woman with an uncanny gift for seeing through to his heart. But one thing was clear: he wasn't the same man who had first entered this forest.
Something had shifted within him, as if the forest itself had stripped away his fear and left only resolve in its place.
Guinevere took a step back, the sunlight catching the golden strands of her hair as her gaze lingered on him one last time. Her eyes held wisdom far beyond what she had said aloud, as if she knew the battles ahead of him, the triumphs and betrayals, but trusted him to find his way.
"Your journey isn't over, Prince Arthur," she said softly, her voice wrapping around him like the wind itself. "But remember thisâfate may place obstacles in your path, but it also brings allies. Choose wisely."
With that, she turned and walked into the manor, leaving Gavin standing alone in the clearing. Yet her words echoed within him, settling deep into his soul, as though they were meant to guide him long after the sound of her voice had vanished. He tightened his grip on Excalibur, his fingers steady. Allies or enemies, obstacles or victoriesâhe would face them all. But this time, he would do it on his terms.
And though he was no longer within her sight, her words stayed with himâquiet, but steady, like the pulse of Excalibur against his side.
For a long moment, Gavin stood frozen, the warmth of her touch still lingering on his skin like an ember refusing to fade. The soft rustle of leaves and the distant murmur of the stream faded into the background as he replayed her words in his mind. Finally, he drew in a deep breath, steadying the whirlwind of emotions swirling within him. The forest around him seemed calmer now, as if the trees themselves acknowledged the shift within him.
With renewed purpose, he returned to the dirt road, the mist parting around him as he walked back to his waiting horse. His heart was still racing, but his mind felt clearer than it had in days, as though Guinevere's presence had silenced the doubts that had followed him since he left Merlin's cottage.
He mounted the horse with ease, Excalibur brushing lightly against his side as a reminder of what lay ahead. Yet, as he urged the horse forward and resumed his journey, one thought played over and over in his mind: Who was Guinevere? She wasn't just a mysterious woman with a lute. Her words, her gaze, her very presence had awakened something inside him, something he couldn't quite explain. And why did meeting her feel like the axis of his world had shifted, as though everything he thought he knew was about to change?
But deep down, he already knew the answer. The stories from his world had whispered her name long before he ever stepped foot in this one. She would be his queen, just as the legend predicted. But unlike the tales he had grown up hearing, this story wasn't written yet. Fate may have set their paths to cross, but what came next was his to decide.
And as the castle towers of Camelot came into view beyond the trees, Gavin knew one thing for certain: if Guinevere had truly changed everything, then so would he. This time, the legend would belong to him.