Chapter 19: Chapter Eighteen

The grand hall of King Hector's court was a cold, imposing chamber, nothing like the warm, noble halls of Camelot Gavin had imagined as a boy. Dark gray stone formed the high walls, bare except for enormous tapestries depicting bloody battles, knights clashing swords under stormy skies, and kings seated on thrones earned through conquest rather than peace. Flickering torches along the walls cast shadows that writhed like restless spirits, and the air was thick with the mingling scents of burning wood, aged wine, and something metallic—iron, steel, and perhaps even the memory of old blood. It was as if the room itself breathed conflict and ambition, an unspoken testament to generations of power struggles.

Gavin's boots echoed with each step as he made his way down the long hall. The sound reverberated off the stone walls, hollow and rhythmic, like a war drum marking his approach. His hand brushed the hilt of Excalibur, the smooth silver edge grounding him, but his knuckles whitened from how tightly his fists clenched. His heart wasn't pounding from fear, but from anticipation—an awareness that this meeting with King Hector could shape the course of his future.

At the far end of the hall sat Hector, draped lazily across a massive throne of carved wood and silver filigree. The throne's intricate designs depicted serpents intertwined with vines, as if warning that power and deception often walked hand in hand. Hector wore deep crimson robes trimmed with fur, embroidered with gold that shimmered faintly in the firelight. A jeweled crown rested slightly askew on his head, as though he either didn't care enough to adjust it or enjoyed the image of a king too powerful to bother with perfection. He held a goblet of wine in one hand, swirling the dark liquid idly, the motion almost hypnotic as his sharp eyes watched Gavin approach.

"Ah, the prodigal prince returns," Hector said, his voice smooth yet laced with condescension. He swirled the wine once more before taking a slow sip. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't come."

Gavin stopped a few feet from the throne, straightening his posture despite the tension coiling like a spring in his gut. "You summoned me, Your Majesty," he said, forcing a tone of respect even though his voice teetered on the edge of defiance.

Hector chuckled, a sound that grated against Gavin's nerves. "Yes, yes. You've certainly been busy, haven't you? Camelot already whispers your name. The people sing songs of their lost prince returning to save the kingdom. But you must know..." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "Good kings are made with more than swords and songs."

Gavin's jaw tightened, but he nodded. "I understand."

"Do you?" Hector leaned forward, the predatory gleam in his eyes sharpening. "The weight of the crown isn't carried by bravery alone. It's carried by alliances. Strategic decisions. And..." His lips curled into a smirk. "Marriages."

The last word hit Gavin like a blow to the chest, cutting through the haze of formality. His breath hitched, but he forced himself to stay composed. "Marriage?"

Hector's smile widened, but it was devoid of warmth. "Oh, come now, you're not that naïve. Surely you know that if you intend to take the throne, your first duty will be to secure the kingdom's stability. And what better way to do that than with a union of power and wealth?"

Gavin felt the blood drain from his face, his mind already racing to the one name he feared Hector would mention. "You're talking about an arranged marriage."

"I'm talking about Lady Guinevere," Hector said, leaning back into the throne as if he had been waiting for this moment. He twirled a strand of his salt-and-pepper hair around his finger, the motion casual but calculated. "Her family is one of the wealthiest and most influential in Camelot. A marriage to her would ensure that no noble house dares question your right to the throne."

Gavin's stomach twisted. He thought of Guinevere—how he had found her in forest, her presence almost ethereal, her music haunting. But now, the thought of her as a political pawn dulled that memory, tainting it with reality. "You expect me to marry someone I barely know?" His voice was quieter, but no less tense.

Hector's laughter echoed through the hall, bouncing off the stone walls like a mockery of Gavin's hopes. "Oh, my dear nephew, don't be foolish. I know you've met her. Your face practically glowed when I mentioned her name. She is the most sought-after woman in the kingdom. But I alone will decide her husband." He took another sip of wine. "It's not about love, Prince Arthur. It's about power. And Guinevere's family can give you plenty of that."

Gavin's pulse quickened, his thoughts shifting to Felicity—the girl who had stood by his side through every trial, who had fought with him, who had believed in him when no one else did. Her laughter, her teasing smiles, the way she always knew when to comfort or challenge him—she was more than a companion. She was his anchor. How could he leave her behind for a marriage of politics and convenience?

"But I don't want a marriage built on politics," he said firmly, his voice slicing through the air like Excalibur's blade. "I want something real."

Hector laughed again, the sound dismissive and condescending. "Love is for fools and bards. Kings don't have the luxury of 'real.' They have responsibility." He leaned forward, his gaze narrowing. "Think about what's at stake, Arthur. If you don't solidify your position soon, the nobles will start plotting against you. Marrying Guinevere will secure your reign before it even begins."

Gavin clenched his fists, his knuckles aching from the pressure. He wanted to argue, to tell Hector that he could rule without bartering his future away. But a small voice whispered what if he's right? Could Camelot survive without the alliances Hector spoke of? Could he protect his people if he refused?

Hector watched him closely, as if sensing the battle within him. "You think I'm being harsh, but you'll thank me someday. When the crown weighs heavy on your head, and you realize that love won't keep your kingdom from crumbling, you'll understand completely."

The words hit their mark, but Gavin forced himself to remain tall, his gaze steady. "I'll think about it," he said, his tone measured and controlled.

"Good." Hector leaned back, satisfied. "You're dismissed, for now. But don't take too long to decide. Time isn't a luxury you have."

Gavin narrowed his eyes, confusion filling him quickly. "Your Majesty, I must confess, I'm surprised."

Hector arched a brow. "Surprised? How so?"

"I came here prepared for you to deny my birthright, to kick me out of Camelot. But instead, you're practically handing it to me on a silver platter."

Hector barked a laugh. "Silver platter? No, my boy. The platter is gold... and jeweled." His smirk widened. "Remember that while you're deciding."

Gavin nodded stiffly before turning on his heel and striding toward the exit. The cold weight of the amulet around his neck felt heavier with each step, and Felicity's face flashed through his thoughts, a comforting beacon of light against the dark reality of his uncle's words.

As he stepped into the open air, he sucked in a deep breath. The wind bit at his skin, sharp and cleansing, helping to clear the storm of emotions raging inside him. He had always known that being king meant sacrifice—but could he sacrifice love?

Guinevere's song filled his mind again, soothing his nerves. She was undeniably beautiful, graceful, and poised. The kind of woman kings married. A woman worthy of a throne.

The thought struck him like lightning: It wouldn't be difficult to fall in love with a woman like that.

But at what cost?

* * * *

The late afternoon sun poured through the windows of Merlin's cottage, casting soft light across the wooden floor. Felicity sat by the hearth, her hands moving with practiced ease as she prepared a healing salve using herbs Merlin had taught her to blend.

The rhythmic grinding of the mortar and pestle filled the silence, but her mind wandered restlessly. The fire crackled nearby, its warmth filling the room, but it did little to ease the chill in her chest. Gavin had been gone since morning, summoned to the king's court. And though she told herself he'd be back soon, she couldn't shake the unease that had followed her since he left.

The door creaked open, and her heart leapt as Gavin stepped inside, the cool breeze of the outside world swirling around him. His boots scuffed against the wooden floor as he shut the door behind him, the faint scent of horses and forest still clinging to his clothes. Excalibur hung at his side, gleaming faintly in the firelight, but what caught Felicity's attention was the glow in his eyes—a glimmer of something she hadn't seen in a long time. Excitement. Wonder. Hope.

"You're back," she said, setting the mortar down and rising to meet him. Her smile was warm, but her heart thumped anxiously beneath the surface. "How did it go?"

Gavin removed this sword, setting it up against the wall before turning to face her. "It was... a lot to take in," he admitted, but his tone didn't carry the usual weight of worry. Instead, it was lighter, as though something had lifted the burden off his shoulders. "King Hector didn't throw me out, if that's what you're wondering."

Felicity chuckled softly, though her gaze remained sharp, searching his expression. "Well, that's good news. Did he recognize your claim to the throne?"

Gavin hesitated for a moment, running a hand through his hair before nodding. "He did, but not without conditions." He moved toward the fire, warming his hands as he spoke. "He wants me to solidify my position—form alliances, gain support from the noble houses. And... there's a marriage proposal involved."

The words hit Felicity like a blow, but she kept her composure, masking the tightening in her chest. "A marriage proposal?" she echoed, her voice calm despite the storm building inside her.

Gavin turned to face her, the glimmer in his eyes intensifying. "He suggested Lady Guinevere. I met her in the forest on my way to the castle."

The name hung between them like a thundercloud. Guinevere. She had never heard of this woman, but while she and Gavin were in his world, he mentioned the name as it being the queen, along with Sir Lancelot.

Felicity forced a smile, but it felt brittle. "Guinevere," she repeated. "You actually met her along the way?"

Gavin's expression softened, and a faint, wistful smile tugged at his lips. "Yes. I didn't know who she was at the time, but meeting her felt... different. Almost like fate."

Felicity's breath hitched, but she quickly busied herself by adjusting the herbs on the table to avoid meeting his gaze. "Different how?"

He exhaled, leaning against the stone mantel. "She's elegant, graceful, and knowledgeable. There's something about her that's hard to explain. It's like she already understands the weight of the crown. Hector's right—she would be a good queen."

Each word felt like a needle threading through Felicity's heart. Although her runin with Morgana the other day felt like a dream, Felicity knew it was real, and now the witch's words were repeating in her head—something she couldn't ignore. She nodded along, pretending to agree. "She sounds... perfect."

Gavin's gaze flicked to her, and for a moment, his brow furrowed. "I know how this sounds. I'm not saying I want to marry her just because Hector suggested it, but..." He trailed off, as if searching for the right words. "It wouldn't be difficult to fall in love with someone like her."

The room fell into silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the distant chirping of birds outside. Felicity clenched her hands into fists behind her back, her nails digging into her palms as she fought to steady her breathing. Her heart was breaking little by little, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

"Of course," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Why wouldn't it be?"

Gavin stepped closer, concern flashing across his face. "Are you all right? You seem... distant."

She quickly plastered on another smile, the kind she had perfected over years of hiding her true feelings. "I'm fine. Just tired, that's all. I spent the day preparing potions."

He didn't seem entirely convinced, but he nodded. "I know this isn't easy for you either. You've been by my side through everything. But things are changing. If I'm going to be king, I need to make the right choices."

The words rang hollow in her ears, despite the sincerity in his voice. She wanted to scream that she had always been the right choice. She had fought beside him, believed in him when no one else had, risked her life to protect him. But she couldn't say any of that—not when he was standing there, lost in daydreams of Guinevere.

"I understand," she whispered, forcing the words out before they choked her. "You have to do what's best for the kingdom."

Gavin smiled faintly, stepping forward and wrapping her in a brief, warm hug. "I knew you'd understand. You always do."

She hugged him back, her arms tightening around him as if this moment could anchor them together forever. But even as she held him, she could feel him slipping away, his heart already tethered to the idea of a future that didn't include her. When he pulled away, she watched as he moved toward the table, setting down the royal summons he had tucked into his belt.

The glimmer in his eyes hadn't faded. If anything, it had grown brighter.

"Thank you, Felicity," he said, his voice filled with genuine gratitude. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

She swallowed the lump forming in her throat and nodded, keeping her smile intact. "I'll always be here for you, Gavin."

But as she watched him talk about the plans for his future—about alliances, kingship, and Guinevere—Felicity felt the weight of her unspoken love pressing down on her chest like a bolder. The firelight flickered across his face, illuminating the man she had loved, but now, he felt just out of reach.

Fear crept through her veins, icy and suffocating, as the truth became impossible to ignore.

She was losing him.

Or... had she already lost him?