Swords & Spells (Book One):The Magic of Emrys

The Poisoned Chalice (Arthur)

Few things truly bothered Arthur Pendragon. Many things annoyed him, yes, and some of these things proved to be more than just minor inconveniences, but he prided himself in not being unnerved by many things.

But Emrys...She seemed to have a talent for not only finding these few things but also creating more. She couldn't have possibly known that what she said would have him here, hiding in a distant corner, thinking about that bloody kiss again.

And neither of them could've known how much the memory of that kiss—of how tenderly Faolán had held her, of how soft Emrys' gaze had been when she pulled back—would be tormenting Arthur at that moment.

Frustration stung the backs of his eyelids, but Arthur tilted his head up. He refused to cry over a serving girl.

"Figured you wouldn't be too far away from the ball," said Lancelot suddenly, drawing Arthur's attention. "Mind if I join you, sire?"

Arthur shrugged, but made no attempt to dissuade the knight from joining him. "Can you believe she said that," Arthur asked, incredulous.

"Yes," said Lancelot immediately. "In fact, I would've expected nothing less from her. I'm surprised, sire, that you weren't more prepared for that."

Arthur scoffed and looked over his shoulder, back towards the party attendants. "Stop pretending that anyone could ever hope to be prepared for anything Emrys might say or do."

Lancelot let out a long sigh before he asked, "Sire, you aren't still upset about the kiss, are you?"

"It just happened, so—"

"I'm not talking about the one between the girls. Everyone, including your father, knows that women have different understandings of intimacy between friends. I'm talking about the one that started all of this—the one with the sorcerer."

Arthur felt his face burning from embarrassment. His father had always warned him against being easy to read, but Arthur had yet to master the act of concealing his emotions. "It's not about the kiss."

Lancelot raised an eyebrow at the prince. "Are you sure, sire? Because your reactions toward all of this have been—"

"I know what you're going to say, and I'm not jealous," Arthur insisted.

"The sky is pink."

"What?"

"Forgive me, sire. I thought we were both stating obvious lies."

Arthur turned away from the knight, more upset that he'd been so easy to read. "Thanks for the talk, Lancelot."

Exasperated, Lancelot threw his hands in the hair. "Why won't you just admit that you care about her?"

"Because," said Arthur, turning back to him, "if I don't care, she can't hurt me." And with that, Arthur felt another stinging behind his eyes. He glared down at the cobbled floor beneath him, ashamed that he was on the brink of tears in front of one of his knights.

Lancelot put his hand on Arthur's shoulder. "It's not like Emrys is trying to hurt you, sire."

"Well, that hasn't stopped her from doing so already." Arthur's throat tightened as he caught sight of a frantic Emrys in the crowd. He knew without a doubt what she was looking for: him. She risked exposure to his father and the many repercussions that that would entail, and still, there she was, looking for him.

Despite his current feelings, the desire Arthur felt right then to run to her and steal her away from everyone else was overwhelming. He started to take a step forward but then decided against it.