Emrys glanced over his shoulder and saw Lancelot place a hand on Guenevere’s shoulder.

Emrys said, “I’m sure Lancelot –”

Arthur’s eyes darkened. “I meant Mordred.”

“It’s his mother’s fault,” Emrys said with false lightness. “She’s poisoned his mind against you.”

Arthur sighed. “You warned me about this, about her, and I was too stupid and prideful to listen –”

“Then the time has come to rectify your error,” Emrys said quietly. He slewed a glance at Lila, questioning, and she nodded; she would pretend she hadn’t heard, but Emrys knew that she somehow knew exactly what was going on.

Arthur took a deep breath and shook his shoulders out, lifted his head, and in that one instant he transformed from a battle-weary, heartbroken man into the king of legend. Then he smiled, and Lila felt her chest clench.

“Are you ready, Squire Lila?”

“Yes.”

He hoisted his sword high. “For Camelot!”

The knights cheered.

The blade flashed in the sunlight. Take me up, it read, and as he sheathed it, Cast me away.