Lila’s hands shook. “Arthur, we can’t–”

Arthur reached up, tangled his fingers in her hair. “You don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve known any heart was truly mine.”

“Now is not the time.” Lila cast a desperate glance over her shoulder and saw Emrys holding Hengroen’s reins. The expression in his eyes was unreadable, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Then Lancelot said, “Arthur.”

Lancelot and Guinevere stood at the edge of the trees. Lancelot’s face was pale, drawn, and Guinevere looked – betrayed. Lila thrust the spear into Arthur’s hand, closed his fingers around it. She swallowed hard.

“Sir Lancelot, help me lift the king onto his horse.”

Lancelot looked at the woman beside him, then nodded and stepped forward. He hesitated before he met Arthur’s gaze. Mutual recrimination passed between them, and then Arthur was astride his steed. Lancelot offered his helmet, and Guinevere handed him his shield.

“Emrys, Lancelot,” Arthur said. “I need you at my side.”

They both moved to stand beside him.