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“I am not a king now,” he went on. “There are many mighty warriors in this world. Even kings. Like Goya, the King of landed Beasts. Tal-Telal, the General of the Pure Ones. And young Benjamin too. He is a natural leader of men. Perhaps it is time for you to choose a new destiny.”
Lancelot frowned, opening his mouth to object.
But Arthur wasn’t finished.
He turned to face Lancelot, hands still fisted by his sides, legs braced apart. As if he was standing on the bow of a ship, steeling himself against an impending storm.
“What would we have been if we never met?” he demanded, filled with anger and sorrow.
Lancelot might not feel those emotions to the fullest extent himself, but he recognized them on Arthur’s face.
“Would I still have been able to unite these isles? You and Excalibur have saved my life countless times. Perhaps I would have died young on the battlefield. Perhaps I never would have visited Cameliard. Perhaps she would have set her sights on a different king. A mightier one. And perhaps you would have served him instead.”
Lancelot had trouble with emotions, but he could follow logic just fine.
“You blame me,” he summarized succinctly.
Arthur let out a harsh breath and clawed one hand into his tousled wavy hair.
“No,” he denied immediately. Then—
“I don’t know.”
He looked away again.
“Sometimes…sometimes I blame you for being the light in the dark that I reach for. The hope and dreams that should have died the moment Guinevere cast her spell on me. If it weren’t for you, perhaps I wouldn’t have fought it. Perhaps I would havebeen content after a fashion. None the wiser to what she truly was. Other men professed to love her, and I think they did, in their own way. But I…I could never give her what she wanted. So she forced it from me instead.”
Lancelot scowled even harder.
“You can’t possibly be blaming yourself,” he stated with passion.
“Why not?” Arthur retorted, laughing that ugly, humorless laugh.
“I am weak, clearly. You have bespelled me just as much as any sorceress. More so, in fact. But you are not real. You are only an idea. You lay with her—”
“To protectyou!” Lancelot roared, an uncontrollable fury overtaking him. Making him advance upon Arthur until they were toe to toe.
Thunder cracked directly overhead. Lightning streaked down from the sky. An icy deluge enveloped them, drenching their clothes almost instantly.
But neither men noticed nor cared.
Arthur shoved him back with both hands.
“No one asked you to!” he roared back.
“She was draining you dry! Sucking your life right out of you!” Lancelot yelled, partly out of fury, partly to be heard over the unforgiving rain.
“If I gave her what she wanted, she’d let you live. It was an even exchange!”
“Never!” Arthur yelled back.
“I would have died a thousand times over to keep you away from her! You’re worth—”
“—nothing, if I don’t have you!”
“—everything! You were so pure! I’ve never met anyone like you. There’s no one in the universe—”
“I’m not pure. I’m a man. Who happens to heal fast and fight well. But you’re aking! You’re—”
