Wicked Games Read Online Free Page B

my liege?”
    Arthur lifted a brow. “Have I told you you’re not?”
    â€œI wondered if I had given some offense. It
is
a champion’s honor to fight for his liege. Unless you don’t believe I can win?”
    â€œUnfortunately, that’s not the point. Merlin made it clear I must prove myself worthy to drink from this enchanted cup of his. If I refuse the challenge, none of my court will be allowed to attempt it. Given the political situation, we can’t afford to spurn any advantage.”
    â€œThat cup’s still not worth your life, sire.”
    He grimaced. “Don’t assume the rest of the court shares your opinion.”
    â€œMost of them do. Arthur, your subjects love you. You are fair, quick to rein in abusive lords even when it costs you politically, and generous with those who need it, whether noble or peasant.” He believed every word he said, too; Lance had never stooped to flattery.
    The king grunted. “My father was a stone-hearted bastard, but on one subject he was absolutely correct: if God grants you a crown, He expects you to serve as much as you’re served. Which is why I cannot allow myself to be branded a coward before my entire court.”
    Restless, he rose and began to pace the chamber, his mail ringing. “Another thing—what if I refuse? Merlin said he needs powerful champions for this great mission of his, whatever that should prove to be. What if he decides to repeat his offer to someone else, who then moves against us for whatever reason? I have no desire to face unkillable warriors with the strength of ten.”
    â€œSo you believe Merlin’s cup can do what he claims?”
    â€œYou don’t?” Arthur leaned a shoulder against the wall and eyed his friend.
    â€œMerlin has worked some impressive magic,” Lance admitted. “But so did that magician who came to court two summers ago, the one who claimed he could bring the dead to life. Him you sent packing with a boot in the arse.”
    â€œMerlin is not some simple trickster.”
    He’d proved that last week.
    They’d been in the midst of the evening meal in the Table Chamber when Arthur looked past Gwen’s shoulder to see a circle of air ripple like a pool of clear water disturbed by a tossed pebble. The ripples stilled, revealing a moonlit wood, as if he looked through a window.
    Gasps sounded. As they all stared in astonishment, a boy stepped through the opening to look around with cool interest. Tall and slender, he was perhaps fifteen, with a long, intelligent face framed by black hair that fell around his narrow shoulders. He wore a blue tunic of fine embroidered linen that matched his leggings and knee-high leather boots.
    A girl stepped through the impossible opening, which vanished with a silent burst of sparks. A delicate nymph of a maid, she wore a thin silk gown in verdant green, her hair a tumble of blond curls that cascaded to her waist. Her enormous black eyes were set aslant in her heart-shaped face, and her mouth was small and pink, with lips that brought rosebuds to mind.
    Where in the name of all the saints had the pair come from?
    A sword licked out in a bright arc, stopping a fraction from the lad’s throat. “Who are you,” snarled Lancelot, “and how the hell did you do that?” Silent and lethal, the knight had risen from the Table to challenge the pair.
    There was a reason Arthur had named Lance the royal champion—his personal defender and bodyguard.
    The strange boy glanced down at the blade so close to his Adam’s apple, lifting a brow in an expression of cool interest. He looked up the weapon’s length to meet Lance’s deadly gaze.
    The champion’s eyes widened. He actually backed up a pace before he caught himself and brought his sword to bear again. “What. Are. You?”
    Steel whispered on leather as every knight sitting at the Round Table rose and drew his sword. Arthur,