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The candle burned low at her desk. The papers from her spies were still stacked too deeply to even think of rest tonight.
She rubbed her eyes tiredly. She'd stretched the marriage game for as long as she could. The lords were getting impatient. She'd either have to marry one of them or drop the pretense.
Mithian wasn't holding out for love. Her kingdom came first, now and always. She'd marry any of them in a heartbeat, no matter how old or disgusting, if she thought there was a one of them who wouldn't just make the situation worse.
If only Arthur . . . Well, he was married now. It wasn't as if she'd loved him, either, but he had been her age and good looking. She'd liked him, and he was an excellent ruler. Her lords would have accepted him. As far as political marriages went, it didn't get much better than that.
The curtains stirred in the breeze.
Her window hadn't been open.
Silently, she drew a dagger from her skirt. This wouldn't be the first attempt on her life, and she was determined it wouldn't be the last. She stood and walked towards the fire as if deep in thought.
Then she whirled, blade raised. It clashed against another with enough force that it went flying out of her hand. She screamed for her guards, only to find her voice trapped in her throat.
A slender man in a black cloak stood before her, hand outstretched. The hand holding the knife - the left one - had lowered.
"Peace, your highness. I came only to bear a message."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Oh. Right." He sounded almost sheepish. And familiar . . .
He dropped the knife and released the spell.
"Who are you?"
"Seeing as magic is still outlawed where I come from, I think I'd rather not answer that."
Magic was outlawed in many places, but only Camelot did much about it.
Camelot. Her eyes widened. "Merlin?"
"Of course not! I am . . . Dragoon! The Great!"
"Merlin."
"Only Arthur is allowed to say my name like that. Speaking of Arthur, he thought you should know that you can't trust Felix and Ambrosius."
"I know that, but how does Arthur?"
"They might have been trying to convince him to overthrow you."
That was new. "Wonderful."
Merlin let the hood fall back and drifted closer to the fire. His eyes were sympathetic. "Arthur won't, of course, but they might well turn to Lot next, and you know what he's like."
She did. "Since when does Arthur send you out to go sneaking into castles?"
He grinned. "Since he found out I'm really, really good at it. He thought it would be best if he didn't go through official channels."
"And have you thought it best to tell him why you're so good at what you do?"
His smile faltered. "He-He's not ready yet. He'll hate me."
"Are you so sure?"
"Sure enough that I'd be happy to put some protective wards on your room if you promise not to mention it."
There was real fear in his eyes. Mithian couldn't help it.
She melted.
"All right. But don't worry about the wards, I'm not trying to blackmail you."
The grin was back, brighter than ever. "I put them up before we started talking. Your security is awful. No offense," he tacked on hastily. "Everyone's is."
"Except Arthur's."
"That's my job."
"Is it one of the qualifications for manservant? Because ladies' maids are useless."
He laughed.
She walked over to her desk. "Merlin, Lot will attack any day now. My country is on the brink of a civil war. My people cannot survive both at once."
"No," he said soberly. "But it doesn't have to come to that."
"Oh?"
"Give me a week. Your lords' loyalty to you will be the envy of Albion."
"How?"
He grinned again, but this time it was almost feral. "Trust me."
"Why?" she asked quietly.
He knew what she meant. "You hired a band of mercenaries. One of them is named Mordred. I need him dead."
"Why?" she repeated.
"Because if he's not, he'll kill Arthur."
Ah. So that was why the happy boy's face had gone so hard. "Done, then."
"Done."
Both fulfilled their end of the bargain.