“And this someone would have good taste, be as invested in the wedding as you and me, manage all facets of a royal occasion that has to go off without a hitch, and also work for free?” said Tedros incredulously.
“I should think so.”
“It will take months of searching to find such a person, Agatha. If such a person even exists.”
“Mmm, not really.”
Tedros cocked his head. “You have someone in mind?”
“Do you trust me?” Agatha asked, eyes twinkling.
“You know I do.”
“And I can pick anyone I choose?”
“Of course. You’ll be queen soon.”
“Then promise me this is my choice and no one else’s.”
“I promise, but honestly—”
“Good,” said Agatha, climbing into his lap, “then I’ll pay her a visit on my first stop into the Woods.”
Tedros peered at her, mystified. “Pay who a visit? Who’s ‘she’—”
He choked.
“HAVE YOU LOST YOUR DAMNED MIND!”
“You said it yourself. We can’t just cut her off,” Agatha replied, hands sliding up his chest.
“Not we! You!” Tedros shouted. “You think I’ll let her plan our wedding? I’d rather eat glass for a month—I’d rather drown myself in hot lava—no no no no no—”
But now she was clasping his cheeks and kissing him, long and slow, and it’d been so long since she’d kissed him that suddenly he could think of nothing else … only her soft lips on his and his beautiful, brilliant bride-to-be …
“I love you, Tedros,” she whispered.
“And I love you too,” he breathed. “But no.”
“If only a king’s promise wasn’t stronger than a prince’s,” she said, smiling like a cat.
“A promise doesn’t count if you tricked me!”
“And does that mean your trust doesn’t count either?” Agatha asked intently.
Tedros gawped at her, knowing he’d been beaten. “But … but …”
He barked with frustration and kissed her again, hard and deep, because he couldn’t possibly think about everything he’d just agreed to. He kissed her so long they ran out of air until Agatha pulled him backwards, dragging him off their perch, and they fell through clouds, the two of them still kissing, tangled in each other’s limbs like interlocked stars.
He had been stabbed twice in the back and once in the flank, but he was still alive.
Concealed behind a white wall, Chaddick listened for his attacker, but all he heard was a faint crashing of waves. Blood leaked through his shirt into his lap. He felt no pain, just cold, prickly shock.
It had happened so fast.
Five minutes ago, he’d been riding his horse on the snowy shores of Avalon, searching for the entrance to the Lady of the Lake’s castle. He’d bought a map of the island from a nosy beaver, but the map only seemed to take him round in circles. At last, when he was frostbitten and ready to give up, he’d found it: towering iron doors as high as a mountain, guarded by two stone lions, concealed in shadow on either side.
He didn’t expect the gates to open for him. They opened for no man except Merlin and the King of Camelot. The stone lions would devour anyone else who tried to enter.
But Chaddick hadn’t come to enter the gates. He’d traveled long and hard across the Woods for only one reason: to make sure that these doors were still sealed tight. That no one had breached the Lady of the Lake’s realm. That his fears were unfounded.
But as he’d approached, he’d seen his fears had come true.
The doors weren’t sealed.
One was hanging off its hinges, the other splintered into pieces.
Who could splinter iron?
He’d gazed at the stone lions, motionless and piled with weeks of snow. If someone had broken in recently, they’d done so untouched.
Why would the lions let an intruder through?
Moving quicker, Chaddick had dug an iron shard into the snow and tied his horse to it before he’d cautiously stepped between the lions and onto castle grounds, scanning the towers and cliff rock for signs of Evil—
His attacker had come from behind.
Chaddick had tried to turn but his assailant jammed his cheek to a rock with one hand, the other on the boy’s back. Even in his wrestling matches against Tedros, Chaddick had never felt such strength.
“Who—are—you—” Chaddick had choked.
But his attacker just hissed in his ear.
Dead calm, he’d slipped Chaddick’s sword out of his belt and stabbed him in the back while Chaddick screamed with pain. As he’d stabbed again, Chaddick kicked with primal instinct, his boot connecting with bone. His attacker buckled and Chaddick broke free, limping past Avalon’s towers until he’d found a place to hide.
It had all happened in five minutes.
Now he waited behind that white wall, listening to the echo of waves, stab wounds soaking his shirt red. Panic set in, his muscles slacking. He was losing too much blood.
Chaddick tensed.
Footsteps.
Coming down the path.
Crackle, crackle, crackle against the snow.
They stopped.
Chaddick held his breath.
He squinted up at the circle of pearl-white towers, coated in snow, for it was always winter in Avalon. The towers had no windows or doors to sneak through. The best he could do was dart from wall to wall like a hunted deer.
Rising from his crouch, he saw zigzagging staircases ahead leading from the towers down to a calm lake.
He had to get to the water.
The Lady of the Lake would hide him.
Just like she’d done for Guinevere and Lancelot.
Run for it?
He’d be in the open for his attacker to spot him. The stairs were slick with snow. His bloody shirt would be like a flag to a bull. And he didn’t have his sword.
Chaddick stripped off his shirt. The frigid air flayed his skin as he tried to wipe clean. But the gash in his ribs kept gushing and he didn’t even know where the blood on his back was coming from. Shock wore off, giving way to soul-crushing pain. Hands shaking, he scraped snow off the ground and packed