Realm of Ruin (Camelot Untold Book 2) by KC Kingmaker

Author:KC Kingmaker [Kingmaker, KC]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: .
Published: 2023-06-29T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 28

Guinevere

I’m standing on the edge of a grove, surrounded by trees.

I thought leaving Camelot and seeing trees with actual leaves and foliage and bursting canopies would be a breath of fresh air, but I’ve seen enough trees for a while. Forest Sauvage has made sure of that.

In front of me sits a small hut along a thin, babbling creek. The hut has become one with nature, vines and roots twisting along its wattle-and-daub frame, as if it’s been here for ages.

Undisturbed, peaceful.

I know not to trust anything around these parts, so I hesitantly creep toward it, eyes darting all around me. My white shift billows around my ankles in the cool afternoon breeze.

When I come to the flap of the hut, I take a deep breath.

Then I notice smoke curling out from the bottom of the flap. It gives me a sense of urgency and I push the flap open, walking in.

Smoke cloys in the room, joined by an herbal, earthy smell—an unfamiliar scent that burns my nostrils.

As the wisps of smoke swirl in front of me, I spot a man sitting on an overturned log, poking a stick into a small fire in front of him.

I stare at the man’s profile, as understanding seeps deep in my soul. He is hunched over, with long straggly hair the same color as the smoke. A knotted beard reaches down to his chest, reminding me of snowfall tumbling down a mountain peak. His face is old—very old—with wrinkles etched deep into his leathery skin. He’s wearing little more than rags—threadbare, smelly, ancient.

The whole-ass man screams ancient.

When he faces me, his eyes are slate gray. Or maybe that’s the lingering smoke blinding me to their true color. He fixes me with a smile that looks both troublesome and sardonic.

“I thought you’d be Arthur,” I say.

He murmurs, “Hmm?”

“In this dream. But you’re not him.”

“Observant, aren’t you?” His voice is low, like it takes effort to use, yet it has a singsong quality that makes me think he’s making fun of me. Like I’m the butt of a joke only he knows the punchline to.

I put my hands on my hips. “So, you’re Merlin. The Old One.”

“Well, I am old, aren’t I?”

“What is this, an outtake of Jeopardy? Is everything you say going to come in the form of a question?” I’m not feeling particularly awestruck or worshipful. It’s been a pain in the ass finding this guy.

His chuckle is raspy and phlegmatic. I know he has no idea what I’m talking about, but that’s the point—two can play at that game.

Once his body is finished shaking, he spits into the fire and it sizzles and snaps. “Have you enjoyed what I’ve shown you, maiden?”

“In my dreams?” I shrug. “It’s been . . . interesting. That’s why I thought you’d be Arthur in this hut. Percival, Kay, Gawain . . . the knights I’m bound to. Arthur is the only one left I haven’t seen in my slumber.”

“You are not yet ready to see his secrets.

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