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closer we neared. Would Gawain take up my challenge? Could I dare believe it might be Lancelot?
    I threw the reins to the dark-eyed man who met me in the courtyard. I slid into his arms as he helped me dismount though I barely needed the aid in my haste.
    “Take me to Arthur—or Merlin—I have a desperate boon to ask of them.” Only then did I note the man was young. Not young enough to be a page, not old enough to be a seneschal.
    Handing off Alice’s reins to a stable boy who hurried up to us, the dark-eyed man took me by the elbow and guided me silently but surely into the castle’s halls where we were quickly met by a gray-haired man in rich robes.
    “Kay, we have a petitioner. Where’s Arthur?” my escort asked.
    The gray-haired man scowled at me.
    “Please,” I begged. “My matter is urgent. A noble woman’s life. My sister…”
    The man’s scowl only deepened, but he struck off with us in tow, leading us to a small hall where sat a man behind a desk surrounded by a handful of men in passionate debate. I caught only the words “King” and “Mark”, “Cornwall” and “tribute” clearly before they broke off at our approach. Somewhere in the room, too, Old Magic curled. Probably in the bones of Camelot itself.
    “Sire, a petitioner, if you please. She claims her matter is urgent.” Kay bowed, and I fell quickly into a curtsy.
    The man behind the desk—King Arthur—sighed. I was no more than a burden to him. Another neighbor squabble. Another plea for a tax extension. He beckoned. I had only taken a step when Kay’s arm across my chest blocked my way.
    It wasn’t me the king had beckoned to but a water boy who set down a goblet and tray of confectionery at Arthur’s elbow. Only when the servant stepped back, waiting to bear away the empty vessels, did Arthur nod to Kay, who dropped his arm and allowed me forward.
    “Sire, my younger sister has been captured by the new magistrate of the Red Lands. He holds her there now. I beg a champion of your court to rescue her.”
    The king leaned forward. I seemed to have his attention at last. “ New magistrate?”
    “My father slew the old Baron, but suffered wounds that killed him too. The son, Sir Ironside, rules there now, and he’s taking his vengeance out on my sister. On me, as well, for I have it that my anguish at the thought of how he’s treating her joys him.” I sniffed back the tears that threatened. “Though not as much, I fear, as my innocent Nessie will joy him. His own servant—” I prevaricated only a little to avoid any hint of fae involvement—“tells me he waits now on a champion. And while I trust the hearts of my father’s men, I cannot trust their skills.”
    “I’ve heard of this Ironside,” my escort put in. “His father held the Red Lands through brutality. The tales tell of the son who is far more perilous.”
    The king steepled his hands before him. “Any man I would name for the deed is gone now from the court. Most are away at Joyous Garde and the tourney being held there.”
    I hoped my face adequately betrayed both my disappointment and the fear that threatened to overwhelm me at the news. With a single word— gone —my hopes of a Lancelot or a Gawain had just been thoroughly trampled.
    “Appoint me her champion, Sire.”
    My flagging heart leapt at the words… Until I saw who uttered them. The knave standing behind Arthur stepped to the edge of the desk, not to clear away tray and goblet, but waiting on Arthur’s word.
    “No! My sister’s life is not an excuse for some…some… kitchen boy …to play at being a knight.”
    Arthur’s thoughts were impenetrable as he looked from me to the kitchen boy before swinging his gaze back to me again. What he would’ve spoken I shall never know because another of the men in the room spoke first. “An excellent choice, Arthur.”
    I glared hate at the man with the staff. “Did you not hear that Ironside is a perilous villein? I require a knight —nay,