Felicity's breath escaped her lips in slow, controlled wisps, each exhale barely disturbing the cool night air as she pressed her body closer to the damp forest floor. The dense foliage cloaked her in darkness, but the leaves brushed against her skin like unwelcome fingers, as though the forest itself conspired to betray her hiding place. The sweet, heady scent of blooming roses, which once reminded her of summer evenings and stolen kisses, now clung to her nostrils like a trap, suffocating and heavy, mixing with the rapid cadence of her heartbeat.
She had trailed Gavin here to Guinevere's estate, ignoring the gnawing voice of reason that begged her to turn back. She shouldn't have come, she knew that muchâbut the magnetic pull of suspicion had been impossible to resist.
There had been something in his voice, a spark in his gaze, whenever he spoke of Guinevere. Too much admiration, too much longing. And Felicity had learned to trust the ache of instinct when something felt off.
Now, concealed within the shadows, she watched them, her worst fears inching closer to life with every breath. Gavin leaned toward Guinevere, his head tilting ever so slightly as he spoke in hushed tones that didn't carry to Felicity's ears. But she didn't need to hear the words. She could read his body language like a book she wished she'd never opened.
His eyes, bright and full of warmth, reflected the glow of the estate's lanterns as Guinevere laughed softly, her voice like silk in the night. The golden waves of her hair shimmered in the moonlight, stirred just enough by the breeze to give her an otherworldly grace, as if nature itself bent to her beauty. The lute resting on the bench beside her only added to the picture of effortless perfection, and for a moment, Felicity hated how the scene looked like something out of a love ballad.
Her fingers clawed into the soft earth beneath her, dirt caking under her nails as she fought the storm raging within. She's too perfect.
Too flawless.
Too dangerous.
Then, Guinevere's hand lifted, her slender fingers finding Gavin's cheek in a gesture that was light, almost casualâbut then again, much too personal for Felicity's taste. But she saw the way Gavin's shoulders relaxed at the woman's touch, the way his lips curved into a smile that once belonged to Felicity alone.
It was the same smile that had melted her heart after long, treacherous nights escaping shadow agents in his world. The smile that used to warm her after they stayed up past dawn, lost in quiet conversations by the fire here in her world. But now, under the spell of Guinevere's golden glow, that sacred expression was no longer hers.
And with that realization, the sweet scent of roses turned bitter.
Felicity swallowed hard, her throat constricting as if the very air had turned to thorns. The vision slammed into her consciousness againâGuinevere standing at Gavin's side, her golden hair catching the light of a burning Camelot as the kingdom crumbled behind them. The flames roared, but it was the serene, knowing look on Guinevere's face that had haunted Felicity ever since.
She hadn't wanted to believe it, but now, watching their connection bloom in whispered conversations and lingering touches, it felt as though she were witnessing the first spark that would ignite that devastation. If this is how it starts, she thought, her nails digging deeper into the earth, then I have to end it here, now, before it's too late.
Her muscles tensed as she prepared to rise, her body poised on the edge of action. She didn't know what she would say, only that she couldn't let this night slip away without doing something. Anything.
But before she could move, Gavin stood and bowed slightly, the familiar grace in his movements twisting the knife in her chest.
"I'll see you soon," he said, his voice just loud enough to reach her hiding spot.
Guinevere's smile spread like honey across her face, sweet and sticky, concealing something darker beneath its golden surface. "I'll be waiting on bated breath, Prince Arthur."
Felicity's breath hitched. Prince Arthur. The name, spoken so easily, so intimately, sounded wrong in Guinevere's mouth. It was the name Gavin only used in the context of his destinyâan identity that once felt distant, almost unreal, during their time together. But here, with Guinevere, it was as if he had shed the parts of himself that belonged to Felicity and embraced a role she no longer fit into.
Gavin turned, his footsteps crunching softly on the dewy grass as he made his way toward the stables. Felicity ducked lower, her pulse thudding in her ears like war drums, and waited until the sound of his steps faded into the night.
She should go after him. Confront him. Demand answers to the questions clawing at her heart. But her gaze remained locked on Guinevere, who lingered on the bench, her delicate hands resting on the lute as if the strings still vibrated with Gavin's presence.
Something about the woman held Felicity in place, like a web she hadn't realized she'd stumbled into. Her instincts weren't just whispering nowâthey were screaming, louder than the memory of the burning castle, louder than her own pain.
Something is wrong.
Guinevere sat quietly, the lantern light casting soft, flickering shadows across her features. She stared after Gavin with a wistful expression, but there was something calculated in the way her gaze lingered on the empty path, as if she were measuring the distance between them rather than missing him.
Slowly, she stood, her gown flowing like liquid silk around her ankles, brushing the grass in soft whispers. The breeze picked up, rustling the leaves overhead, causing the lantern flames to dance erratically.
For a moment, the shifting light made Guinevere's face seem unfamiliar, almost surrealâher beauty too sharp, too refined, like a polished weapon hidden beneath the surface.
Felicity's fists clenched as she watched. What are you planning? She couldn't shake the feeling that Guinevere wasn't simply waiting for Gavin's returnâshe was setting something in motion, something that could spiral beyond Felicity's control if she didn't act soon. The air crackled with tension, and Felicity knew that tonight wasn't just about her broken heart.
It was about fate. And whether she had the strength to rewrite it.
Felicity didn't dare move, her breath shallow and barely audible as she pressed herself tighter against the earth. Her pulse raced, a frantic rhythm beneath her skin.
Guinevere glided across the garden, her footsteps silent against the grass, as graceful as ever. But when she reached the edge of the marble fountain, something shifted.
The air around her rippled, like waves of heat rising off desert sands, warping her outline until her figure flickered, unstable. Felicity's eyes widened, her fingers digging into the dirt. Am I imagining this?
The shimmer intensified, and the illusion shattered. Guinevere's golden waves darkened, twisting and writhing like serpents until they became thick strands of volcanic black. Her delicate fingers, which had once caressed Gavin with tenderness, stretched and sharpened into claws, their nails gleaming like razors in the dim light. Her warm, glowing complexion drained to a sickly gray, the color of ash, and her gown transformed into a cloak of shadow, its fabric swirling around her like smoke caught in a tempest.
Felicity's heart pounded so violently she thought it might give away her hiding spot, but she couldn't tear her gaze from the figure now standing before her eyes. Morgana loomed where Guinevere had once been, her dark eyes glinting with dangerous satisfaction and power.
The witch's lips curled, revealing a cruel smirk as she gazed toward the path Gavin had taken. "Foolish boy," Morgana whispered, her voice no longer soft and sweet but dripping with venom. "So eager to follow the dream he built in his own mind."
Felicity felt a chill ripple down her spine, as if frost had settled into her veins. This is real.
Morgana raised her hand slowly, her fingers splayed as an orb of glowing green light swirled into existence above her palm. The eerie glow painted her sharp features in shifting shadows, her expression thoughtful, almost serene, as though she were contemplating the final piece of a long-played game.
"Soon, he'll be exactly where I need him," the witch murmured. "His heart is already mine to twist. And when the time comes, he'll fallâjust like the prophecy foretold."
Felicity bit down hard on her lip, the metallic taste of blood keeping her grounded in the moment. She wanted to leap to her feet, to race after Gavin and tell him everythingâbut her legs remained locked, her body paralyzed by terror.
This wasn't just a betrayal. This was how it began. Not with Guinevere's treachery, but with Morgana, cloaked in her beauty.
The witch's whisper carried on the breeze, chilling and poisonous. "Guinevere's face may win him, but it's my hand that will break him. And when Camelot lies in ruins, he'll realize too lateâhe gave his trust to the one destined to destroy him."
Felicity's breath hitched, and she knew she couldn't stay hidden for long. But right now, all she could do was watch, her blood turning to ice as the wheels of fate began their terrible spin.
She couldn't breathe. The air felt thick and unforgiving, suffocating her with the weight of what she'd just seen. She had to get out of here, had to warn Gavin before Morgana's claws sank any deeper into him. But as the wind shifted and rustled the bushes around her, panic gripped her throat like a vice.
Morgana's head snapped in Felicity's direction, her sharp eyes narrowing like a predator locking onto prey. "Who's there?" Her voice, low and deadly, sent a fresh surge of terror coursing through Felicity's veins.
Stay hidden. She forced herself to press lower to the ground, her breath trapped in her chest, her heart pounding so hard she feared it might burst from her ribcageâor worse, give her away. Morgana took a step forward, her gaze scanning the shadows, every movement deliberate, predatory.
Run, Felicity's mind screamed. Get out now, before she finds you.
Morgana took another step, her cloak billowing behind her like smoke. But before she could get any closer, an owl's mournful hoot cut through the night, echoing from the tree above. Morgana paused, her eyes flicking toward the sound, distracted for the briefest of moments. That was all Felicity needed.
Go now!
She shut her eyes tight, her entire body trembling as she concentrated with everything she had. She pictured herself vanishingâjust as she had once done in Gavin's truck, though she hadn't fully understood the magic then.
Tears welled in her eyes as she pleaded with herself to make it work. She had no wand, but she didn't need one. She couldn't afford to fail.
Her breathing hitched as a strange, weightless sensation spread through her, as though she'd become nothing but a whisper in the wind. Slowly, she opened her eyes and saw the world as she had hoped: distorted, blurred, and quiet. She had done it. She was invisible, completely unseen to everyoneâexcept, maybe, Merlin.
Morgana's voice hissed into the night, sharp with frustration. "Whoever you are, you can't hide forever!"
But Felicity didn't look back. Instead, she imagined herself slipping through the hedges, her fairy wings propelling her faster, guiding her silently past the marble fountain and into the dense grove of trees lining the estate. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her pulse drumming in her ears as she darted through the shadows.
She didn't stop. She couldn't.
The night wind helped push her, past the stable, across the lawn, and toward the road leading out of the forest. She kept moving until her lungs screamed for air and her wings cried out for rest.
Only when she was deep within the forest did she let herself collapse against the rough bark of a tree. Gasping, she clutched her chest, her vision blurred with tears as her magic faded, rendering her visible once more. The cool night air bit at her exposed skin, but she hardly noticed.
Guinevere isn't Guinevere, she thought, the realization clawing at her insides. It's Morgana. She's been pulling the strings all along.
Her tears broke free, warm against her cold cheeks, falling in soft rivulets as the weight of the prophecy pressed down on her like a crushing wave. She could still hear Morgana's words echoing in her mindâabout twisting Gavin's heart, about breaking Camelot. And Felicity knew, with gut-wrenching certainty, that this wasn't just a threat. It was already happening.
If she didn't act, Gavin would walk straight into Morgana's trap. He would trust the wrong person, love the wrong person, and Camelot would burn just as the prophecy had warned.
And Felicityâshe wouldn't just lose him. She would lose everything.
Sniffling, she wiped her tears away with the back of her sleeve. There was no time to cry. No time to freeze in fear.
She pushed herself to her feet, her legs shaking but determined. She had to find Merlin. He would know what to do. And then she had to reach Gavinâbefore Morgana's lies sealed his fate.
Before their fate became irreversible.