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WHEN I KNOCK on the door to the Lodge that night, it’s Evan who answers.

A grin splits the redhead’s face. “There she is! The Page who finally brought our knight-errant out of the woodwork.”

“Knight-errant?” He moves aside and I step through the door, shaking out my umbrella. It started drizzling on my way over.

“Yup,” he says, taking my umbrella and dropping it into the bronze holder in the foyer. “That’s old-timey for a knight who does their own thing and wanders around and stuff.”

“And that’s Nick?”

He smiles rakishly. “Not anymore.”

“Evan, you’re a frat boy by day and a Squire for an ancient order by night. How do you keep up with it all?”

“Magic,” he says, and bows with a flourish.

I laugh, but then I think of Alice and my split life. “No, for real. How do you lie to Charlotte every day about who you are and what you do?”

He winks. “Lies are easy when you’re fighting for the right cause.”

“Hm.” I consider my own lies and cause—and the person who’s lying to Evan and the entire chapter on my behalf. “Do you know if the knight-errant is here?”

“Who’s the knight-errant?” An amused voice interjects from the top of the stairs.

“There he is!”

Nick fixes Evan with a mock glare from where he’s leaning on the balcony railing. “Quit harassing my Page, Ev.”

Evan backs away, hands up. “Of course, my liege.”

Nick groans. “Yeah, you can stop with that ‘my liege’ crap anytime you want. Come on up, Bree. Evan, stay put.”

Evan closes the door with a loud laugh that echoes around the foyer.

Nick is waiting for me at the top of the stairs, and I absolutely blame Alice Chen for where my brain goes as I walk up to meet him, because all I can think is that he looks like a rom-com daydream come to life. His hands are stuffed in a pair of dark-wash jeans, and he’s wearing a blue Henley that brings out his eyes. Eyes that roam over me, too, with a soft, unreadable expression.

When I reach the landing, he tilts his head to the left. “This way.”

While the exterior is a castle and first floor interior a manor, the second floor, soaked in reds and browns and yellows, is truly the source for the Lodge’s name. Restored pine floors hold notches and whorls from the original trees, and the heavy brocade fabric lining the walls in between the doors makes the floor feel warm and residential. Someone’s music is bumping loud enough to make the sconces shake.

A door opens and Felicity and Russ emerge, their quiet giggles filling the hall. When the pair notices us approaching, Felicity’s face flushes to match her hair.

“Oh! H-hi!” She waves with one hand while batting at a clingy Russ with the other. She looks adorably flustered, while Russ is openly beaming. I don’t know whether to feel sympathy or laugh.

Nick doesn’t miss a beat. “Felicity, how are you feeling?”

Russ leans in, nuzzling her neck. “Yeah, Flick, how are you feelin’?”

Her eyes grow wide as saucers and she shoves him away—a bit too hard. He flies back so high he hangs suspended in the air for a second before landing in a crouch on the other side of the hall.

While she gasps in horror and apologizes, Russ laughs uncontrollably, barely managing a response. “That enough answer for you, Nick?”

“I can answer for myself, thank you!” Felicity marches up to us with as much dignity as she can muster. “I’m fine, Nick, thank you for asking. Just not”—she glances back at her Squire, who’s on his feet with a wide grin—“totally used to the strength yet.”

“Me neither,” Russ calls, striding over to us.

“And Lamorak had a temper, we’ve discovered,” Felicity adds. “Not my favorite inheritance in the world.”

“Are y’all okay?” Nick raises a brow. “Not fighting each other, are you?”

“No.” Felicity blushes. “Not exactly…”

Nick opens his mouth, sees Russ’s barely suppressed laughter, and his cheeks tinge pink. “We’ll see you downstairs for dinner.”

“Yep!” Russ loops an arm around his Scion’s shoulder.

The two of them descend the stairs quickly and Nick gestures to keep walking. We stop at a room labeled 208, and he produces a key from his pocket. “I never use it, but my father keeps this room here for me.”

“Why don’t you use it?”

He shrugs, pushing the door inward. “Living here would send a certain message.”

I begin to ask what he means, but the sight of his bedroom, and the realization that that’s where he wants to talk, temporarily shorts my brain.

The room is large enough to comfortably fit a full bed, a dresser, a chest of drawers, and a trestle desk without sacrificing open floor space, which is more than I can say for my dorm. I wonder if all of the rooms in the Lodge have a similar layout, with similar furniture. The ones occupied by other members probably aren’t decorated in sailor-themed blue-and-white stripes, with an anchor-shaped rug at the foot of the bed.

Lord Davis had definitely taken a trip to Bed Bath then he visibly forces himself to relax. I realize I’ve been watching him do a version of the same progression since we’ve met: anger, restraint, resignation.

“No one, not even the Regents, thought I’d be Called. My renouncement was symbolic. Political. A child’s protest. And it will take symbolic and political steps to restore the kingdom’s, and the Table’s, faith in me. To own the title in full.”

Before last night, the odds had been in Nick’s favor. Two hundred years since anyone in his Line had needed to step up to the plate, or had the power to. I see it now. The desperation in his face is for me, but it’s for himself, too. The road ahead is long, and the bridges burned.

“What happens to you if… if…”

He sits on the room’s window seat with a sigh. “If I am Called and Awakened, I’ll inherit Arthur’s strength and wisdom. And I’ve been trained for that moment since I could walk. If the Shadowborn army is rising, I won’t let my friends fight it alone.”

“And the Abatement?”

His face turns grave. “My father says focus is death’s most precious gift.”

“Death doesn’t give gifts.”

“Tell that to a Scion.”

I nudge his foot and he shifts over so that we can share the seat. “You don’t want to lead.”

He answers without meeting my eyes. “Never have.”

“Don’t want the glory?” I lean into him. “Don’t want to be a king?”

He turns to me then, eyes serious. “Bree, if I get all of that, it means that Camlann is inevitable. I don’t want the world to need a king.”