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She walked to the window and stared at the spray of the fountain in the courtyard, as if its healing waters could calm her ragged nerves.

She faced the two knights whose eyes locked with her own.

“Just before my father died, I had a sighting . My stepmother and a dark wizard with the yellow eyes of a snake were standing beside my bedridden father.” She shuddered as the icy numbness of wolfsbane shivered up her limbs.

Issylte turned to Tristan, seated at the table, and Lancelot, sitting on the edge of the bed. “In the vision, I saw them poison my father.” Her voice hoarse with grief, she spat, “And two weeks later, we received word that the king of Ireland was dead.”

Shaking, pacing, she recounted her most recent sighting. “A few days ago, when I was with one of my former patients, I had another vision.” She wiped her hands on her dress to calm their trembling. “Of a hideous dwarf with piercing black eyes.” The memory sent a wave of nausea rolling through her.

“He was with the dark wizard and the queen, hovering over a bed-ridden king. Just like when I saw them beside my father’s bed in the earlier vision. But this king I did not recognize.”

Issylte wrung her hands, her heart racing.

“The wizard gave the queen a vial. She added drops to a chalice. and made the king drink, just as she had done to my father.” Issylte locked eyes with Tristan, seated before her.

“This king I did not recognize… Could it be your uncle , Tristan? Could the wicked queen who murdered my father now be poisoning King Marke of Cornwall?”

Lancelot and Tristan exchanged quick glances, then looked back at Issylte, who sat down at the table and whispered, “I saw the same dwarf in a second vision .” The atmosphere in Tristan’s room shifted, as if Frocin’s dark presence hovered, lurking in the shadows.

“He held a prisoner—a pregnant woman—high in a tower, hidden in a dark forest. She was desperate to escape, peering out a window above the trees, as if she wanted to jump.” Issylte rubbed her arms, warding off an evil frost. “The dwarf entered the woman’s room.

She recoiled in terror. He stared directly at me.

He could see me watching him. His black eyes were empty, cold…

evil .” Issylte buried her face in her hands, shivering uncontrollably.

She looked up, her eyes widened with fright.

“I told Gwennol—the woman I was with—about the vision. She said it must be Frocin, for he has a fortress with a tower. And it’s hidden, deep in the Forest of Morois.

On the outskirts of Cornwall, where she is from.

” Issylte turned to Tristan. “This must be the same dwarf that is allied with Indulf, the knight who denounced you. And claimed your victory.”

Nodding, his face livid, Tristan turned to Lancelot.

“There is more,” the White Knight said gravely, standing to face Tristan and Issylte, who exchanged quick, uneasy glances.

“A royal wedding between Cornwall and Ireland will take place in the castle of Tintagel after a year,” he announced with a smirk, “allowing a sufficient period of mourning for the widowed queen. And, as King Marke’s new champion, Indulf has received a title of nobility, becoming the new Earl of Dubh Linn.

With the dwarf Frocin as his loyal ally. ”

Lancelot spat, “They plan to resume the slave expeditions that had been so prosperous to the Irish crown before the death of the Morholt.”

Issylte shuddered with horror.

The White Knight turned to Tristan. “But now, with the queen betrothed to King Marke of Cornwall, the attacks will focus on the coast of France. They’ll assault Bretagne, Armorique, Normandy. Even Anjou and Aquitaine.”

Tristan’s jaw clenched with rage.

Lancelot sat down to face him, his voice scarcely above a whisper. “A second wedding will also take place at the castle of Tintagel, with the blessing of King Marke.”

At this, Tristan raised an eyebrow.

Lancelot’s voice was barely audible. “Indulf, the new Earl of Dubh Linn, will marry Elowenn, Vaughan’s younger sister.

” Lancelot sighed, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Her family is delighted to be elevated to a position of royalty. Which they’d hoped to achieve by marrying Elowenn to you.

” His lip raised in scorn, the White Knight smirked, “Needless to say, everyone is thrilled with Indulf’s new title of nobility and the appointed lands.

They look forward to both weddings with great anticipation and celebration. ”

Tristan was on his feet again, pacing with impotent rage. “I am banished from Cornwall. My name is ruined , and my uncle is blind to the truth. Lancelot, what on earth can I do?”

At that moment, Viviane entered through the open door, her smile disappearing as she absorbed the tension in the atmosphere and the distraught faces of her son and his companions, who were deep in conversation.

“I am sorry to intrude,” she said quietly, “I simply wanted to welcome Lancelot back and say hello.” She met her son’s anguished eyes. “Is there anything I can do?”

Lancelot stood to kiss his mother’s cheeks, offering her his chair. “I bring bad news from Cornwall.” After seating Viviane, Lancelot leaned against the wall and shared with her what he’d just told Tristan and Issylte.

Issylte explained how she’d described her most recent sighting— the poisoning of a king, a pregnant woman held hostage in a tower, the penetrating black eyes of the dwarf. How Gwennol had named the infamous dwarf Frocin.

Viviane listened intently and pensively, yet remained quiet, as the three resumed their discussion.

Tristan began pacing anew. “Indulf. And Frocin. Those two have plotted against me ever since the Tournament of Champions.” He glared at Lancelot, exhaled with disgust, and plopped down on the edge of his bead. “Their first attempt failed, but now… they’ve succeeded. They’ve destroyed me.”

Issylte looked inquisitively at Lancelot. He pulled up the sleeve of his tunic to reveal the same tattoo on his inner wrist that Tristan had shown her when the nightingale had fetched the églantine.

“This is the mark of the Tribe of Dana,” the White Knight began, tracing the tattoo with his finger. “A band of warriors sworn to defend the sacred elements of the Goddess. And the entire Celtic realm.”

Issylte remembered the little bird with the wild rose in its beak. “Yes,” she replied, “Tristan told me about the Tribe, and his gift— l’herbe d’or —which allows him to speak to birds.” She smiled at the sea raven warrior.

Lancelot nodded, his dark brown waves tumbling into his face. He pushed them back with calloused hands, locking eyes with hers. “It also allows him to communicate with wolves .” Issylte widened her eyes in surprise. She glanced at Viviane, who appeared equally intrigued.

“One afternoon, in Camelot, we Knights of the Round Table were competing in a hunt,” he explained, glancing at his friend. “In the forest, a wolf appeared to Tristan, warning him that Frocin and Indulf were waiting just up ahead in the trees. Ready to ambush him.”

“Fortunately,” Tristan interjected, “Lancelot led our group of hunters in the opposite direction. A few minutes later, we heard snarling and growling. Horrific screaming. A pack of wolves had attacked and killed a man—one of Frocin’s mercenaries.

Identified by the dwarf’s coat of arms on the victim’s shield. ”

From his seat on the bed opposite Issylte’s chair, Tristan said softly, “I was most grateful for the golden herb that day. The wolves of Morois saved my life.”

Tristan looked back at Lancelot and smirked, “Indulf and Frocin failed that day in the forest, but they’ve succeeded now.

” He leaned forward on the bed, raking his fingers through his hair.

“I’m banished by my uncle— my king . I’m stripped of my title as Champion of Cornwall.

I’m no longer heir to King Marke’s crown.

I‘ve lost everything .” Lowering his face in grief, Tristan tore at his thick, chestnut locks, rocking on the edge of the bed in frustration and rage.

He fixed his gaze on Lancelot, leaning against the wall.

“Since I cannot return to Cornwall, I must return with you to Camelot.”

Lancelot cast sorrowful eyes at Tristan, then his mother, and finally Issylte.

“That is impossible.” At everyone’s obvious bewilderment, Lancelot lowered his head in shame.

“You and I are both banished from King Arthur’s court.

” The White Knight dropped onto the bed beside Tristan, placing his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands.

Tristan stared at his friend in disbelief. “What do you mean? Lance, explain .”

Lancelot’s bleak face revealed despair, loss, and regret. “Frocin and Indulf have not only destroyed you, my friend. They have also destroyed me .”

The White Knight smiled sadly. “They have spread lies about my relationship with Queen Guinevere, claiming that I dishonor her with adulterous love in my heart.” His anguished eyes spoke volumes. “To prevent any harm to the queen’s reputation, Arthur has banished me from his kingdom.”

And, as if gathering strength to deliver the final, bitter blow, he sighed, “Out of respect for his ally, King Marke of Cornwall, who has accused you of treason and stripped you of all titles—King Arthur has banished you from Camelot as well.”

Bitter laughter erupted from Tristan. “What a pair of sorry bastards we are, eh, Lance?” he scoffed as he slapped his friend on the back. “Banished from our kingdoms. Homeless knights. Outlaws on the run.” Shaking his head in despair and rage, Tristan spat, “What the hell do we do now?”