The light was just starting to fade when we set up camp for the night.

This was another one of those times that I was blown away by how desolate the Dark Age world was. When I say 'set up camp', I don't mean that we pulled off the well-trodden path and into a nice clearing in the woods that existed for just that purpose. I mean, we simply just stopped travelling and set up a fire.

There was nothing that marked a dividing line between 'path' and 'camp' other than us just deciding this was where we were holding up. A thousand pounds on the table and the keys to a new Ferrari on offer, and I couldn't tell you the difference between this part of the wood and anywhere else we'd travelled through.

Basically, if Bors and Arthur wanted to run off and Hansel and Gretel my ass, I'd be stuck out here making a gingerbread house for the rest of my days.

There'd been no further sight nor sound of my Qi construct, so I had to assume Merlin had been right and poor Randy Roger had faded from existence. I idly hoped he'd gone out like the Cheshire Cat, with his dick being the final thing to fade from existence.

The experience seemed to have had quite an impact on Forca, though. He hadn't made to unseat me since. I guess if this wizarding thing didn't work out, I had a future career in taming wild horses.

Although, once Bors had talked me through all the daily chores I now seemed to have around keeping this bloody thing fed, clean and happy, I wasn't sure I ever wanted to see one again.

"If you want that horse to hate you, you're going the right way about it."

I paused in my vigorous brushing and glared over at Arthur. We'd still not spoken since the incident in the stables, and if he thought we were about to have some light horse-related banter and then everything was going to be okay, he was very wrong indeed.

He started to walk towards me, and I felt my body stiffen at his approach. If he noticed, he didn't show it. As he drew near, I hurriedly stepped back from Forca, giving him space to rest his hands on the beast. "Horses are much more sensitive to pressure than people realise. When you groom them, thinking about how you'd want to be massaged in their place is helpful. The idea is for it to be soothing and comfortable, not -" and he paused - "not whatever violent act of brutality you're committing here. May I?"

He held out his hand for the brush I was using. I had an impulsive moment where I wanted to throw it into the woods rather than hand it over. I managed to restrain myself.

Excellent, my dear. You really are showing impressive maturity lately. Clear personal growth. Well done.

I'd thought there was nothing worse than Merlin's incessant criticism and picking at me. Turned out I was wrong. Cheerleader Merlin was several magnitudes worse.

Arthur accepted the brush and took over the grooming. "Every horse is different, and some might even enjoy a firmer touch, but it's always good to start gently and watch how they react. If you notice your horse seems tense or tries to move away, it's a sign to ease up a bit."

Forca, that disloyal bastard, was clearly enjoying the Prince's attention. He whinnied softly and pressed against him, giving me the epic stink-eye.

"You should brush in the direction of the hair growth. It feels more natural and comfortable for the horse. Oh, and always be extra gentle around the face and legs. Those areas are particularly sensitive."

He was so absorbed in what he was doing that I didn't know if he was even talking to me anymore. "I've found that grooming is a great time to bond with a horse. It's not just about cleaning them but also about building trust and understanding. Grooming gently, we show them respect and care, strengthening our connection. If you would like, I can show you some techniques I use with Llameri. It's amazing how small changes in how we groom can make a big difference in how they feel and respond to us."

Are you fucking kidding me?! Since when did Arthur Pendragon, the Once and Future King, turn into some sort of soppy nature lover?

I could feel my feminine instinct to go all weak-kneed at this hitherto hidden personality trait at epic war with my white-hot anger towards him. If I wasn't careful, I was going to end up forgiving him . . .

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"I'm not sorry about what happened."

Well, that certainly helped.

Arthur's whole focus appeared to be on the horse, but every softly spoken word carried to me. "You have only known me since . . . my injury. But I hear others talk about how much I seem changed. Sometimes, I think I am on the mend, but others, I cannot see how to make it through the day."

His movement of the brush, coupled with the lilting tone of his voice, was almost hypnotic. "I have never been a good man. I know that well enough. Give me a sword in my hand and a group of warriors to command, and I doubt you'll find anyone better on the field of battle. Likewise, I am told I am fine company. Give me a drink and fire burning in a hearth and I can tell a fine tale. But as a man? No."

He paused Forca's grooming and turned to face me.

"I've cheated on my wife since the moment of our betrothal. I've bedded the wives of more than half the nobles at court, and none dare - at least openly - to call me to account. There are probably enough of my bastards running around Britain to raise my own army should I be so inclined."

The fire cast shadows across his face, giving his expression somewhat of a Satanic quality. More of a Fuesli depiction than Bosch, but, you know, the night was young.

"I've spent my life bending the rules and flashing a winning smile. And I'm always forgiven because I'm Arthur. But, no, that does not make me a good man. But, you know what, it does not seem to matter because I am the Once and Future King. I am the one who will bring peace to the land, not just now but forever. Isn't that a wonderful thing? And because of that, there seems to be no limit to the depths I can sink without censure as long as I have that fucking prophecy around my neck."

I was aware Bors had stopped what he was doing to hover at the edge of our conversation. Which of us he would protect if things went south, I wasn't sure.

"So, no. I don't apologise to you. I lost my temper and did something I would like to think was out of character. I hope others would tell you the same. I am not given to bouts of expressive violence. At least not off the battlefield. But I'm not sorry it happened. Because you need to know that is who I am. I have heard the servants chatter of the tales you spin of the deeds of King Arthur and Camelot from your own realm. They make for good stories. But I am not a fairy-tale prince. I am not the man you hope I will be. I am not a good man."

Our eyes were locked when he finished. It seemed it was my time to talk.

"You do anything like that again, and I'll kill you."

Arthur nodded. "I would expect nothing else."

That caused a flutter of unease. As somewhat of a connoisseur of invasive, destructive thoughts, I caught more than a touch of familiarity in his tone. In attacking me, Arthur hadn't attempted suicide by wizard, had he . . .

No. I squashed down that thought. I wasn't in a mental space to begin to forgive him yet. Let alone start to feel sorry for him. This wasn't even any sort of apology. It was basically, "I'm a dick. You got dicked on. Stop your moping. What did you expect? Prepare for more dick. From me. The dick."

I'd heard more than my fair share of this type of conversation over the years. And, to be honest, it usually worked on me. But that was the old Morgan. Not the one who could literally rip someone to pieces using only her mind.

"Do we have a truce?" He still sought to hold my gaze.

I didn't know what to say. Since arriving in the dark age, I felt like I'd been in a non-stop struggle for survival. Saxons. Dragons. Knockers. Angry Scotsmen. It'd been a lot. But the only time I'd ever really been afraid was when the Prince of the Britons had me by the throat.

I could sense Bors and Merlin, and maybe even Drynwyn and Wynebgwrthucher, wanted me to draw a line under it all.

To be a good little girl. To not make a fuss. Boys will be boys, after all, and you couldn't blame them for occasionally pulling pigtails. I'd been asking for it. Shake hands and move on. Be the bigger person.

But do you know what? I was so fed up with having to be the person who accepted shitty behaviour and excused it. Just because he was good in a fight, was a laugh to have a drink with, and knew which way to stroke a . . . a horse didn't mean he got a permanent free pass.

I was about to tell him all that when - looking into his eyes - I felt another tug of . . . something.

Fucking fragile men.

"My lord, I spoke harshly to you, and you reacted poorly. I'm not sorry for what I said, and you're not sorry for what you did. I doubt that's the stuff of a truce, but if you want to call it such, I won't argue."

I held out my hand. Arthur took me by my forearm. I held his eyes as I squeezed, pushing a little bit of Qi in that direction just to make my point.

"For me, I prefer to think we're both on notice. I'll watch my tongue, and you watch out for doing anything that'll get you incinerated. Again."

I saw little beads of sweat pop on his forehead. Maybe I was squeezing a little too tightly. I just didn't feel like stopping right now.

"All friends again?" Bors was at our side. He banged us both on our backs in a 'hail-fellow-well-met' kind of way. He was trying too hard to dispel the tension.

"No." I released Arthur's arm, and he did his best not to immediately rub it. "But I know how to groom my horse better now." I plucked the brush from the Prince's hand and turned away to focus on Forca.

Bors shrugged and led Arthur back towards their side of the fire.

Well done, my dear. I think you handled that very well, indeed. Honour to both sides, without anyone losing face. Excellent work.

"Merlin, mate. We need to talk ..."