“To Galahad?” he almost growled. “How do you figure?”
I shrugged. “You weren’t shy about pointing to the fact that he attempted to fuck her. Or was your meaning different, and I made a mistake?”
He shook his head. “No, I believe he tried to... force himself on her which is why her magic burst through Mordred’s binding. She was only defending herself.” His hands fisted at his sideswhen he said the words, and the dragon within me began to blaze with heat.
“I’m suspending your champion’s rank. Temporarily.” I took a breath.
“Arthur—”
“—I have no other choice. You’ve forced my hand here.”
The silence stretched between us until he finally nodded. “I understand.”
He said the words the way he said everything that was difficult to say: flatly, like he was biting through rope.
“You attacked a man of the Table over a woman in my custody,” I said, feeling the need to explain why I’d made the decision I had. “The others need to see that no one is beyond accountability. Not even you...especiallynot you.”
“And Galahad?”
I looked outside the window at the courtyard with no one in it.
“Galahad,” I said, “is a problem.”
“He tried to fucking rape her when she was under your protection, Arthur. That alone should be enough.”
Destroy Galahad! Burn what he is. Let nothing remain.
The dragon’s voice was a low, continuous pressure behind my eyes that I’d had since dawn, since I’d come awake in the dark a day or so ago with the smell of char in my nose and the knowledge, bone-deep and sourceless, that something had been done to her.
“He says he didn’t try to fuck her.”
There was anger in Lance’s gaze and anger in the dragon. “And you believe him.” The flatness in Lance’s voice now had edges.
“I believe that I don’t have proof,” I let the silence stretch a moment. “There’s a difference.”
“Not much of one.”
“Quite a lot of one, actually, when you’re the man who has to make the decision.” I held his gaze. “If I could banish him tomorrow, I would. But the fact is that I can’t.”
Lance’s brow shifted. Barely. “You’re afraid of his following.”
“I’mawareof his following. There’s a difference there too.” I started to pace the room, feeling the agitation within me starting to get the better of me. “Have you been to Galahad’s chapel, the oratory, recently?”
“Not if I can avoid it.”
I nodded. “If you had been, then you would be aware of Galahad’s growing congregation.”
“What do you mean, his growing congregation?”
“I mean forty men at his morning hours, up from only a handful three weeks ago. I’ve had two guards miss Royal Chapel observances to attend. Such was when I realized Galahad is slowly becoming a problem.” I moved to the eastern window that overlooked the training yard: it was completely empty now, the morning light going yellow. “And did you notice that a handful of the guards were fasting at the last meal in the Great Hall?”
“I admit I didn’t.”
“Because you aren’t in the business of noticing. I am.”
“Regardless, Galahad should be stripped of his title and banished from Camelot.”
I shook my head. “If I banish him, those forty men don’t scatter. They organize, and they do so underground, where I can’t see them, can’t monitor them, and can’t control the narrative.” I turned back. “Don’t you find it strange that Galahad didn’t use his magic against you when you were reducing him to a pulp?”