Pain cut through Uther like a sword. Igraine had bore him a son at the cost of her life, but one night’s folly had left him with a bastard.
The dark-haired four-year-old looked nothing like golden-haired Arthur. Uther would suspect deception, but Hunith had left Camelot two months after that fateful night and was never heard of again. Until her neighbor arrived with the newly orphaned boy.
“I could say he’s my nephew,” Gaius said. “Train him to be a physician’s apprentice.”
Uther looked at the boy, eyes blue as a clear summer sky. “Arthur would benefit with a companion.”