Chapter Text
The late summer air hummed with music and chatter, the kind that drifted lazily over the smell of barbecue and freshly mown grass. Avalon High was back in session, and Allie Pennington’s backyard had somehow become the unofficial kickoff spot for the new school year. Fairy lights twinkled in the oak branches overhead, and the warm glow reflected off red plastic cups and paper plates piled with food.
Allie stood near the grill, her dad flipping burgers like this was some kind of royal feast. Her mom darted around with a camera, determined to document every moment — not of Allie, of course, but of Will Wagner, who was currently tossing a football with Marco across the yard.
“Allie, honey, can you get Will another soda?” her mom called, smiling as if the request were totally casual.
Allie rolled her eyes, but there was no real bite to it. “Sure, because clearly the Chosen One can’t use his own legs.”
Her mom didn’t catch the sarcasm — or maybe she did and just ignored it.
She grabbed a can from the cooler and made her way toward Will. He caught the football with a smooth ease that made everyone watching cheer. Even now, after everything last year — the revelations, the sword, the destiny — people still seemed to look at him like he was the one holding the magic.
Allie handed him the drink. “Here. Hydrate, oh mighty king.”
He laughed, a warm sound that made the air feel lighter. “Thanks, Lady Pennington.”
Her lips twitched. “Don’t start.”
But deep down, there was still that flicker — that tiny, unsettling hum in her chest that said the legends hadn’t settled yet. That maybe destiny had gotten the story wrong.
Her parents were by the grill, talking in low, excited tones. She didn’t have to listen too hard to catch her dad saying, “It just makes sense, Jane. He’s got the leadership, the heart, the sword chose him—”
Allie turned away, muttering to herself. “Yeah, except for the part where it didn’t.”
Because she still remembered that night — the lake, the blade’s glow, and how it had felt like it was listening to her. Choosing her.
As the sun dipped below the trees and laughter rose around her, Allie forced a smile. The school year hadn’t even started, and already, she could feel it — Avalon wasn’t done with them yet. And if her parents were wrong — if she was the one destiny wanted — this year, she was going to prove it.
Allie ladled bright red punch into a cup, the ice cubes clinking like tiny bells. The chatter around the yard had mellowed into lazy laughter and half-finished stories — the kind of comfortable noise that came when everyone had eaten too much and the sun had slipped behind the trees.
Marco and Miles made their way over, plates in hand and matching smirks on their faces. Marco plopped down on the edge of the picnic table.
“So,” he said, tilting his head toward the yard where Will was being surrounded by a small crowd of admirers. “Guess some things never change. The golden boy still shines.”
Miles chuckled, sipping his drink. “Yeah, even your mom’s fangirling over him. It’s like she’s his PR manager.”
Allie groaned. “Don’t remind me. I’m pretty sure they’ve got him penciled in for the Christmas card photo.”
Before either of them could reply, her mom’s voice rang out from near the grill, cheerful and commanding. “Everyone! Everyone, can I have your attention for a moment?”
The crowd quieted, people gathering near the porch lights. Allie felt Marco’s elbow nudge her. “Uh oh. Speech time.”
Her mom smiled brightly, clutching her glass like it was a microphone. “Thank you all for coming to celebrate the start of a wonderful new year at Avalon High. We’re so proud of all of you — the athletes, the scholars, the artists. But I have to give a little special mention…”
Allie’s stomach sank.
“…to Will Wagner. After everything he’s accomplished — leading the team, showing courage and heart when it mattered most — he’s truly an inspiration to us all. A natural leader. A born king.”
The words hung in the air, light and innocent, but they landed on Allie like a spark in dry grass. Marco’s eyebrows shot up. Miles shot her a sympathetic look over his cup.
Allie forced a smile, clapping half-heartedly with everyone else. “A born king,” she muttered under her breath. “Right. Guess that makes me… what? The girl with the punch bowl?”
Miles leaned closer, his voice quiet. “Hey, at least you look good doing it.”
She snorted, but her chest still burned. Her parents meant well — they always did — but every time they looked at Will, she saw it. The pride, the certainty. The belief that destiny had picked him.
But Allie knew better. She could feel it — the energy humming just beneath her skin, the invisible thread pulling at her every time the word Avalon was spoken.
This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
She raised her cup of punch and clinked it against Marco’s. “To the king,” she said dryly. “May he enjoy it while it lasts.”
Marco grinned. “That’s my queen.”
The smell of grilled corn and barbecue sauce lingered in the warm night air as everyone drifted toward the long folding tables. Plates clattered, laughter rose in bursts, and someone started playing a playlist from an old Bluetooth speaker that occasionally cut out mid-song.
Allie slid onto a bench between Miles and Marco, trying to ignore her mom still chatting animatedly with Will near the grill. Marco plunked a plate in front of her — loaded perfectly with everything she liked.
“Grilled chicken, not too saucy, extra mac and cheese,” he said, setting down a napkin like a waiter at a fancy restaurant. “And a piece of cornbread that I may or may not have fought a freshman for.”
Allie raised an eyebrow. “You’re seriously serving me food now?”
“Only for royalty,” he said with mock formality, giving a dramatic little bow before sitting down beside her.
Miles snorted into his drink. “Oh, this is great. Should I start polishing her crown or something?”
Allie leaned back, smirking. “Yeah, you might want to. Seems like everyone around here’s forgotten who actually runs the realm.”
“Tell that to Will,” Miles said, nudging her. “He’s got a fan club forming by the dessert table.”
Allie rolled her eyes and tore into her cornbread. “Let him have it. I’ve got better things to rule over — like who gets the last brownie.”
Marco handed her one wordlessly before she could even finish the sentence.
She blinked. “Okay, that’s either freaky or impressive.”
“Both,” Miles said. “He’s like your knight in shining Tupperware.”
They all cracked up, laughing so hard that Allie nearly choked on a crumb. It felt good — easy — the kind of laughter that pushed away the weight of prophecies and old legends, if only for a moment.
As they talked, the backyard lights flickered softly over everyone’s faces. Will threw his head back in laughter across the yard, surrounded by friends and parents. Allie glanced at him, her smile fading just a little.
She wasn’t jealous — not exactly. It was more like a quiet ache, a reminder that she was still standing in someone else’s story.
But when Marco leaned over to steal one of her fries and Miles started another ridiculous conspiracy theory about cafeteria pizza being “enchanted,” she found herself laughing again.
Maybe this was how it had to start — quietly, between friends, with jokes and too much food — before destiny came knocking again.
The hum of the party downstairs had faded into a low, distant murmur by the time Allie slipped away to her room. Fairy lights glowed faintly along her bookshelf, and the soft whir of her fan filled the silence. Marco was sprawled on her beanbag chair, pretending to scroll through his phone, and Miles sat cross-legged on the floor, fiddling with one of her old sketchbooks.
“I’m just saying,” Miles began, flipping through a page of doodles, “your mom’s obsession with Will is bordering on mythological. Like, if she starts weaving him a crown out of tinfoil, I’m calling for backup.”
Allie snorted. “She already bought him that ‘Future Leader’ mug last semester. The crown’s probably next.”
Marco grinned. “Don’t worry, Your Majesty. When your coronation comes, I’ll make sure the punch is chilled and the music slaps.”
“Gee, thanks, Sir Marco,” she said dryly, tossing a pillow at him.
A soft knock interrupted their laughter. The door creaked open, and Will stepped in, hands in his pockets, his usual easy confidence dimmed by something almost — careful.
“Hey,” he said. “Can we talk?”
Marco and Miles exchanged a look. Miles stood first. “That’s our cue. We’ll… uh, go make sure your mom hasn’t started knightin’ people in the kitchen.”
Marco gave Will a mock salute on his way out. “Play nice, Sir Will.”
When the door shut, the air shifted.
Allie stayed sitting on the edge of her bed, arms crossed, watching him. “If you’re here to say my mom’s right, you can skip it.”
He shook his head. “No. I’m here to say I’m sorry.”
She blinked. “For what? You didn’t tell her to say all that stuff.”
“I didn’t stop her either.” He hesitated, stepping closer. “You looked… uncomfortable. I should’ve said something.”
She looked down, fingers twisting the edge of her blanket. “Yeah, well. It’s not your job to manage my parents’ delusions.”
He frowned slightly. “Delusions?”
Allie met his eyes, and the air between them tightened. “They think you’re the king, Will. They think you’re Arthur. But they’re wrong.”
He took a step closer. “Allie—”
“No,” she said sharply, standing now. “You don’t get it. That sword didn’t answer to you. It answered to me.”
For a moment, the only sound was the fan’s steady hum. Will’s jaw tensed. “I don’t doubt you. I never did. But that night… the legends chose both of us. You were the Queen — the heart. I was meant to guard you, not overshadow you.”
Her breath caught, the truth of it burning somewhere deep in her chest. “Then why does everyone act like you’re the only one who matters?”
He looked away. “Because people like easy stories. Heroes with swords. Not queens who change the rules.”
The words settled heavy between them.
She took a slow step forward, her voice quieter now. “Maybe it’s time we remind them how the real story goes.”
Will’s eyes flicked up to hers, something fierce and unspoken passing between them — loyalty, guilt, maybe even something more.
“Then tell me what you need, Your Majesty,” he said softly.
And for a heartbeat, Allie almost smiled — not because she forgave him, but because for once, he said it like he meant it.
Allie crossed her arms, pacing a few slow steps across her room. The weight of Will’s apology still hung in the air, but her mind was already racing ahead — turning over ideas, frustration bubbling beneath her calm.
“Okay,” she said finally, glancing back at him. “If you really mean that — if you really want to help — then you need to start doing some… unkingly things.”
Will blinked, confused. “Unkingly?”
“Yeah,” she said, gesturing vaguely with her hands. “Normal stuff. Ordinary. Messy, dumb, human things. Because if you keep walking around looking like you just stepped out of some noble prophecy, my parents are never going to stop thinking you’re Arthur reincarnated.”
He raised an eyebrow, half amused. “Like what, exactly? Trip in the hallway? Fail a pop quiz?”
“That’d be a start,” she said with a smirk. “Maybe spill something on yourself once in a while. Or stop giving those ‘we must stand together’ pep talks before practice. You sound like you’re about to lead a crusade every time.”
He laughed quietly, running a hand through his hair. “You’re serious.”
“Oh, completely,” she said, though her tone carried a teasing edge. “Look, I can’t just tell them the truth. If I sit my parents down and go, ‘Hey, turns out I’m the one who’s supposed to lead Camelot 2.0,’ they’ll smile, nod, and book me a therapy appointment.”
Will smiled, but there was something careful in his eyes. “So your plan is to… disillusion them by making me look like an idiot?”
She shrugged. “More or less. Or at least make them see you’re not perfect. Kings aren’t supposed to burn grilled cheese or forget their locker combo.”
He laughed again, shaking his head. “You really think that’ll work?”
She gave him a pointed look. “I think it’ll be a start. And besides—” she paused, her voice softening just a touch, “it’s not about you looking bad. It’s about them seeing me differently.”
That made him quiet.
After a beat, he said, “You shouldn’t have to prove who you are, Allie.”
She looked away, her jaw tightening. “Maybe not. But I still have to make them believe it.”
He nodded slowly, a small, crooked grin forming. “Alright, Your Majesty. Guess I’ll start my campaign of unkingliness tomorrow.”
“Good,” she said, unable to stop her own smile from breaking through. “Start by sleeping in and missing homeroom. That’ll shock everyone.”
Will chuckled as he backed toward the door. “If Coach doesn’t kill me first.”
“Tell him your queen commanded it,” she called as he left.
The door closed, and for the first time that night, Allie let out a laugh — quiet, relieved, and just a little dangerous.
Moments after Will left, Allie sat down on the edge of her bed, the echo of his footsteps fading down the stairs. Her heart was still beating a little too fast, her mind replaying the look in his eyes — that strange mix of respect and regret.
The door creaked again, this time without a knock. Marco peeked his head in, Miles close behind him, both wearing matching expressions of we-know-something-happened.
“Well?” Miles said, stepping inside and flopping dramatically onto her floor again. “Did the noble knight fall to his knees and beg forgiveness, or are we declaring war at dawn?”
Allie let out a short laugh. “Neither. He came to apologize.”
Marco crossed his arms, leaning against her desk. “Huh. Didn’t see that coming. You okay?”
“Yeah,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck. “He’s… trying. But my parents— they’re still stuck on this whole ‘Will is the king’ thing. If I tell them otherwise, they’ll just think I’m jealous or losing it.”
Miles whistled low. “Parents, man. Always believing the guy with the jawline and leadership potential.”
Marco’s gaze softened. He stepped closer, crouching beside her bed so they were eye level. “Hey,” he said quietly, his voice steady and sincere. “Doesn’t matter what they think. I know who you are. We all do.”
Allie met his eyes, surprised by how serious he sounded. “Marco—”
He shook his head. “No. You listen, Your Majesty. You’re the one who keeps this whole crazy thing together. You saw the truth when the rest of us didn’t. You are the Queen — the one who’s meant to lead, not just follow. And I don’t need a sword or some glowing lake to tell me that.”
For a moment, the room went still. The soft golden light of her lamp reflected in Marco’s eyes, earnest and unwavering.
Miles cleared his throat from the floor. “Okay, wow. That was… borderline cinematic.”
Marco shot him a look. “Shut up, Miles.”
Allie laughed — a real one this time — and tossed a pillow at Miles. “He’s right, though. That was kind of a big speech for you.”
Marco grinned, shrugging. “What can I say? I’m loyal to my queen.”
She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks flushed all the same. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously devoted,” he corrected, leaning back with a smirk.
Miles groaned. “Great. Now I’m the third wheel and the court jester.”
Allie smiled, shaking her head as the warmth returned to the room. Whatever weird tension had been brewing between her and Will melted into the easy comfort of her friends’ presence.
They didn’t need magic or destiny to know where they stood.
And as the night grew quieter outside, Allie realized something simple but powerful — she already had her own round table. It just wasn’t the one history had written about.