Knight Hunted (The Return of the Queen Book 1)

by L. A. Grant

  Lance

  Countless battlefields littered the landscape of my mind, those felled by my blade creating the walls of bodies that kept all else away. That kept me safe.

  I was a knight of the Round Table. Or had been once, before my heart had led me astray.

  No. Not astray. Faced with an impossible decision, I’d followed my heart instead of my mind. Instead of honor.

  I’d always fought with honor, if I hadn’t always lived by it. But I’d always lived with heart. And I’d never shied away from either battle or life.

  But now? Standing outside Gwenhwyfar’s room? I hesitated in a way I never had before. I’d prefer to face a thousand impossible battlefields, to die by a thousand arrows, than to face this moment. But I had to face it, before we reached Avalon and any chance I had of talking with her vanished.

  Once they realized the queen had returned instead of the king, I doubted I’d be allowed to stay anywhere near her.

  I took a deep breath and almost knocked, but the door opened before my knuckles met the wood. Wane looked at me in surprise.

  “Lance,” he said.

  “Wane,” I answered. I wasn’t quite sure where Gawain and I stood. He was kind by nature. A scout who preferred the skies to the company of others. Except, perhaps, the company of Arlena.

  It was easier to think of her as Arlena now, and not Gwenhwyfar. She wasn’t mine. Gwenhwyfar had never been, either, if I was honest.

  Everything changed, and yet nothing did.

  “She’s just finishing getting ready,” he said, and I nodded.

  “You can come in,” she said from within, and Wane stepped out of my way.

  “She’s not the same,” he whispered to me before I could step into the room, “and she’s not yours.”

  “I know,” I whispered back. He held my eyes with his, and I added, “she only belongs to herself.”

  He nodded, satisfied with my answer, and headed up. I hesitated for a brief second before stepping into the room, amazed I hadn’t just bolted. I certainly wanted to run away.

  “Lance,” she said. She looked refreshed and wore new clothing – a black tank top and some fitted jeans. She’d combed her hair out, and it seemed even longer. No matter what she wore, she’d always look good to me. As a blonde or a redhead, she’d always win my heart.

  “Would you like to sit?” she indicated the two wingback chairs before the fire, as though not certain how exactly to treat me. I couldn’t blame her. I’d looked at her like a lovesick puppy at first, but then she’d chosen others. She hadn’t come to me first.

  It had hurt. Especially when she’d gone in Percival’s room.

  “This won’t take long,” I said and she nodded, remaining standing before me. She was beautiful. Hell, breathtaking. Her eyes shone with fire, more so than her hair. She was regal.

  And she wasn’t mine to keep. Now, I just needed to tell her a few things. Just enough to lay both our hearts at rest.

  In case this was goodbye.

  37

  Arlena

  Lance stood before me, blond hair windswept around his head, green eyes razor sharp. He looked uncomfortable, as though uncertain what to say but knowing he had to say something. I wanted to take his uncertainty away, but chose to just let him speak, instead. He was the one who’d gathered up his courage to come speak with me, after all.

  If he needed room, then I would gladly give it to him.

  “I loved you,” he said, the past tense surprisingly painful. “And I always will,” he added, “even though I don’t think you remember me, or feel more toward me than anyone else,” he looked at me, hopeful, like a little boy who’d waited his whole life to be told yes, only to be disappointed again.

  I could lie, but that would lead to more hurt down the road. And he deserved better.

  “I love you,” I said, voice soft, “like I love all of you. No more, but no less.”

  I feared I’d break him, but he simply nodded. It was the answer he’d expected.

  “I wanted to say I’m sorry,” he said, then held up his hand when I went to protest. “Not for anything I’ve done here, but for what I did back then. Please, let me just get this off my chest.” I nodded. He usually looked so strong, able to take on any foe. But now, he looked vulnerable. Afraid, as he laid his heart at my feet, that I might stomp it and destroy him.

  “I betrayed my king when I left Camelot with you, stealing away into the night,” he said. A piece of wood popped in the fireplace, but I kept focus on him. He was all that mattered. Only this moment. “I’ve learned to live with that betrayal, and I don’t regret the happy years we shared.”

  He gave me a smile, his eyes clouded with happy memories for a few moments before growing somber again. “When my king needed me for his final battle, I left you. And it was easy,” he swallowed hard, “to slip back into the mantle of a knight. As much as I loved you, I missed who I had been.”

  I wanted to hold him, and forced myself to stay quiet, to respect his wishes to speak uninterrupted, his pain filling the room like the mists wrapped around the hull.

  “And then we all died,” the words were like an arrow to my heart. I steadied my breath, afraid to interrupt him. “And you were alone, waiting for me to return. And I never did,” he swallowed hard, fought against the tide of emotions, then finished in a whisper. “In the end, I failed both you and Arthur, and don’t deserve a second chance.”

  This time, I didn’t fight against my instincts, crossing the floor and gathering him in my arms, holding him as he finally let go of years of guilt.

  “No one blames you,” I said, meaning every word, whispering them in his ear and willing them to find his heart, “you loved both of us fiercely and lost your head to that passion,” I held him more tightly, sensing his grief lessening with my words. I pushed on.

  “In the end, Lancelot, you showed up on the battlefield that claimed your life, and you made a difference. No one could hate you for that. For being so human, and so driven by passion, and love for two people. No. No one hates you. I don’t,” with those two final simple words, Lancelot’s body seemed to relax.

  He held me, and I held him back, the silence long and comfortable.

  After a few moments, he broke away from me and took my hand in his.

  “You are wise, as always, my queen,” he kissed my hand, lighting a fire that flooded my entire body. His clear eyes held mine captive.

  “If you find there is ever room in your heart for me in this life as well, I would gladly claim it,” his whisper made my heart beat faster. I thought he would kiss me, and would have welcomed it, but he let go of my hand instead.

  “In due time,” he ended, breathless.

  He bowed, opened the door, and left without turning back.

  38

  Percy

  I sat on my bed, cross-legged, trying to focus on the problem at hand. Merlin had taught me this meditation technique when I’d first returned to Avalon and tried to get control of anger I didn’t understand. The wizard, old even then, had forced me to sit still and try to “dive to the truth of the matter” and “pay attention to the stillness within you” for years before the truth struck me.

  An injustice committed centuries ago still stained my reincarnated heart. Justice had never prevailed, and the anger that Percival had died with long ago, after seeing everyone die, lingered to this new life.

  They all thought I was angry because it was who I was. And maybe part of it was. But the truth pierced much deeper. They all died before me on that final battlefield. I alone saw Arthur go down, taking Mordred with him.

  I heard Arthur’s last wish. To return to Avalon with his sword, Excalibur, magical blade of the kings. I tried to patch his wounds, but they were too deep.

  I closed his eyes and wept over his dead body. The battleground around me was littered with dead knights I had loved, the stench unimaginable, coating my very soul.

  And the anger at the very last word Arthur had spoken. Only he and I h
eld this secret. I’d never shared it with anyone else, unable to speak it. I’d died from my own wounds not long after, once I’d made sure that Arthur had reached Avalon safely.

  His last word had been her name.

  Gwenhwyfar.

  The longing. The pain. The love. Even with his dying breath, he’d wanted to be with her.

  He’d loved her so much. All she’d had to do in return was love him.

  I’d vowed to find her and destroy her. It wasn’t noble, and it wasn’t a knightly thing to do, but the king that I’d sworn oaths to was gone, and with it my knighthood had died.

  I didn’t live long enough to accomplish that vow. Its stain, however, had stayed with me, even in a new lifetime.

  But Arlena…she seemed different. She felt different. Not the queen I’d come to hate, but an independent woman, fierce and brave, stubborn and passionate…the thought of her destroyed any hope I had of meditating, my body twinging in anticipation.

  I stood, frustrated. Meditation was getting me nowhere. The answer I sought probably lay somewhere in the depths of my psyche. Did I simply refuse to remember her as she had been? Could she have been a powerful witch back then, and in my anger I’d failed to understand it?

  Maybe some fresh air would help, rather than these cramped quarters, with Arlena just down the hall, the scent of her bath pleasantly permeating the entire ship. I imagined her laying naked, still wet from the bath, red hair framing her face. Welcoming me.

  Shit. I really couldn’t get her out of my head.

  The door to Arlena’s room opened and Lance walked out, closing the door. He looked surprised to see me standing there, gawking toward her room. I focused on his eyes, the same pale green they’d always been, showing the same damned innocence that had made his virtue legendary.

  Some virtue.

  “Don’t give me that look, Percival,” he said. “I just wanted to talk to her.”

  “I really don’t care,” I said, then stopped him before he could walk into his cabin. I couldn’t pretend to be friends with Lance, not at this point. What friendship we’d had belonged to another life.

  “What do you want?” he growled, reminding me of the lion he’d once been allowed to become.

  “How did she seem to you?” I asked, ignoring his tone, making mine convivial. He looked suspicious, but answered nonetheless.

  “She seemed fine. Maybe a bit tired.”

  A useless answer from a useless man.

  “Does she seem…herself?” I forced myself not to look annoyed. I wasn’t annoyed at him so much as at me. But he’d known her better than any of us, and so the only person who could help me.

  Which annoyed me even more.

  “What are you asking?” he said, lowering his voice. At least he was smart enough for that. “She’s obviously Gwenhwyfar.”

  “Of course,” I said, and turned to go up the stairs, wishing I’d just crossed Lancelot and headed into her bedroom, instead.

  Lance’s lack of doubts quashed mine. He’d loved her above all else. If he didn’t know her for who she was, then I had to accept that it was indeed Gwenhwyfar, and that I simply hadn’t recognized her for who she truly was.

  And that I’d followed Lancelot down the same dark path and fallen in love with the queen.

  I growled deep and low in my throat. The future of Avalon wasn’t as secure as we’d all hoped it would be.

  Perhaps seeing Merlin before heading into the court of Avalon would prove wiser.

  39

  Arlena

  The sunset spread across the western sky before us, shades of purples and pinks captured by the mists, accentuating its shimmer.

  I loved this. The fresh air, the horizon filled only with nature, and no people. Only four people that I felt close to on board. I’d never felt this safe, and I’d never been this far. Wherever here was. Geography had never been my strong suit, but I doubted it mattered as the sky around us turned more golden.

  I stood, gaped at the mists which spread all around us. A land appeared before us, and the Dragon Dreams slowed and touched the water.

  “Where are we going?” Lance called to where Percy stood at the wheel. “The main docks are that way.” I followed where he pointed to the west, lush hills and forests hiding whatever lay there, save for one spired tower tall enough to stand above them all. Opalescent over the dark forest, its smooth surface reflected the sunset, sending rays down below to locations I couldn’t see from here.

  A silver patterned flag with blue background flew above, too far for me to make out its symbol. We drew farther away from it instead of approaching it, the tower fading into the background as we curved around the island to the East.

  Avalon. A land of legend. Of magic and sorcery. A place that shouldn’t exist.

  “We’re heading to see Merlin, first,” Percy said. “I want to know what we can expect.” A shiver gripped my heart at his words. “We’re not exactly coming home with our king.”

  He turned back, leaving me chilled. I wanted to go to him, to ask him what was wrong, but he’d turned away and effectively shut me out, putting up walls so thick that I feared I’d never breach them again. Yet I still felt so close to him. Like I could close my eyes and point to him, no matter where he stood. Why did he suddenly seem so mad at me again? Had I imagined his lips on my breasts, making me come so effortlessly? No, and I was sure he remembered, too.

  “Don’t worry,” Hayden said, standing beside me. “He always gets cranky when he feels like he hasn’t quite succeeded at a mission. Nothing to do with you.”

  I gave him a grateful smile and tried to focus back on the horizon, but couldn’t help but feel like the vanishing sun mirrored Percy’s dwindling affections for me.

  I was surprised by how much it hurt.

  40

  Lance

  Arlena walked quietly, hugging her coat to herself. I wanted to punch Percy. He’d given her whiplash, offering her affection and then yanking it away. Toying with her emotions like they didn’t matter.

  Her emotions mattered. They mattered to me.

  Percy stalked up ahead in wolf form, trying to locate the elusive wizard. Merlin moved regularly and used various spells to keep from being easily found, though we knights could pick up his scent thanks to our shared connection to Arthur. But we could only stalk him while shifted, something I could no longer do.

  The powers granted to you until death, or until you break oath to king.

  I could still taste the wind, sometimes. I could hear the slight scuffling of mice between leaves on the forest floor. I missed being a lion like I would miss the air.

  Like I’d missed Gwenhwyfar.

  She’d come back, but my lion form never would. Not without Arthur. Not without his willing acceptance of my bond again.

  Why would he? His queen had returned. He had no reason to trust me.

  Percy turned left and we followed, Arlena still quiet. Wane flew up ahead, trying to spot Merlin from up above. Hayden stayed near Arlena. He rarely transformed, that one. In all of my years of friendship with him, I’d seen him take bear form three times.

  And they were all memorable.

  We followed the silver wolf, and my anger toward him only grew as I spotted Arlena’s hunched back, as though she was trying to protect herself from further hurt.

  I’ll protect you, I’d promised, a lifetime ago. And I hadn’t done it then, nor could I do it now.

  What right did Percy have to hurt her?

  Every right, I knew, and that stung. And I hated myself for agreeing with him. His question from earlier came back to my mind. What had he meant, was she the same?

  I glanced sideways at Arlena, and couldn’t really see Gwenhwyfar. She’d been blonde, but a paler blonde than my hair, a perfect blond just on the edge of platinum. Her eyes had been a night blue, inescapable. Her heart had been passionate and loving, longing to be free.

  To be more than Arthur’s wife, forever waiting for her husband to give her a moment of his
time. Forever sleeping alone in a cold bed.

  No, Arlena didn’t really remind me of Gwenhwyfar, if I were honest. But it’s not like I knew who Gwenhwyfar had become after I’d left her.

  I’d left her. That still stung, regardless of my apology to her. It always would, a burden I had no choice but to bear.

  Percy growled gently up ahead, and we stopped. Wane landed in a tree branch nearby.

  The entire area seemed quiet. Too quiet. I reached for my sword.

  “Don’t you dare pull out that steel here, Lancelot,” the gruff voice rang across the forest like a thunderclap. I jumped.

  “Nice to see you, too,” I said sarcastically. I liked the old man, despite his grouchiness. He’d been the first to tell me I was forgiven, the last face I saw before dying.

  You will return to pay your debt, Lancelot.

  He’d made true that promise, and I didn’t mind. I hated how shunned I was by the other knights. I feared failing again. I’d hated how much Merlin pushed me more than the others.

  Because you were the best, and you will be again, if you get off your lazy ass and practice. I smiled at the memory, and then at the old man who stepped out of the forest, as though pulling away from a bush.

  With twigs and leaves trapped in his long, unkempt beard and hair, he might as well have been a bush. He possessed the strongest magic ever granted to a warlock, by all accounts, and the riches of kings, and yet he wore rags and lived in a hut in a forest.

  Grouch.

  “Merlin,” Percy said, stepping out from behind a tree, pulling his shirt over his head, “we’ve returned from our quest.”

  “So you have,” he said, looking at Percy with disinterest. We all knew better. Merlin saw everything.

  “And,” Percy hesitated for only a split second, but Arlena still flinched slightly, “we brought back the beacon.”