“He’s conducting an experiment,” I said. “Part of a nutritional study he wants to present to WHO.” She looked skeptical, so I continued. “It’s to show what an unhealthy diet can do to a person in good health, even a royal.”
“He told me he wants sticky toffee pudding for lunch,” she said.
“Sticky toffee pudding is food of the gods,” I said, thinking—Artie doesn’t even eat sweets.
“No, I mean he wants it for lunch. A whole one. And nothing else.”
I kept my expression neutral. “I’ll talk to him,” I promised, and she left, shaking her head.
Nothing had immediately happened after Arthur drank the milkshake, and I could see I was irritating him by standing there and looking at him, so I withdrew to my own study where Lady Kay had set up a command post to launch the ocean clean-up initiative she called ODAAT, One Drop at a Time. She had agonized over the name of her organization, since there was already a highly rated and effective charity called the One Drop Foundation, but in the end, she’d gone with it, and there was already a whole array of ODAAT apparel available on her website. “It’s not a cause until it has a t-shirt,” she said. The t-shirts were nice, I had to admit, and I’m picky about t-shirts. Like chefs perfecting their art by making the perfect roast chicken or fluffy omelette, a designer should have to design a comfortable, well-fitting tee before she or he is allowed to call themselves a designer.
We were taking a break when Artie knocked. “Sorry to bother you,” he said. “but I seem to have misplaced the Red Box.” Lady K raised an eyebrow, but I replied as if misplacing the dispatch box was an everyday occurrence.
“I believe Gawain has it,” I said. He and I had been going through the documents inside in Arthur’s “absence,” and I knew that Gawain was in his office, steadily working through the briefing materials.
“Right,” he said. “Of course, he does.” With a nod to Lady Kay, he moved off.
“He could use a shower,” she said.
Apparently, Arthur had come to the same conclusion because when I next saw him, his hair was still damp, and he smelled fresh instead of like soured milk.
“Have I been sick?” he asked me as he flung himself into a chair in our bedroom.
“Yes,” I said, and hoped he would not ask for details. He frowned but changed the subject.
“Gawain says the French president is coming for a visit next week and we’re hosting a state dinner.”
“Yes,” I said. Plans were already in place, although Chef Melendez was still hashing out the menu.
“I’m so looking forward to meeting with her,” he said. “She has some bold ideas.”
“Bold” was Arthur’s favorite four-letter word. But it suited him. Once he shook off the effects of the curse he’d been under, he stepped up to claim his power and outline his agenda for the nation. It included everything from implementing high-speed train systems to making strategic alliances with emerging nations. He even implemented a way for animal shelters to match dogs and cats with potential owners, using an app that worked something like the organ donor alert system. Artie was crazy about animals and there was a whole menagerie of them at the castle, all of them either rescues or gifts. Once, when a new puppy was suffering from separation anxiety, he held a meeting of his Privy Council while holding her on his lap. “Highly irregular,” Pellinore groused at the time, but everyone else thought it was endearing.
He turned that charm on members of Parliament who were skeptical about some of his ideas, and the sheer force of his will united them in his cause.
It was thrilling being around him, seeing him at his best. Seeing everyone around him bringing their A-game. Even the sex was better.
The first state dinner we hosted was a rousing success. Chef had outdone herself with her inventive take on traditional British cuisine. Our guests were vegetarians, so she’d whipped up non-meat versions of classics like Yorkshire pudding to accompany her balsamic-roasted asparagus, three-onion soup, and savory Napoleons with mushrooms. Her version of an English Trifle was triumphant, and at Arthur’s request there was sticky toffee pudding. He’d emerged from his curse with a new-found appreciation for desserts.
I was seated next to the President of France while Artie was seated next to her husband and it turned out we had a lot in common with them on the personal level. Severine was one of those impressive women who always make other people feel like they’re frittering away their lives doing something unimportant. When she was still an undergraduate, she had invented a method for increasing crop yield in drought-resistant grains. But she in addition to being formidable, she was a warm-hearted extrovert who dabbled in photography, took in stray animals, and enjoyed cheesy action movies. Her favorite actor was Cyril Raffaelli, who I always thought looked like Jason Statham’s younger brother. Which is no bad thing.
Like me, Severine had grown up in a single parent household, although her mother had a much more glamorous job—working as the “nose” for a boutique fragrance company. I told her how much my mother liked very perfume now that she wasn’t working at the hospital and could wear it, and apologetically admitted I didn’t know the scents her mother had crafted. She waved off my embarrassment. “You wouldn’t have,” she said. “They don’t export any of their perfumes.”
“Because they don’t think anyone but a Frenchwoman should wear them?”
“Something like that,” she laughed. “So silly.”
Over dessert—she sampled bites of both the trifle and the sticky toffee pudding—Severine told me about her brother, a virologist working for WHO, who was also apparently working his way through Switzerland’s supply of eligible males.
“He is,” Severine said fondly, “a man-whore.”
“We have a few of those at court ourselves,” I said. “Not to mention any names.”
She looked around the table speculatively and smiled in appreciation. “I think he would like to visit Camelot to discuss viruses and plagues,” she said.
“We have plenty of guest rooms.”
She giggled and it was infectious. I could see a few of the older royals giving us the side-eye but ignored them.
Chapter 10
For a while, Camelot was not just a place, it became a state of mind and it was glorious while it lasted. The first anniversary of Arthur’s rule was marked by a huge charity concert, headlined by Taliesin, a Celtic Thunder-like group whose biggest hit was a ballad called “Pendragon.”
Arthur launched his “22nd Century initiative,” an ambitious project designed along the lines of China’s Belt and Road Project and Saudi Arabia’s “Vision 2030.” Agravain gave the initiative its unofficial motto with an indiscreet remark to an American news outlet, saying the aim of the initiative was “Evolution without executions.” Needless to say, there was some diplomatic push-back over that, and Bors was kept busy shuttling back and forth between countries providing spin control.
Chez Cherie was now firmly in the hands of my former partners, who’d bought me out shortly after my wedding. I created a new non-profit called Charity Clothes Collection, donating a hundred percent of the profits to a raft of causes. I also joined Lady Kay’s “Council of the Ladies,” a sort of combination book club and suffragette society that empowered the spouses of Camelot—men and women—and supported them in their individual causes and concerns.
I was content. The kingdom was at peace, except for a little strife on our border with the Red Lands, and that little skirmish was mostly being fought on the cyber front with ransomware attacks and hacker mischief.
Unemployment was low and the people were enjoying a level of prosperity unseen since before Brexit. Thanks to a heavy infusion of funds dumped into medical research, British scientists had developed a medicine that not only cured diabetes, it reversed the kidney and heart disease associated with it. Arthur was particularly pleased by that. His foster father Ector—Kay’s father—had died of diabetes-related complications the summer after we’d married.
O
nce relegated to the status of former colonialist super-power, the nation was bouncing back, suddenly relevant on the world stage again.
But that all changed when Mordred arrived.
No one had told me about Mordred—and his existence had successfully been hidden from social media—so when I ran into him on my daily walk on the castle walls, I had no idea who he was and assumed he was one of Arthur’s young military commanders.
He was leaning against one of the parapets in the iconic James Dean attire of blue jeans, white t-shirt, and black leather jacket, furiously smoking a Marlboro. He was model handsome, with hair so dark it looked dyed and piercing blue eyes.
The cigarette smelled good in the cold air and though I rarely smoke, after a quick scan of the area to make sure there were no tourists around, I said, “Can I bum one of those?”
He smiled and shook one out of the packet, then lit it for me with a cheap plastic souvenir lighter that had a picture of the castle on the side.
I took a drag. It was the first cigarette I’d had in months and the taste was harsh at first, but instantly soothing. We smoked in companionable silence for a bit and then he said, “You don’t know who I am.” It wasn’t a question.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m still trying to learn the seating chart.” He smiled and his teeth seemed very sharp and white. I wondered if he was a wolf shifter. I knew that Gareth specifically recruited them for the protective detail.
“I’m Mordred,” he said.
“A pleasure to meet you,” I said.
“Arthur’s son.”
The English have an expression, “gobsmacked.” It means to be totally and completely blindsided by something. To say that I was gobsmacked by Mordred’s declaration was an understatement. But if there was one thing I’d learned since meeting Arthur; it was how to keep a poker face.
“The Firm has done a good job of keeping it out of the public eye,” I said, using the royals’ somewhat snarky nickname for the whole apparatus of the monarchy.
“I keep a low profile,” he said.
“I’d love to know your secret,” I continued as if he hadn’t just dumped an atom bomb in my lap. “If I so much as take a pee more than once a day, somewhere, someone is leaking the information to the press, along with a photo of the toilet.”
“It’s all smoke and mirrors,” he said. “Misdirection and magic.”
“Are you one of Emrys’ pupils?”
He laughed at that. “Goddess no.”
Goddess? So, he was a pagan. Curiouser and curiouser.
“But you practice magic.”
“How could I not?” he asked lightly, since Morgaine is my mother.”
I felt a sudden heat from the shadow ring under my skin and a crack suddenly appeared on the shiny surface of the black tourmaline ring I wore on my right hand. Emrys’ charms weren’t holding. I struggled to maintain my neutral expression, but I don’t think the best actor could have kept their face blank after that little revelation.
“Arthur never mentioned me?” Mordred asked in mock solicitude. “Awkward.”
“Well,” I said, ready to move on. “Thank you for the cigarette.”
“Are you going into breakfast?” Without waiting for me to reply, he threw the rest of his cigarette over the parapet and took my arm. Under the pretext of stubbing out my own smoke, I tried to pull away and found I couldn’t. A little stab of alarm ran through me.
“I’ve already eaten,” I said. He just smiled wider.
“Please let go of my arm.”
He did. “Mother says Emrys is tutoring you in the arts of magic.”
How did Morgaine know that?
“She’s very well-informed,” I said, “for someone who hasn’t been at court in months.”
“She finds the damp weather unpleasant,” he said. “She’d much rather winter in Botswana.”
I find her unpleasant, I thought. Poor Botswana.
“Too bad her skills don’t extend to weather-working,” I said, just to be nasty. His eyes narrowed at that.
“You have no idea what her skills are,” he said. “But you will soon.”
That sounds like a threat, I thought.
“More of a promise,” he said, and then smiled even wider when he saw my reaction to his mind-reading trick. “She doesn’t like you very much.”
I shrugged. “I don’t like her much either.”
“I’ll tell her you said so,” he said, eyes dancing with mischief.
“I doubt seriously she would be surprised,” I said, though secretly I was wondering what had possessed me to be so indiscreet. Blurting out that confession had been a huge tactical error and I knew it would come back to haunt me.
I’m not sure how our conversation would have ended if Gareth hadn’t suddenly appeared from one of the tower doors.
“Majesty,” he said, inclining his head. “Shove off Mordred,” he said.
“I’m gone, cousin,” he said, and vanished.
Literally vanished. I looked at Gareth. “Cousin?”
“It’s complicated,” he said. “My mother’s Morgaine’s sister.”
“I did not know that.”
“They aren’t close,” he said. “Haven’t even spoken for years.” A crack of thunder followed that last statement and for some reason I shivered. The storm that was coming seemed almost too prophetic.
***
“I met Mordred today,” I said when Arthur and I returned to our residence after a small birthday dinner for Pellinore, who was headed out on another hunt for the Questing Beast the next day. I didn’t want to ambush Arthur with the topic, but there’s no way you can sneak up on a conversation like that.
“Ah,” he said and moved to the little bar in the corner of the living room. “Would you like a brandy?”
“Yes,” I said. He poured a generous amount into each of two balloon glasses, then brought them over to the love seat where I was sitting.
“Mordred,” he said, as if he couldn’t quite recall ever hearing the name before.
“Your son,” I prompted. “He was here this afternoon but apparently he has a talent for teleporting, so who knows where he is now.”
‘It’s not actually teleporting,” he said. “It’s more like—”
“Arthur, I don’t really care about the nomenclature. What I’d really like to know is why you never mentioned you had a son.” I paused for emphasis. “By Morgaine.”
He started to say something, and I cut in. “And if you say, ‘it’s complicated,’ I swear to you I will smash this glass in your face.”
‘I deserve that,” he said. “But it really wasn’t as simple as it sounds.”
“Having sex with your cousin and fathering a child seems pretty straightforward,” I said. “Though maybe they do it differently in England.”
He ignored that, but said, “I wasn’t brought up in court, as you know. Didn’t even know I was a royal until I pulled Excalibur out of the stone.”
“I’ve heard the story,” I said.
“And one day, when I was on the boat fishing with my foster father, we saw this beautiful redheaded girl floating on a bit of flotsam, half-dead from exposure.”
“Like a mermaid,” I said.
“Exactly,” he said. “She was an absolute vision.”
“Again, I don’t need the details,” I said.
A muscle in his jaw jumped. He was getting angry. And he really didn’t have the right to be angry with me.
“She told us she’d been on a school cruise and the ship had run into foul weather. She told us the ship had wrecked against a reef offshore.”
“And she was the only survivor?”
He nodded. “She guided us to the place where the boat had gone down and we saw the wreckage. And the bodies.”
How many people did she kill to set up this little scenario, I wondered.
“She said she had amnesia, and claimed to have no memory of her family, so it seemed only natural to give her Kay’s room while the a
uthorities searched for her parents.”
“Where was Kay?”
“At uni.”
“Does she know about Mordred?”
“No. We decided to keep it secret once we found out who she was and what she wanted.”
“And how did you come to that understanding?”
Arthur’s anger flared then. “You needn’t be so shirty with me Guinevere. I am sure there are things you’ve done you wouldn’t like me to know about.”
“I never had a secret child,” I said, trying not to feel guilty about not telling him I was the daughter of a witch. This conversation was not about me.
“I was thirteen,” he said.
“So, she raped you?”
“I was enchanted with her. By her. Magic was involved.”
Magic and hormones, I thought, but didn’t say it out loud.
“Ector found us together one night and it was obvious what we were doing. He was furious. Told her to get out of my room and pack her things. He was going to take her down to the police station and have them deal with her until her parents could be found. She laughed and told him it was too late, that I’d already put a baby in her belly. Then she changed shape. The last thing that changed was her eyes. They went from warm brown to that steely gray and I’d never seen anything more chilling.”
“Then she left?”
“She stole one of the fishing boats and sailed away. We never saw it again.”
“Ector must have been livid.”
“that was one word for it. I don’t think he spoke a word to me until Kay came home for Christmas.”
“How involved have you been in your son’s life?” I asked.
“He’s a stranger to me.”
“Yet he’s here.”
“I didn’t know that until Gawain told me this afternoon.”
“Is it the first time he’s been to Camelot?”
“He was here once before,” Arthur said reluctantly. “Right after he was born. Morgaine wanted to show him off to Uther, wanted him to meet his grandson.”
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