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Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set

Page 82

by Jill Elaine Hughes


  I manage to pull myself together enough to finish what I want to say. “Phil, I guess what I’m trying to tell you is, you need to be grateful for the family you do have left. I was an only child, with no living grandparents and only a few distant cousins and an aunt that lived seven hundred miles away. When my mom and dad died, that was pretty much the end of my family. Pegeen is really the only family I have. Even if you did lose your mom and your sister, and even if Steve or your dad was partially the cause of that—they’re still your family. You should be thankful that you have family at all. I don’t, and I’d give anything to have what you do. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t wish I could have my parents back, even if it was only for a few minutes. You have a parent and a sibling living. And I’m willing to bet that your father and brother both care about you a great deal, whether or not you’re willing to admit it.”

  Syr Phillip hugs me for what seems like a very long time. Then he holds me out at arms’ length and gazes deep into my eyes. “Will it make you happy if I at least speak to them?” he asks. “I can’t guarantee that any reconciliation will actually happen, but if it will make you happy, I’ll at least give it a try.”

  I go to kiss him, and as I do, I realize I’m kissing away his tears, too. “Thank you, Phil,” I say and smile. “That would make me very, very happy.”

  Chapter 28

  About five weeks later, Syr Phillip and I are driving ourselves and Pegeen up to the Pennsic War (Pegeen’s boyfriend Arundel has already been there for three weeks, since he was part of the Middle Kingdom Royal Encampment Land Grab team) in Syr Phillip’s Lincoln Navigator. Pegeen and I are both taking two full weeks’ vacation from AC Delco for Pennsic. Although technically speaking, we both have enough paid vacation days coming to us, we didn’t exactly get Brad’s advanced permission to take it together. We’re both hoping that he doesn’t fire the both of us when he finds our vacation request memos on his desk Monday morning.

  Syr Phillip’s red Navigator is towing a U-Haul trailer full of armor, camping gear, royal household favors, and about eight tons of Crown Prince and Princess garb that we’ve received as gifts from Peers all over the kingdom—as well as the Middle Kingdom’s entire chocolate-chip cookie mercenary payment to the Great Dark Horde. There are also some large wooden boxes full of something we’re supposed to give the Tuchux, but Syr Phillip hasn’t been very forthcoming about what’s inside them. (It’s part of our responsibilities as the new Crown Prince and Princess to bear mercenary gifts on behalf of the kingdom).

  It’s normally a five-hour drive from Dayton to Slippery Rock, but with the heavy U-Haul slowing us down, it’ll be more like six. We’re somewhere past Akron and about to pull onto the Ohio Turnpike when Pegeen drops a bombshell.

  “Lisa, as your royal lady-in-waiting I need to tell you that I haven’t been entirely honest with you about something.” I glance over at her in the backseat, and then over at Syr Phillip in the driver’s seat. They’re both sporting very odd smiles.

  “What’s that?” I ask. Now Syr Phillip is stifling a laugh. “Is there something you aren’t telling me, Phil?” He just shakes his head and starts guffawing.

  “Okay, Pegeen, looks like at least Phil here knows what you’ve been lying to me about. Out with it.”

  Pegeen grins sheepishly and takes a long sip of her Big Gulp before answering. “Umm, I hope you’re not too mad about it or anything, but I sort of forswore you in as a member of the Great Dark Horde as my first officially sponsored Horde initiate. So that makes you the first sitting Crown Princess of the Middle Kingdom who is also an active Horde member—a secret member, of course. You’re going to have some additional. . . duties at the War because of that.”

  “What? You forswore me into The Great Dark Horde? Without my knowledge? What the hell, Pegeen?”

  Syr Phillip finally stops laughing long enough to chime in. “Well, Lisa, if you want to get technical about it, you sort of became a secret Hordeswoman by default when you became my most favored lady.”

  “Okay, just wait a minute,” I say. “I don’t understand. Pegeen, since when are you even in the Horde?”

  “I’ve been a committed Hordeswoman for almost two months.”

  “It’s true,” Syr Phillip says as he pulls the Navigator into the line of cars waiting to pass the Ohio Turnpike’s first tollbooth. “I was present for Pegeen’s swearing-in ceremony.”

  “And furthermore, like Syr Phillip, I’m a secret Horde member,” Pegeen goes on. “I don’t acknowledge my membership to any non-Horde members. But since you’re a secret member now too, Lisa, I can tell you. As your lady-in-waiting, it’ll be part of my job to assist you in fulfilling all your secret Horde duties and obligations while you’re serving as Middle Kingdom royalty.”

  Now I’m so stunned I can barely breathe. “Now wait just a minute,” I blurt. “How in the hell can both my boyfriend and my best friend be secret members of this kooky group? I have yet to fully understand what the Great Dark Horde even is, let alone why you guys—or anyone, for that matter—would want to be members. And furthermore, Pegeen, you had absolutely no right to do something as underhanded as to commit me to some kind of weird, lifelong duty obligation to an organization as freaky as the Great Dark Horde.”

  Pegeen sets down her Big Gulp and laughs. “Actually, I did have a right to do it. Don’t you remember our little agreement at Max & Erma’s a month or two ago?”

  “I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” I snap.

  “Actually, it has everything to do with it,” Pegeen replies coolly. “Considering the fact you agreed that I would help you with your little Horde spying task for Syr Phillip on the condition that one of us would join the Horde.”

  I lean in closer to Pegeen. “I don’t understand.”

  Pegeen flashes me a wicked smile. “Well, I was already a member of the Horde when we made the agreement. So, of course it’s only logical that you would be the one to join. And in all our years as friends, Lees, I’ve never known you to back out of a promise.”

  She definitely has me there. Still, it doesn’t change the fact that Pegeen took advantage of my ignorance at minimum, and my personal trust at maximum. “That was still a pretty underhanded thing for you to do, Pegeen,” I seethe.

  Now Pegeen and Syr Phillip both laugh.

  “Well, get used to that, Lees,” Pegeen chuckles. “The Horde by its very nature is a pretty underhanded organization. If it makes you feel any better, I got roped into it ass-backwards, too.”

  “How?” I ask, not exactly impressed. Pegeen’s been getting herself roped ass-backwards into harebrained schemes since we were both kids.

  “By Arundel, of course. He’s a secret Hordesman too. He forswore me in as a condition of carrying my favor.”

  “Calm down, ladies,” Syr Phillip says as we clear the tollbooth. “We’ve only got an hour and a half or so to go before we arrive at Pennsic. I suggest the two of you try to take a nap the rest of the way, because things are going to get pretty crazy pretty soon after we arrive. The first royal War Summit between the Midrealm, Aethelmarc, the Horde, and the Tuchux starts only an hour or so after we arrive on-site, and I need the two of you to be refreshed and ready to go. These War Summits can be very, very long and intensive. Or so I hear, anyway.”

  I think about pointing out the fact that the War Summit will be Syr Phillip’s first opportunity to reconcile with his father and brother is probably what will make it long and intensive for him, but I don’t. Instead I just lean my seat back into the reclining position and take a nap.

  ****

  I’m awakened a couple hours later when the Navigator starts bouncing around violently. I sit all the way up and look out the window, and am completely blown away by what I see.

  Syr Phillip is guiding the Navigator up a bumpy gravel road that ends in front of a long row of huge white tents. There is a gigantic banner—at least twenty feet long and ten feet high—flying from the top of one of the tents.
>
  In huge red-and-gold Gothic lettering, it reads, “WELCOME TO PENNSIC WAR XXXVI. TROLL BOOTH”. Then in smaller script below, it reads “PLEASE WAIT IN YOUR DRAGON UNTIL THE NEXT TROLL VOLUNTEER WAVES YOU IN.”

  Just beyond the troll booth is a hill. And covering that hill are more tents than I have ever seen in one place in my entire life. Thousands and thousands of tents, that seem to stretch on for miles. It’s a bona fide tent city.

  Syr Phillip notices I’m awake. “That’s Pennsic, Lisa. And if you think it looks big now, wait until the end of the first week. It’ll easily be three times as big by next weekend. This year’s Pennsic Mayor expects at least thirteen thousand people on-site by the end.”

  My jaw goes agape. “Thirteen thousand people?”

  Syr Phillip nods. “That’s right. And be thankful you’re royalty, Lisa. As Crown Princess of the Midrealm, you’ll never have to wait in line for a shower, something most of the common folk spend half their time at Pennsic doing.”

  I nod, but don’t reply. Somehow I think over the next two weeks I’ll get my first taste of just how good being kingdom royalty can be. As if to prove my point, a chubby middle-aged woman in a long white cotton tunic and sporting a “TROLL” badge around her neck toddles right past the seventeen or so cars and SUVs in front of us in line and heads over to the Navigator. She taps on the window, and Syr Phillip presses the automatic rolldown button.

  “Good morrow, gentles,” the woman sings into the car. “Might you be Phillip and Lisa, Crown Prince and Princess of the Midrealm?”

  “That would indeed be us, milady,” Syr Phillip replies, already taking on his chivalrous noble persona. “How did you know?”

  “King Fallon and Queen Marguerite told me to be on the lookout for a red Navigator with Ohio plates,” the woman explains. “I’m Countess Caroline Hightower, former Queen of Calontir. I’m the Deputy Mayor of Pennsic for Kingdom Royalty. If you will pull your dragon over to yonder red tent, you can bypass regular Troll, and our Royalty Pavilion will process you all in and then personally escort you to Midrealm Royal Encampment. Welcome to Pennsic, Your Royal Highnesses.”

  “This royalty thing really isn’t half bad,” I chuckle as Syr Phillip rolls up the window and slowly eases the Navigator over to the Royalty Pavilion.

  Within five minutes, we’ve signed all the necessary waivers and other paperwork, received our Pennsic site medallions, and are on our way towards the Midrealm Royal Encampment. Countess Caroline and a preteen page girl lead us down the Low Road, Pennsic’s main campground thoroughfare. Syr Phillip guides the Navigator and our U-Haul along behind them at about two miles an hour.

  “MAKE WAY! MAKE WAY!” Countess Caroline and her page shout ahead of us. “STAND ASIDE FOR THE DRAGON CARRYING PHILLIP AND LISA, CROWN PRINCE AND PRINCESS OF THE MIDDLE KINGDOM!”

  All the costumed passerby who have jumped off the road to lean against the scores of Porta-Potties lining it all curtsey and bow to the Lincoln Navigator.

  Syr Phillip taps me on the shoulder. “Wave and smile, Lisa. Wave and smile.”

  We do.

  Pegeen is still asleep in the backseat. I lean over to shake her awake. “Wake up, Pegeen. You really need to see this.”

  Pegeen groggily rubs her eyes and looks out the Navigator’s side window at the hundreds of bowing and curtseying SCA commoners. “Who are they bowing for?” she asks.

  “Us, stupid!” I shake her again; she’s still half-asleep. “Remember, you’re on lady-in-waiting duty now. Chop-chop.”

  Pegeen growls something unintelligible as Syr Phillip pulls the Navigator to a stop in front of a lavish gated encampment. Resplendent multicolored flags decorate the painted wooden gate, which is hung with red-white-and-gold lamé banners bearing the Middle Kingdom coat-of-arms. Two armored and armed sentries carrying real edged-steel swords and crossed spears guard the front entrance. No sooner do Syr Phillip and I step out of the Navigator are there at least fifty different SCA commonfolk—some of whom I recognize and some I don’t—all prepared to wait upon us hand and foot. Countess Caroline instructs Syr Phillip to hand over his car and U-Haul keys. “The Middle Kingdom royal volunteers will handle the rest,” she beams. “Meantime, go ye into yonder Prince’s Pavilion and rest from your hard journey.” Countess Caroline nods toward a twelfth-century style pavilion tent of blue-and-gold fleur-de-lis fabric. Its flaps are drawn and tied open with banners displaying Syr Phillip’s personal coat of arms; inside the pavilion I see a mahogany four-poster bed piled high with comforters, a matching mahogany wardrobe, a dining table with four chairs and a chessboard set up for play, and a beautiful purple satin chaise lounge.

  I guess kingdom royalty camps in style at Pennsic.

  Syr Phillip and I head straight for our pavilion. I kick off my sneakers and fall backwards onto the magnificent bed, which Syr Phillip and I are sure to put to good use over the next two weeks. Syr Phillip tinkers with the wardrobe and chess set, while Pegeen flops down on the satin fainting couch and immediate falls back to sleep. But not for long—Countess Caroline appears in our tent and her first action is to shake Pegeen awake.

  “I’m sorry, milady, but this pavilion is solely for the enjoyment of Their Royal Highnesses. You’ll need to leave.”

  “But—but, I’m Princess Lisa’s personal lady-in-waiting!” Pegeen protests loudly. “And I’m also the most favored lady of Arundel the Black, the Chief Land-Grabber for the Midrealm Royal Encampment!”

  “Ah,” Countess Caroline smiles. “You must be the lady Pegonia. Arundel’s pup tent is on the far side of the royal encampment. Follow me.”

  “Pup tent?” Pegeen whines as Countess Caroline leads her away.

  “I don’t think Pegeen will much like a pup tent,” I say, sighing back into the luxurious goosedown duvet of our royal bed.

  “I don’t think Pegeen and Arundel will much fit in a pup tent, either,” Syr Phillip replies wickedly. “But first things first. You and I need to get garbed for the War Summit, and fast. It begins in fifteen minutes. Where the hell is all our stuff?”

  As if on cue, a team of at least thirty kingdom volunteers carry the entire contents of our U-Haul into the pavilion. Within minutes, all our garb is in the wardrobe, all our royal gifts and accouterments safely stashed in heavy wooden trunks under the bed, and all the Horde and Tuchux gifts are tucked away in the royal treasury pavilion. And just as quickly as the royal servants unpack and stow everything, they disappear without a trace.

  “Wow,” I say. “Now that’s what I call service.”

  “I guess that’s where the expression ‘the royal treatment’ comes from,” Syr Phillip offers.

  “You guys ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” shouts a familiar male voice. Baron Grizzly and Baroness Barlonda pop their heads into our pavilion.

  “I see you guys got here okay.” Baroness Barlonda, already decked out in her fanciest houppelande, goes straight for the royal wardrobe. “Lisa, Your Royal Highness, we need to get you garbed for the War Summit in the next five minutes. You too, Phil. Both of you, strip right out of those mundanes so we can get this Pennsic show on the road. Oh and by the way—Countess Caroline and her crew are taking your Navigator back to the dragon lot for you. She’ll bring back the keys, don’t worry.”

  Before Syr Phillip and I get a chance to object to stripping to our skivvies in full view of the royal encampment, Baron Grizzly has swept the flaps of our pavilion shut and Baroness Barlonda is tossing garb and accessories this way and that. In something that can only be explained as supernatural, Barlonda has the both of us garbed, shod, and crowned in the fanciest of our royal attire in less than five minutes.

  “They’re ready, Grizz!” Barlonda shouts, and Baron Grizzly opens the tent flaps from the outside. He’s put on his Dragon Herald tabard and is carrying an elaborately carved herald’s staff.

  “Follow me, Your Royal Highnesses,” he says stiffly.

  We do.

  “MAKE WAY, MAKE WAY! FOR THEIR ROYAL HIGHNESSES, PHILLIP AND L
ISA, CROWN PRINCE AND PRINCESS OF THE MIDREALM, APPROACH!”

  There doesn’t seem to be anyone in the way, but that doesn’t deter Baron Grizzly from announcing us.

  We follow Baron Grizzly to the most elaborate pavilion in the royal encampment, which of course can be none other than King Fallon and Queen Marguerite’s. Baron Grizzly flings wide the royal pavilion’s flaps and we go inside.

  Fallon and Marguerite are both seated on their thrones. Supreme KaKhan Shen Fu is seated to their left side on a pile of carpets, flanked by Master Melphus, Lady Ramona, and Paladar the Passionate. To the royal pair’s right stand some unwashed, greasy-looking people in leather bikinis and animal-skin tunics that I assume must represent the Tuchux.

  And standing in the middle of the room are Syr Phillip’s father and brother. Master Stephen is in full court garb and wears a shiny new master-at-arms baldric; Syr Phillip’s dad, whose resemblance to his two sons is obvious, is dressed in a tunic emblazoned with the Kingdom of Aethelmarc’s coat of arms. The shiny crown of Aethelmarc rests heavily on his gray head.

  Syr Phillip’s father immediately goes to embrace him. “Son,” he says gruffly, “it’s real good to see you.”

  Syr Phillip is caught off guard at first, but soon he returns his father’s embrace. “It’s good to see you too, Dad.”

  “That’s King Patrick to you, son,” the older man says, holding his son out at arm’s length. “We’re at Pennsic. No addressing one another out of persona, remember? You’re looking good, Phillip. And this is the lovely Princess Lisa, I presume?”

  “Yes,” I say meekly, giving King Patrick (and quite possibly, my future father-in-law) a deep curtsey. “Pleased to meet you, Your Majesty.”

  “And I you, Your Royal Highness. I believe you are already acquainted with my other son, Stephen.”

  Master Stephen nods politely. To my relief, he makes no indication that he and I flirted just a little too much at our last meeting. Then he nods politely at Syr Phillip, seemingly waiting for my knight and lord to make the first move towards reconciliation.

 

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