Guen turns on Arthur, her face twisted in rage. Gone is the bubbly girl queen, and I wonder, under the circumstances, if she'll ever regain her sweet innocence again.
"Tell me this woman lies," she demands, her once musical voice icy and cold. "Tell me you did not father a child with her. Your very sister!"
Oh man. This is so Jerry Springer. I'm waiting for them to start throwing thrones any second now. Though I'm not sure who Guen would like to hit first, the sister or her husband. I glance over at Morgause, who I realize is trying to hide her smile. She's actually enjoying this! Bitch.
"Be still, woman," Arthur commands. "This is not a discussion to be had in front of the entire kingdom."
Whoa! That's a confession if I ever heard one.
"So it's true," Guen hisses, at least keeping her voice down this time.
I watch as Arthur tries to surreptitiously brush a hand to his eye. Is he crying? "'Twas a mistake," he whispers so only she—and I, since I'm standing beside her—can hear. "I did not know her as my sister. She bewitched me long ago, during the feast of Beltane, wearing the face of the goddess herself. Seduced me to her bed. The next morning, I was horrified to find 'twas her. I left immediately and have not seen her since that day. Merlin made sure she stayed far away from me by marrying her off to King Lot."
Oh, good one, Kat. I knew aiding and abetting in Lot's death would come back to haunt me. If the evil king had lived to fight another day, he probably would have headed home and played father to Mordred. Taught him how to rape and pillage, or some other useful evil-king-in-training skills. After all, he had been griping that all his other sons had abandoned their dear old dad. Now, my well-meaning actions have probably ruined Guenevere's life.
Arthur's still talking, still pleading. "I swear to you, my love, I had no knowledge that our affair produced a child." He lets out a soft moan and makes the sign of the cross. "May God forgive me!"
Guenevere shakes her head. "'Tis not God's forgiveness you need, Arthur," she says loudly, spitting out his name as if it were poison, "but that of the poor boy who stands before you." She gestures to Mordred, who's shuffling from foot to foot, looking completely freaked out by the whole encounter. Guess it's not every day you find out your father and mother are siblings. I feel bad for the kid. "'Tis not his duty to pay for his parents' sins," Guenevere continues. "Will you now claim him as your rightful son and heir?"
"Guenevere," Arthur hisses furiously, eyes wide, pleading. "You know that I cannot. If I claim him, if I acknowledge him as heir to the Pendragon line, then our future child will be left with nothing."
The queen stares at him, hatred distorting her face. "Our child?" she asks loud enough for everyone in the court to hear. "Our child? We will have no child, Arthur. Is it not obvious that I am barren? If your seed be so fertile as to impregnate your very sister, surely 'tis I who have no gift of life in my womb. You might as well recognize your bastard son, for you will get no child from me."
My heart aches at the pain in her voice. Poor girl. Poor, poor girl. I can see so clearly now why she and Lance get together. I almost want them to, after all she's been through. She needs someone to take her in his arms, comfort her, gently kiss away her humiliation, and promise her love in a life that's done nothing but hand her cruelty.
"Guenevere, my love," Arthur begs, reaching his hand over to clasp hers. She rips it from his grasp and cradles it protectively in her lap, her face stony. Then she slowly and deliberately rises from her throne and storms out of the room. The crowd murmurs excitedly. This is like one big reality show to them.
Arthur frowns after her retreating figure. Go after her! I beg him silently. But no—like a typical man, he gives up too quickly. Instead of chasing after his distraught wife, the king turns back to the court, to Mordred, who stands fiddling with the hem of his well-cut black tunic.
"Well, then," Arthur says, his voice artificially cheery. "What remains to be said? Welcome to Camelot, my son."
* * *
Even with the interruption of the king's incestuous kin, it seems the show must go on. Or, in this case, the party that's being thrown in my honor. Though now I'm sharing the bill with Prince Mordred.
After court's over, I find Guenevere's room and bang on her door, begging her to let me in. A servant girl opens the door a crack and tells me the queen wishes not to be disturbed. I try to talk the girl into it, even attempt to bribe her with a cool silver ring I found in my room, but she won't budge. I next decide a little physical force is in order and try to grab the door and push it open. She slams it on my knuckles.
Bruised and defeated, I head back to my little in-castle apartment. I've been moved to a pleasant suite of rooms, complete with roaring fire and canopied bed. My personal maid (I love saying that!), Elen, escorts me to a tub room, where I bathe in a hot bath of rose petals and spices. I try to enjoy it, but I can't stop thinking about poor Guenevere and this whole disturbing scenario.
At the same time, I'm dying to meet up again with Lancelot. He's been away all morning hunting, and so I don't even know if he's heard about Arthur's surprise guest yet. I wonder what he'll say. Will he feel bad for the queen too? Will he try to comfort her? Is that when they get together? I wish Nimue had given me a better idea of exactly where and when the two hooked up. It'd be a lot easier to plan things out.
As I step out of the tub, an ache settles in my stomach. Will Lancelot fall in love with Guenevere? It seems like he loves me, but how can I be sure? He hasn't said that he does. And besides, even if he is, love can change. You can be in love with someone one day and someone else the next. Or you can be in love with two people at once. What if he's not out hunting after all? What if he's in Guenevere's chambers right now? What if that's why she won't answer the door? The ache starts burning a hole in my stomach, and I rush to dress. Elen begs me not to rip the delicate silk sleeves as I shove my arms through.
I break out into a run down the hall to Guenevere's chambers, breathless with worry and anticipation. Could Lancelot be in there? A flash vision of the two of them writhing in each other's arms pounds through my brain. Would he betray me like that? Hot blood pulses at my temples.
I reach the locked door and pound on it with my fist. "Guenevere!" I cry. "Open this door!"
I hear a click of the lock and ready myself to slam my body's weight against the door the second it creaks open. I see a crack of light and push. The door swings wide, and I fall through the open passage, tripping and ripping the skirts of my once-beautiful silk dress.
Guenevere stands at the doorway, fully clothed, looking somewhat amused through her sadness. "If you wanted entrance that badly, Kat, you should have said so."
I grimace, my face hot with embarrassment. "I wanted to make sure you were okay." I feel like a rat for being so suspicious. Here the queen has learned that her husband not only screwed around with his own sister but had a kid with her, who will now become the heir Guenevere could never provide. And I'm worried she's shacking up with my boyfriend.
She nods her head and gestures for me to come in. The room is simple but elegant, dressed all in purple silk. Of course, Lancelot is nowhere to be seen. My imagination totally got the best of me.
Guenevere sinks into a wooden chair, looking down at her white hands.
"Listen, Guen," I say lamely. What does one say in this kind of situation? "I know this sucks and all, but chin up. So Arthur's got a kid. Big deal. Doesn't mean he doesn't love you. Doesn't mean you're still not queen. Sometimes life doesn't deal you the cards you'd like. But you've got to turn those lemons into lemonade." She probably has no idea what I'm talking about. Heck, I'm not sure I do either.
"I know, Kat. I will be fine. Do not worry about me," she says in a brave voice. "'Twas just a bit of a shock, as you can well imagine." I watch as she tries to surreptitiously wipe away a tear.
"Yeah, no kidding!" I agree. "Definitely didn't see that one coming."
"But"—the queen looks up with a small smile—"I do not want my
personal sorrows to dampen your stay at Camelot. After all, tonight is the banquet. Sure to be a fine feast. And," she adds, her eyes twinkling through her tears, "your so-called brother, Lancelot, will be in attendance. Surely a brother-sister dance is in order, do you not think?"
I grin. "Definitely."
She smiles wistfully, looking into the distance, as if the wall behind me holds the answers to all life's mysteries. "You are very lucky, Kat. The way Lancelot looks at you… I have never had a man want me before. Not like that. With such hunger in his eyes. Such adoration. Love." She shakes her head. "I envy you a little."
My heart breaks at her words. I can't stand it. It's not right. It's not fair. Lancelot's supposed to be giving her those looks. She's supposed to find happiness in his arms. And instead, because of Nimue's and Merlin's selfish personal agendas, she's left to fend for herself all alone in this cruel medieval world. And I have selfishly agreed to hoard all the love that rightfully belongs to her.
On the other hand, if she does get together with Lance, according to Nimue's "betrayal schedule" (man, I still love that one), they've got, like, eight and a half months before getting caught. Before Guen gets sentenced to burn at the stake.
I've heard it's better to have loved and lost, but is it better to have loved and died? I look over at her grieving face. What would she want? A year of happiness or a lifetime of pain and suffering?
And why am I the one stuck making this decision?
* * *
After much arguing, Guenevere insists that I go to the royal banquet, though she herself will not be attending. I tell her I'd be happy to skip the event and hang with her in her chambers, but she won't take no for an answer.
"After all, Lancelot will be there," she teases.
So Elen and I set out to get me dressed. I can tell the maid's pissed that I ruined my last gown already, but since Guen's provided a whole roomful of dresses, I don't really see what the big deal is. I think she likes to complain. After she's gotten over whining about the torn fabric, the girl selects a cream-colored gown with sheer sleeves and a braided silver rope that crisscrosses my chest and back, then comes around to tie around my waist. Very Miuccia Prada-like. I wish I had a mirror to look in so I could get the whole effect. Elen wants to do something with my hair, but I shoo her away. I'm sick of wearing hats. Tonight my hair swings free, roots and all.
A knock sounds on the door. Elen frowns at the interruption but goes to answer it. She pulls the door open, and I look behind her to see who's come to visit me.
Lancelot.
My heart thumps as he steps into the room wearing a leather tunic over a billowy red shirt. Fresh from hunting, it appears. His tousled hair and five o'clock shadow tempt me, and I can barely resist the urge to throw myself in his arms, kiss the life out of him, and then suggest we go test out my new bed. Any thoughts of him comforting Guenevere are completely out the window. He's mine. All mine.
But a glance at the frowning Elen tells me I need to behave myself around my "brother." Damn.
"Lady Katherine is not ready yet," Elen informs him curtly, making me realize that while having a maid sounds cool in theory, it can actually be a big pain in the butt.
Lance shoots a sexy smile my way. "I cannot imagine her beauty improving beyond what I already see with mine own eyes."
Standing behind Elen, I make throat-slitting motions with my right hand, trying to mouth the reminder, brother and sister, to him. He furrows his brow in confusion, having no idea what I'm trying to do. I give up. What does Elen care if a brother calls his sister beautiful, anyway? After all, this is the castle whose new heir is the product of a sibling relationship.
"It's okay, Elen," I say, touching the maid on the shoulder. "I'm ready as I'll ever be. You can take off now, and I'll give you a shout if I need anything else."
Elen stiffens. "There will be no need to shout. My own chamber adjoins your bedroom. I shall wait there for your call." She turns and walks into my bedroom and through another small door on the left-hand side.
Damn it, she's going to be right next door? So much for a little pre-banquet hook up. Having a live-in maid sucks.
Time for plan B. I put a finger to my lips and motion for Lancelot to follow me out into the hallway. We walk down the corridor until I find the medieval equivalent of a broom closet.
Once inside the small storage chamber, I shut the door and waste no time wrapping my arms around Lancelot's neck, pressing myself against his rock-hard body. He leans down, his lips connecting with mine.
"I've missed you," he murmurs between kisses. His hands wander down my back until he cups my bottom, pulling me closer. "I've missed you, too, brother," I quip as his mouth traces my jawline, then dips lower, finding my neck and devouring it like some hungry vampire. "Mmm, very, very much indeed."
He laughs softly. "I cannot believe I will have to restrain myself in court. How will anyone not be able to see how much I desire you?" He pulls at the gown's neckline, exposing a bare shoulder and covering it with fervent kisses. "My sister."
"I doubt anyone really cares," I say, digging my nails into his back, practically breathless with desire. "These days everyone's doing the brother-sister thing. We're, like, right in style."
Lancelot stops kissing me, pulling away. "I do not understand."
Oh, yeah. He's been hunting. Hasn't heard the latest. While I'd rather have my way with him first, I resign myself to filling him in on the details of Morgause's visit. When I come to the part about Mordred, his jaw drops.
"A son? Arthur has a son? By his sister?" He rakes a hand through his black hair.
"Yup. As you can imagine, poor Guenny's very upset," I continue. "I've tried to comfort her, but—"
"The queen must be devastated," he says. "I should go see her."
I frown. "She told me she wants to be left alone."
"How can anyone who has heard such news know what they want?" Lancelot asks. "I am her knight. I must attend her."
With that, he darts out of the storage chamber without even so much as a "see you later." Probably right into the arms of Guenevere.
Nice work, Kat.
* * *
With little else to do, I head back to my chambers and collapse on my bed, curling my body into a large feather pillow. I try to shake the image of Lancelot and Guenevere alone together in her bedroom. He loves me, I try to remind myself. Well, sure, he's never said those words, exactly. But I'm, like, his girlfriend, and he's a loyal, devoted guy. Not the type who goes and cheats on people. Especially not with a married woman.
I can't help thinking about the last time I had a guy cheat on me—back in college, with my best friend, in my own bed. My stomach still feels queasy as I remember catching them in the act. But Brian was a twenty-first-century scumbag and my friend a total hippie, free-love slut. Not all guys would do such a thing. Lancelot wouldn't. Would he?
Man, I hate having all these trust issues. I'm, like, total damaged goods. I don't even know why Lance likes me in the first place. Probably just a sexual thing. He's using me 'cause I'm available and willing. I bet he never gives me a second thought once I go back to the real world. Or maybe he and his knight buddies will have a good laugh about the pathetic futuristic chick who let him have her against a tree.
Before driving myself absolutely nuts with self-pity, I close my eyes and manage to drift off into a troubled sleep. No dreams, though. In fact, I haven't had a dream since drinking Nimue's potion.
Sometime later, Elen wakes me to say, in an irritated tone, that I've almost slept through my own banquet. Damn it! I rush to get ready and arrive at the banquet hall fashionably late. Well, I arrive at what I would consider fashionably late, which seems to actually be extremely late, since most of the food has already been consumed by the time I get there. When I look at the leftovers, I decide I haven't missed much.
Arthur invites me to take a seat at the head table, unfortunately next to Mordred. He even introduces me to the kid in a way that suggests he
thinks it'd be a way-cool idea if the two of us hooked up. As if! Of course, to Arthur this probably seems a perfect scenario. What better bride for the future high king than the sister of his number-one knight?
Speaking of my dear "brother," I scour the room, hoping to catch a glimpse of Lancelot's handsome figure, but he's nowhere to be found. A wave of disappointment washes over me. I assumed he'd be here. The rest of the kingdom is. Well, except for Guenevere, of course.
Guenevere.
Lancelot.
Uh-oh.
I take a deep breath and will my rapidly beating heart to behave. No use getting all worked up over something that's probably a figment of my overactive imagination. Just because Lance and Guen aren't at the banquet doesn't mean they're off screwing around in her chambers. Even though that's exactly where Lance was headed the last time I saw him.
"Have you seen Lancelot around?" I ask Arthur, who sits to my left.
The king shakes his head. "Not since this morn."
"I hear your brother is a fine knight," Mordred butts in from my right.
I turn to him, a bit annoyed by his interruption. I have to find Lancelot and Guen. I don't have time to play nice with the boy prince.
"Yeah. He's pretty good." I turn to Arthur again, but Mordred grabs at my sleeve.
"D'you think he would teach me if I asked him?"
"Sure. I guess." I shrug. "Arthur—"
"Because I should very much like to learn to be a knight someday. Lancelot is so fine. So brave. The best knight in all the land."
"Yup. He's the greatest. Totally awesome. Now if you'll excuse me—"
I try to rise to my feet, but he's too quick, grabbing me by the arm. Surprisingly strong for a little twerp like himself.
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