by K. M. Shea
Merlin sighed and Sir Ector said, “What now?”
“Q-Queen M-m-Morgause, King Lot’s wife!” the soldier said, panting.
“Yes, what of her?” Britt asked.
“She’s here!”
“WHAT?” Merlin shouted.
Sir Bodwain and Sir Bedivere, who were entering the room at that exact moment, paused.
“What is wrong, Merlin?” Sir Bodwain asked, approaching the circle of knights and kings.
“What isn’t wrong?” Merlin muttered before abandoning his abacus on the table. “Morgause, the wife of that stupid dolt King Lot is here—,”
“With all f-four of her sons,” the soldier meekly added.
Merlin looked murderous and flexed his hands, as if in a desire to latch them around something. “Morgause and her brats are here, and King Ryence marches on King Leodegrance with over 10,000 soldiers. With Morgause’s arrival Arthur and I cannot ride off to defend King Leodegrance with King Ban and King Bors. You’ll have to go in Arthur’s stead, Sir Bodwain. Sir Bedivere will remain behind to act as constable and marshal.”
Sir Bedivere bowed his head in acceptance, but Sir Bodwain frowned. “I have no doubts of our victory against King Ryence. He is a coward and will likely retreat as soon as he gains wind of our march... but what will you do with Morgause, Merlin?”
Merlin rubbed his temple. “I do not know, yet. We will have to officially receive her of course. Arthur, ready yourself to meet with Morgause. King Ban, King Bors, I would like you to leave as swiftly as possible. The less information Morgause receives on you the better. You as well, Sir Bodwain.”
“There is wisdom in your words. Bors and I shall return to our rooms and set out to our men as soon as our horses are ready,” King Ban said.
King Bors nodded, and Sir Bodwain bowed before turning on his heels and retreating.
Britt climbed the stairs to her throne—an immense wooden chair smoothed with age and cushioned with three pillows at Britt’s request—brushing Cavall hair off her clothes as she climbed. “Cavall, sit,” she said, pointing to the fur rug nestled next to her throne. (Merlin had acquired it for Cavall when Britt complained that mastiff was getting stiff from sitting on the stone floor.)
When Merlin finished bossing around his minions he tarried near Britt’s stairs. “If only you would agree to wear armor. It would do wonders for your image. It will let you appear older, you won’t have to worry about looking like a 15-year-old.”
“No,” Britt said, seating herself on the throne after adjusting her cushions.
“I promise it won’t be uncomfortable. We have the best armor smiths,” Merlin coaxed.
“No,” Britt said, setting Cavall’s beanbag on his rug.
“Ingrate,” Merlin muttered before scuttling to his position at the left of Britt’s throne.
Britt refused to wear armor or chain mail, not because it was uncomfortable or too heavy but because she was afraid. When she was brought back through time her old life was essentially ripped from her. She lost her mother, her sister, her friends, her home… Britt didn’t want to remove all traces of her old life, but that was happening whether she wanted it to or not.
Before being summoned to Medieval England Britt was almost considered a master of Renaissance Mixed Martial Arts, and was the best swordsman of her practice hall. But since her arrival Britt had grown more tan thanks to the vast hours she spent outdoors, her hair—a dark blonde—bleached out in the sun so it was more golden.
Britt feared that if she wore armor, the last little pieces of her old life would disappear entirely. Sure she looked flat and boyish when wearing tunics with her under doublet, but armor transformed her into an entirely different person—a person Britt didn’t want to be quite yet.
Britt was stuck on the throne for over an hour while the castle was a mad house of activity. As soldiers escorted Morgause and her children into the castle, taking the maximum amount of time under Merlin’s instruction, guest bedrooms were aired out, Britt’s throne room was decorated with banners, flags, and fresh flowers, and the most polished, impressive, and well bred knights in Britt’s kingdom were assembled.
Britt’s butt started cramping up when a musician blew a horn and announced, “Queen Morgause, wife of King Lot, ruler of Orkney, and Prince Gawain, Prince Agravain, Prince Gaheris, and Prince Gareth.”
Everyone held their breath. All of the knights and noblemen in the throne room stood at attention as the doors were opened.
Morgause was roughly what Britt expected. She was beautiful and poised in a red wine colored gown. Her beetle black hair was coiled in an elaborate braid, her lips were tilted in a slight smile, and she moved like silk in water.
Her sons, however, were not what Britt would expect as spawns of Lot and Morgause.
The oldest boy was dark haired like his mother, but he did not have a shred of her confidence. His eyes were fastened on the floor, his shoulders were slumped, and he moved like a mouse. He looked, Britt estimated, about 18 or 19.
The next oldest boy was still in the gawky, skinny stage of the early teenage years. His face seemed to be fixed with a permanent scowl, but Britt could see the damp marks on his tunic where he wiped his sweaty hands.
The youngest boys couldn’t have been older than nine or ten. They stuck together, resembling baby possums with their big eyes and necks sucked into their shoulders.
When Morgause reached the base of the stairs to Britt’s throne, she curtseyed. “My Lord, King Arthur,” she said in a voice that was just as husky as Britt’s.
“Queen Morgause, welcome to Camelot,” Britt said.
Morgause bowed her head. “I apologize, for we have arrived uninvited and unannounced… but I wanted to see you, My Lord.”
“Mm,” Britt said, glancing at Merlin.
“Please allow me to introduce my sons. This is Gawain, my eldest and the heir to the throne,” Morgause said, placing her hand on the shoulder of the oldest boy.
Britt briefly held a hand to her forehead. Gawain, it was a name Britt remembered from Lyssa’s—the King Arthur crazy friend she had left behind in the twenty first century—tirades. He was supposed to be one of Arthur’s best knights. Was it possible that such a knight could be the offspring of her worst enemy? Not to mention the boy looked about as knightly as a rabbit.
“And this is Agravain, Gaheris, and Gareth,” Morgause said, going down the line.
Britt inclined her head before she stood and trooped down the stairs, snapping her fingers to call Cavall after her.
“Well met,” Britt said, Merlin joining her at the last stair. She discreetly rubbed her nose, Morgause was heavily perfumed. The scent, lilies, would have been delightful, but Morgause was wearing an overwhelming amount. It made Britt’s nose itch and her head throb. “This is Merlin, my counselor and close friend,” Britt said.
“Oh, we have met,” Morgause said, a hint of a frown passing over her lips.
“Indeed, we unfortunately have,” Merlin agreed.
Britt shifted her attention away from the glowering enchanter and queen and smiled at Gawain. If he was to be one of her court it would be smart to start working on him immediately. “Welcome, Gawain.”
The young man lifted his gaze to meet Britt’s eyes and spoke. Britt saw his mouth move, and heard his voice, but instead of speaking English it was like he uttered another language.
“I’m sorry, could you repeat your words?” Britt asked.
Gawain spoke again, and again Britt heard nothing but a garbled rush. Britt opened and closed her mouth a few times, her eyebrows furrowing slightly.
The snotty preteen boy, Agravain, said something. He was incomprehensible, although Britt felt the puffed up pride that was smoothed over his words to hide his fear.
“Um… Merlin,” Britt said, taking a step back when one of the younger boys peeked out from behind his mother.
“Yes?” Merlin said, removing the glare from his features as he turned to face Britt.
Britt
indicated to Gawain. “Can you…”
Merlin blinked. “Can I what?”
Britt stepped closer and muttered in Merlin’s ear. “Can you understand them?”
“You mean you can’t?”
“No.”
A look of worry flashed over Merlin’s face before he beamed at Morgause. “I apologize for the interruption. What brings you to Camelot, Morgause?”
“I am here as an extension of goodwill,” Morgause said, smiling at a few of the nearest knights.
The knights blushed and elbowed one another when Morgause looked away.
Merlin snorted. “Extension of goodwill you say? Most people would label it correctly and call it spying. Or are you here to mourn the loss of a kingdom that will never be yours?”
Morgause smiled widely, but Britt could hear the queen’s teeth grind. “Oh, Merlin, how silly you’ve become in your old age.”
Britt frowned as she studied her knights while Merlin and Morgause bickered. A few of the men closest to the royal huddle watched Morgause with bright eyes and enamored smiles. “Boys,” Britt muttered in disgust. If she got Nymue in the throne room she could probably make her knights—the majority of them being young and unmarried—roll over and bark like dogs.
“—plan to welcome you to Camelot tonight with a grand feast, isn’t that right, Arthur?” Merlin said.
“Of course,” Britt automatically replied, smiling as she returned her attention to Morgause and Merlin.
“That is so kind of you,” Morgause gushed, “to try and match the splendor of Orkney to make me feel welcome.”
Merlin’s smile was so big his eyes were mere slits. “Of course,” he said. “Although the feast is not until this evening I would assume you and the young princes would like to retire to your rooms to freshen up? You are not as young as you used to be, it will take you longer to prepare for such an occasion.”
“Old age has treated you well, Merlin. You have become so thoughtful! I can see how you secured the position of court magician,” Morgause laughed.
“Chief counselor.”
“Come now, we both know it is the same role.”
Merlin and Morgause the frenemies beamed at each other as Morgause’s sons spoke in their lilting, breathless language.
“This is going to be a long feast,” Britt sighed.
Chapter 2
Paying a Social Call
Britt observed her tablemates over the rim of her goblet of spiced wine. The only real friends seated at the royal table with her on the dais were Merlin and Cavall—and Cavall was stealthily hidden at Britt’s feet. The rest of the places were taken by Morgause and her sons.
Gawain, who was sitting just past his mother, tilted his head his head and caught Britt’s eye. Britt nodded to him and slightly raised her goblet in acknowledgement, immediately wishing she hadn’t.
The Orkney prince spoke, still talking in the lilting gibberish Britt couldn’t understand. Britt nervously laughed and chugged her wine to avoid having to answer the prince. When she looked up he was still watching her, obviously expecting an answer of some sort.
Britt glanced to Merlin—who was wrapped up in talking/exchanging insults with Morgause—but the enchanter purposely ignored her. He seemed to think the best way to cover up the fact that Britt couldn’t understand a word Morgause’s sons spoke was to refrain from acknowledging it.
Britt, feeling lost, looked back at Gawain. He repeated his question and this time gestured below the table.
“That is Cavall. He was a gift given to me by my foster brother, Sir Kay,” Britt said.
Gawain’s shoulders slumped and he returned his gaze to his pewter plate.
“I guess that isn’t what he asked,” Britt muttered before sipping her wine again. She lacked the appetite to eat.
“I am glad to see you conversing with my sons, My Lord,” Morgause smiled. Her lips were the deep red of a waxed, red delicious apple.
“Yes,” Britt said, glancing at Agravain, Gaheris, and Gareth. “They seem to be capable boys,” Britt said before sipping her wine.
“I hope they find favor with you. They are, after all, your nephews,” Morgause said.
Britt choked on her drink and coughed until she could manage another sip. “Pardon?”
Morgause took a bite of stag swimming in a plum sauce Britt normally avoided. “They are your nephews, and naturally your heirs, as you are my half brother—if Merlin’s story of your true parentage can be trusted.”
Britt snapped her head to look at Merlin so quickly she almost gave herself whiplash. “Half brother? My heirs?” she carefully repeated.
Merlin was no help as he had also been taken by a fit of coughing at Morgause’s proclamation.
“You mean he didn’t tell you?” Morgause said, her voice false and coy. “We share the same mother, Igraine. She birthed myself and my two sisters years before she met Uther, had you, and became Uther’s wife.”
Merlin finally found his voice. “What are you getting at, Morgause?”
“Nothing, I am merely explaining our family connections to my dear half brother,” Morgause said.
Britt thought for a moment before carefully replying. “I am overjoyed to learn this. I greatly treasure my relationship with my foster parents and brother, I hope we can reach the same level of affection as I have for them.”
Merlin muttered under his breath, but Morgause laughed. “How quaint, yes I hope so as well.”
“Gawain is not Arthur’s heir,” Merlin said.
“Nonsense. Arthur is but a boy himself, Gawain is older than he is! As Arthur has no wife, much less children, Gawain must be his heir.”
Britt covered a grimace by drinking more wine. She was greatly relieved when she saw Sir Bedivere climb the few stairs to the dais and bow. She opened her mouth to acknowledge the knight, but she was shocked when he addressed not Britt, but Morgause.
“Queen Morgause, it is a pleasure to receive you here in Camelot. Your presence adds to the beauty of the place,” Sir Bedivere bowed.
“How charming you are. What is your name, good sir knight?” Morgause gaily laughed.
“Bedivere, I am Arthur’s marshal,” Sir Bedivere said.
Bedivere’s statement made Britt sit up straight and pay closer attention. Never before had Sir Bedivere referred to Britt without some sort of honorific.
“Sir Bedivere, I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” Morgause said.
“If I may ask, My Lady, how long do you mean to stay in Camelot?” Sir Bedivere said.
“As long as my dear brother allows me, I suppose,” Morgause said, smiling beautifully at Britt before she leaned closer.
Britt held her breath to keep from coughing in Morgause’s cloying lily perfume. “An extended stay, then?” Britt asked, briefly rubbing her nose. “I would have thought Lot would summon you home as swiftly as possible,” she said with a sliver of a smile.
Morgause frowned as Sir Bedivere said, “Oh please, My Lady, do stay. All of Camelot would morn if you were to suddenly leave.”
Britt blinked. What? The whole castle was filled with panic and dread the moment it was announced Morgause had arrived! What was Sir Bedivere talking about? Britt chugged the last few sips of her wine and turned to Merlin to make sure he was hearing this. The wizard had his arms crossed and was studying Morgause with narrowed eyes.
Morgause laughed. “And I say again that you are charming and sweet. It is a shame we do not have more knights like you, Sir Bedivere, in Orkney,” Morgause said, leaning forward to draw closer to the knight.
Sir Bedivere smiled in spite of the sudden onslaught of the lady’s perfume. He was silent for a few moments before saying, “It is a bigger shame that Lot was not able to pull the sword from the stone, for then you would be Camelot’s queen.”
Britt dropped her goblet, which hit the wooden dais with a metallic clang before rolling for some paces. She held her hand out, as if she was still gripping her dropped cup, and stared at Sir Bedivere.
Britt continued to stare at Sir Bedivere, shaking her head slightly. She was barely aware of the attendant pushing a new goblet filled with wine into her hand before she knocked half of it back in one gulp.
Merlin had abandoned all pretenses of welcoming Morgause and was writing something in a small logbook, looking very much like Sir Kay.
“I suppose, but the realm would greatly benefit if you ruled, My Lady,” Sir Bedivere said.
Morgause again leaned towards Britt. “Perhaps it is a shame that I am married and Arthur is my brother, in that case,” she said, her voice teasing as she leaned into Britt.
Britt stared Morgause down with furrowed eyebrows and a frown creased on her face. The older woman quickly caught on to Britt’s bad mood and pulled back, clearing her throat.
Sir Bedivere blundered further as Britt sipped her wine. “You would make a splendid Empress of Britain, My Lady,” he said, his eyes hooked on Morgause.
Britt pushed aside her herring pie and set her goblet—which was empty again—down on the table with a clack. “That is enough, Sir Bedivere,” she said, her voice void of emotion and inflection.
Sir Bedivere took a step back at Britt’s voice. His eyes were wide with horror and he briefly placed a fist in front of his mouth. “My Lord, I-I don’t know what came over me. My Lord,” he stammered before bowing to Britt and leaving as abruptly as he came.
Britt eyed the knight as he left before she shooed the wine attendant away from her cup.
“Are you displeased, Arthur?” Morgause asked.
“I know you are not an idiot, My Lady, but you sound like a dunce when you ask questions you already know the answer to,” Britt said, staring across the table.
Gareth and Gaheris seemed oblivious to the table’s tension, but Agravain had sunk until he was almost entirely beneath the table. Only his head was visible over his plate. Gawain was staring at his lap, no longer touching his food.