by K. M. Shea
Britt sadly smiled. “But I must. I don’t deserve your loyalty, and I can’t ask for it. Camelot is great not just because of me but because of its knights. So, I leave Camelot, its court, and Excalibur for the one whom you believe to be worthy,” Britt said. She unstrapped Excalibur’s scabbard from her side, walked the few paces to what used to be her chair, and set it next to the sword.
When she turned around to face the shocked knights, she bowed. “Thank you for hearing out my apology,” she said before turning to go to the doors.
She walked quickly—she didn’t want to hear the discussion that was about to take place, and she could feel that a corner of her wound was starting to bleed now that she lacked the magic-infused scabbard.
Whispers raced around the table, and Britt heard one chair push back before someone ran to catch up with her.
A hand caught her by the elbow and stopped her. “My Lord.”
When Britt turned around, she was shocked—and slightly appalled—to find herself face-to-face with Lancelot of all people.
The handsome, coal-haired knight thoughtfully studied her. He had an odd expression fixed on his face—as if Britt was a puzzle he had nearly worked through, only to discover the picture was facing the wrong direction.
His look made Britt more uneasy than when had he stabbed her at Sir Damas’ lands.
“If I may have a moment more of your time, My Lord,” Lancelot finally said. He gave her a warm smile that lit up the depths of his green eyes.
Britt allowed him to pull her back to the Round Table but suspiciously eyed him as they walked.
When they reached the table, Lancelot waited until the knights quieted down to speak. “I know you all love King Arthur. I knew that the day I entered these courts, and I knew that even during our recent uproar. This woman—” Lancelot said, directing Britt so she stood slightly in front of him, “is the king you adore. She is still the king for whom you would put down your lives, and she is the king who has made Camelot a place of greatness. Do not allow your pride—or your pain—to set her aside. If you do that, our king will be justified in her fears, for we will have proved to her that we are temporary, unfaithful men. Think not of your pain, but hers. Look at her. Remember her. Remember the things she has said to you, remember the things she has done. She has shed sweat and blood for you, just as you have for her. Do not forsake her now.”
Britt was struck dumb by Lancelot’s kind words on her behalf, but her heart leaped when Gawain stood.
“I will always stand with you, My Lord,” he said.
“As do I,” Agravain was quick to add.
“It doesn’t seem right,” King Pellinore said as he rolled to his feet. “But you’re an excellent King, Arthur. No matter what you are. I’ll stand with you, too.”
“Of course I stand with my girl,” Sir Ector rumbled as he and Kay stood.
“So do we,” Sir Lionel and Sir Bors said.
“My Lord has rescued us in the past,” Sir Bedivere said, drawing Britt’s attention. Hurt still echoed in his eyes, but the knight raised his shoulders and chin. “You are the same king to whom I swore allegiance. I will continue to serve you, no matter how long it takes me to earn your trust.”
Griflet stood as well, with a number of other knights. He nudged Ywain, but the outspoken knight was staring at Britt.
“Tell me one thing, My Lord,” Ywain said. “Was the Round Table your idea or Merlin's?”
“Mine,” Britt said.
Ywain nodded rubbed his eyes. “Mother will thrash me when she learns how I acted,” he muttered before rocketing out of his chair. “Woman or not, king or queen, My Lord has set out what he promised to long ago. I will stand with you, My Lord. Just…please don’t wear dresses,” Ywain winced.
Britt outright laughed at Ywain’s statement, and the rest of the knights stood as well. The hall was a flood of noise as the knights tried to sort out what to call her.
“Hail, King…Queen Arthur?”
“Er…My Lady?”
“Empress…what was her name again?”
“Why did she have two names?”
“Someone ought to tell Guinevere.”
The doors slammed open, and Merlin strode inside. “Congratulations, knights of the Round Table—men of Camelot. You have made an excellent decision, for none can rule as Britt Arthurs does,” Merlin said.
“Hail, King Britt!”
“Lady Arthurs?”
“Queen Arthurs?”
Britt started to sag with the relief that flooded her system. They would still have her. Her knights weren’t lost. Camelot wasn’t lost. They would get past this.
“Hold this,” Merlin said, shoving Excalibur—after he sheathed it in its scabbard—into her hands. “It would be a silly thing if you passed out from blood loss with your sword so close at hand.”
“Thank you, Merlin,” Britt smiled.
“Thank yourself, lass. You were the one who won them back.”
“No, thank you for bringing me here.”
Merlin gave her a look of surprise before he smiled. “Aye. T’was a blessed day when you came to us,” he said before turning to address the table. “Now that you have reaffirmed your loyalty, there are decisions to be made.”
Merlin and the knights of the Round Table spent hours talking about Britt’s position as king. They discussed everything from what to call her to how far they should spread the news of her gender. Britt was there for only a portion. She was shooed out when the meeting was halfway over and Pellinore happened to see a spot of blood that had dripped through the bandages from the brief time she didn’t hold Excalibur.
“You’re still to be King Arthur—though I wouldn’t be surprised if some of them called you Britt in private. Sir Kay is already skulking around, looking at everyone with suspicion. This is his worst nightmare realized—men knowing who you really are,” Merlin said, his hands folded across his chest as he sat in his study with Britt.
“I don’t get it.”
“I didn’t think you would. Anyway, they’ve decided to keep this news confidential, for now. It won’t spread any farther than the men you just addressed, and they decided that in order for a knight to be informed, he has to prove himself first.”
“It sounds to me like they’re making my identity a sort of…order. Like the Order of the Round Table,” Britt said.
“That sounds fairly accurate,” Merlin said. “Anyway, it’s done. Ywain is now hounding Lancelot for injuring you in the first place, and Griflet is back to mooning over his Lady Blancheflor. Many of the knights are now eyeing Guinevere in interest, since she’s obviously not meant to be your intended. All has ended well, for now.”
“Not quite,” Britt said. “There’s one more thing I would like to do before we put this behind us.”
Merlin frowned. “What?”
Chapter 9
Quarrels Addressed
When Britt—with her company of forty knights and forty or so guards and soldiers—rode up to Sir Damas’ castle, the scholarly knight and Lady Vivenne practically flew from the castle to greet them.
“M-my Lord,” Sir Damas babbled, taking in the flags and standards that flapped in the breeze—they were all decorated with red dragons. “What brings you h-here?”
Britt—dressed in a full suit of armor, the fancy stuff with the red dragons etched into the surface—turned Roen to look at the horizon. Ten soldiers headed by Sir Griflet, Sir Ywain, Sir Lancelot, and Sir Bedivere marched into sight, Sir Outzlake pushed in front of them.
Britt waited until the sister and two brothers were standing together before she removed her helm. Lady Vivenne gasped; Sir Damas turned pale and grasped his throat, and Sir Outzlake looked curiously at both of them.
“Sir Damas and Sir Outzlake. I come to you as your rightful king—Arthur of Camelot,” Britt said as the siblings hastily bowed. “I have seen with my own eyes your terrible behavior. You, Sir Damas, kidnap knights in hopes that they will fight for you. You, Sir Outzlake, spe
nd most of your time challenging your brother and the will your father left instead of managing your own lands. In light of these short comings, I exercise my right as monarch, and I remove the title of knight from both of you and claim your lands and all that you own. Due to your disregard and poor actions, your homes now belong to me.”
Britt pinned the two brothers down with narrowed eyes. Sir Damas shook in his shoes, and Sir Outzlake looked hardly any better. “I will appoint a ruler to your lands, as is my right. I choose—as the ruler and owner of both your properties—Lady Vivenne.”
Lady Vivenne yelped. “What!” as she stared at Britt.
“But—” Sir Outzlake started.
“During my interactions, Lady Vivenne displayed a greater concern for your lands and people than either of you. As such, I make her the heir of the holdings and give her the title of Lady and owner. As Lady Vivenne is not yet of age, you two—Damas and Outzlake—will share custody of her and serve as advisors until she is. If I hear that you have attempted to force your will upon her, I will see to it that you are permanently exiled from Britain. I am giving you this chance to prove yourselves. Should you become useful, I will restore your titles to you. Until then, I suggest you learn to work together,” Britt said.
“Y-yes, My Lord,” Damas sputtered, relief and irritation pinching his face.
“Yes, My Lord,” Sir Outzlake squeaked with a scowl.
Britt turned her gaze to the shell-shocked Vivenne. “I suggest you empty the dungeons of kidnapped knights, Lady Vivenne.”
“Of course, My Lord,” Lady Vivenne said.
Britt smiled, significantly softening the moment. “I have great confidence in you, Vivenne. I’m certain you can handle this. Good luck. If you need anything and your brothers prove to be useless, send word.”
“If you’ll pardon me, My Lord, but why?” Lady Vivenne said.
“Why what?”
“Why bother yourself with this—why give me the lands? I’m nobody,” Lady Vivenne said.
Britt smiled. The setting sun made her gold hair shine and all her knights—also dressed in full armor—dazzle and glint. “It has been my experience, Lady Vivenne, that it’s often the nobodies who become the greatest somebodies,” she said. Roen snorted and reared, impatiently rising up on his back legs.
Britt kept her seat and spun the big destrier to face her company. “We return to Camelot. Move out!” she shouted.
The knights and soldiers shouted, and as they returned in the direction from which they had come—armor glinting, horse tack jingling, and the flags still flapping—Lady Vivenne could only shake her head.
“Hail, King Arthur,” she whispered. “Long live the King.”
“So, Gawain, do I have your mother to thank for your calm reaction to my…identity,” Britt asked as she rode next to the young knight the following morning on the ride back to Camelot.
“What do you mean, My Lord?”
“You didn’t seem much shaken with my reveal. I assumed it was because of your mother that you knew women could be good rulers,” Britt said.
“Oh. While it is true that my mother has taught me that women can be as…competent as men, that’s not why I reacted calmly.”
“Then why?”
“Because I already knew you were a woman.”
“You what?” Britt yelped. Roen tossed his head, sensing her heightened emotions. “You knew?”
“Mother told me,” Sir Gawain nodded.
“You knew this whole time?” Britt said, a hint of an accusation lining her voice.
“Yes,” Sir Gawain said.
Britt groaned.
“Is that bad?” Sir Gawain asked.
“No, but my life would have been easier if I knew you knew,” Britt grumbled, thinking of all the times she could have been more open with the eldest Orkney prince.
“I did my best to help you,” Gawain said.
“That’s why you always offer to help me with my armor,” Britt realized. “I just thought it was sheer luck that you helped me put on my armor without making any observations.”
Sir Gawain bowed his head in acknowledgement.
Britt was silent for a few minutes—contemplating Gawain’s actions as Roen’s smooth gait rocked her in the saddle. “Thank you,” she finally said. “I appreciate what you did for me.”
“It was, and continues to be, my pleasure, My Lord,” Gawain said.
“My Lord, could you spare a moment of your time?” Sir Bedivere asked, holding back his charger for a moment so he could fall in line with Britt.
Sir Gawain nodded to the older knight and nudged his horse forward, trotting to catch up with Sir Percival and Agravain.
“Of course, Sir Bedivere,” Britt said after a moment’s hesitation.
“There are a few small matters at Camelot that must be addressed,” Sir Bedivere said, launching into the topic. He didn’t look at Britt as he spoke.
“Do you think, Sir Bedivere, that you’ll ever be able to forgive me?” Britt asked.
Sir Bedivere blinked. “My Lord?”
“My deception. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry, and I regret it more than you realize,” Britt said with a sad smile.
Sir Bedivere finally looked at Britt. “It is not a matter of forgiveness, My Lord. I remain your faithful subject.”
“I know. But I miss our camaraderie,” Britt said. “And it’s not just you. I can see the consequences of being female already. My knights don’t approach me like they used to.”
“With time, we will adjust, My Lord,” Sir Bedivere said. “If I might venture to say, for many of the younger knights, it must be somewhat awkward to be told the man you wanted to emulate is actually a woman.”
Britt laughed. “I didn’t think of it that way.”
“Once your knights see that you are still the same king we’ve always had, they will settle in,” Sir Bedivere said.
“Will we settle in, too, Sir Bedivere?” Britt asked.
“I should hope so, My Lord,” Sir Bedivere said, giving Britt a small but warm smile.
Britt returned the smile, some of her tension easing. She had always counted on Sir Bedivere—whether it be to take her side against Merlin or to be a voice of reason for the younger knights. She was afraid she was going to lose that—even if he stayed loyal to her. Her heart lifted with joy because maybe everything was going to be okay.
“My Lord!”
Britt almost fell off Roen when Sir Griflet came crashing through the procession.
“My Lord!” Sir Griflet repeated, his eyes wide as he stared at Britt. “I have prayed, and God has answered me!” he said, his horse prancing in place.
Britt exchanged looks with Sir Bedivere. “And how did he answer you?” Britt asked.
Sir Griflet stabbed a finger in Britt’s direction. “With you, My Lord.”
“…What?”
Seconds later, Ywain also came crashing through the procession. “Griflet! You can’t just—don’t!” he hissed.
“Don’t what?” Britt asked.
“You, My Lord, are my answer to all my prayers. Because you are a female,” Griflet said, brandishing his finger in the air as if this was a new revelation.
Britt and Sir Bedivere stared at the self-awed Griflet.
“Ignore him, My Lord. He is sick in the head. Griflet, come,” Sir Ywain hissed.
“No! This is a wonderful idea, even if you don’t think it is,” Griflet told his friend before turning to Britt. “My Lord, as you are a woman, could you cast your pearls of wisdom before me regarding the state of ambience and heart of the fairer sex?”
“…What?” Britt repeated, staring at the starry-eyed knight.
Sir Ywain scowled. “He means he needs help with Lady Blancheflor, and he’s hoping that you will have a greater understanding of her heart than him because…well…you’re a girl.”
“That is precisely what I said,” Griflet frowned.
“Oh,” Britt said after a few moments of shocked silence
. “I could try. But I’m terribly out of practice.”
“You see, My Lord? Give them time,” Sir Bedivere murmured. He gave Britt another smile before falling back to ride with King Pellinore.
Reinvigorated, Britt rolled her shoulders back. “So tell me, Sir Griflet, what are you doing to try and impress your fair lady?”
“Mostly he writes her horrible poetry and sighs at her like an over-fed mongrel,” Sir Ywain said.
“I beg your pardon—you take that back!” Sir Griflet said, puffing up like a cat.
“It’s true, My Lord,” Sir Ywain said, finally looking at Britt. “I think Lady Blancheflor is starting to dread the sight of him. Last time she saw him, she ran away.”
“She did not!”
Britt smiled as she listened to the friends quarrel. There was still a slight hesitation for Ywain, but Sir Bedivere was right. She needed to let her knights adjust. Things likely would never be the same, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t be better than it was before.
Chapter 10
Over?
“I’m so glad that’s over,” Britt said, falling back in her bed with a sigh.
“Truly, My Lord, I think it has just begun,” Morgan le Fay said.
Britt frowned. “What do you mean?”
“There will be plenty of new problems now that your knights know you to be a woman,” Nymue said, plopping down on the edge of Britt’s bed. She kicked off her thin slippers and joined Britt on her bed.
“What problems?” Britt cautiously asked.
“To begin with, you are a beautiful woman who spends most of her time surrounded by men whose current goal is to find a lady to whom they can pledge themselves,” Morgan said.
Britt laughed. “Is that all? I don’t think there will be any troubles there. I have to be five years older than most of my knights.”
“Don’t be so quick to brush it off,” Morgan warned.
“Indeed. I bet that foster-brother of yours will soon run himself into exhaustion with worry,” Nymue pertly said.
“Kay worries over all kinds of things,” Britt argued.