by KM Shea
Britt swept down the stairs that led up to her throne, tossing the beanbag one last time before wiping her drool-moistened hands on her tunic. “Pray do tell us, what terrible news do you have?” Britt asked as Cavall dutifully retrieved the beanbag, his nails clicking on the stone floor.
The man—a soldier—stumbled into the room, losing his balance twice before Sir Kay shut his logbook and steadied him.
“I bear news from King Leodegrance,” the messenger said, slumping on a bench Sir Ector pulled out for him.
“Well? Spit it out man!” Sir Ector boomed.
“Wait, our guest looks parched and hungry. Bring something for this man to quench his thirst and end his hunger,” Britt called to a young page hovering in the shadows of a wall.
“Working on your local tongue?” Merlin muttered to Britt.
“Am I over doing it?”
“A bit, unless you were aiming for the position of court bard or all around…pansy, I believe you call it?”
Britt winced as Cavall spit out the beanbag in her hand. “I’ll tone it down,” she said.
In no time, the page returned with a tray of bread, fruit, dried meat, and a tankard of ale.
The soldier/messenger gulped down the ale, splashing it on himself before he shoved food in his mouth. “King Ryence has retreated from your great victory and instead has hastened to plague King Leodegrance of Camelgrance,” he said around a mass of unchewed bread.
“You there, lad. Go summon King Ban and King Bors,” Merlin called to the young page.
The soldier took another swig of ale. “King Leodegrance does not know the exact count of soldiers King Ryence has with him, but he estimates over 10,000.”
“10,000? How did he muster that? He didn’t bring that many soldiers to our battle against him,” Britt frowned.
“We should have seen this coming. The kings of the failed plot might be through fighting Arthur, but it doesn’t mean their quest for power is over,” Sir Ector said.
Merlin moved a few beads on his abacus. “Indeed. I thought Ryence might try something, but I calculated that he would at least return home first to lick his wounds. Apparently he is a bigger fool than I imagined.”
“Should we summon Sir Bodwain? As Constable, he should know of this,” Sir Kay said.
“Sir Bedivere, too,” Britt said before gesturing to another page standing along the wall. The boy nodded and trotted off, almost running into King Ban and Bors when they swept through the entryway.
“Well there, what’s the trouble Arthur? What great, ruddy king has his nose out of joint now?” Bors boomed.
“Ryence,” Britt said.
“He’s taken 10,000 men and is marching against King Leodegrance,” Merlin said.
A frown marred King Ban’s handsome face. “The scoundrel,” he said as Bors whistled.
“I believe a joint force would be the best plan, if you are up to it?” Merlin asked the kings.
“Of course!” Bors snapped.
King Ban nodded. “I am not of mind to abandon King Leodegrance. You shall have my aid.”
“We should muster an army of 20,000. That will leave a fair amount of soldiers in Camelot to guard it,” Merlin said. “Arthur and I will—”
A second soldier ran into the room, his chain mail jingling and swaying. His face was red with exertion. “Trouble, Your Highness!”
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 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 Queen 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. (Kay had acquired it for Cavall when Britt complained that the 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 would let you appear older, so you wouldn’t have to worry about looking like a fifteen-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 give herself over 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 Queen 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.
Queen Morgause was roughly what Britt expected. She was beautiful and poised in a red wine-colored gown. Her beet
le 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 eighteen or nineteen.
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.
Britt sighed. “This is going to be a long feast.”
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 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 h
eirs?” 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.