[King Arthur and Her Knights 01.0 - 03.0] Enthroned, Enchanted, Embittered

by KM Shea

  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? She 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.

  Somewhere behind Britt, an attendant scrambled for another cup as Morgause pulled back from Sir Bedivere, her smile not nearly as brilliant as she glanced at Britt. “Sir Bedivere, I fear you are speaking unfairly. Arthur is a fine king,” she said, touching Britt’s shoulder.

  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 her 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 one when you ask questions to which you already know the answer,” 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.

  Rather than snarling, as she would with Merlin, Morgause held her hands to her heart. “I apologize. Men can be such silly things. I take their words as compliments, but please be assured that I think you are a marvelous king,” she said, placing her hand on Britt’s bicep before she leaned closer again.

  Britt stood, brushing Morgause off. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe I need a few moments of fresh air,” she said, doing her best to smile at her table guests. “Cavall, come,” she said, snapping her fingers as she trotted down the dais.

  The mastiff snuffled as he edged out from under the table and followed Britt, leaving her astonished tablemates behind.

  Ywain stood near the base of the dais with a new friend of his—Griflet, if Britt remembered correctly. Griflet was watching Morgause with calf eyes, but Ywain stared at Britt, worry creasing his lips.

  Britt spared the young man a smile, and Ywain performed an elaborate bow. By the time he was upright, Britt had disappeared from the room.

  Later that evening, Britt stormed Merlin’s study, throwing the door open without knocking. “What was that?” she asked without preamble before kicking the door shut behind her.

  “That was Morgause, petty witch and temptress extraordinaire,” Merlin wryly said, tucking a book into a bookshelf.

  “Petty? Bedivere insulted me to my face, Merlin. That isn’t petty magic,” Britt said, pacing the width of the room.

  Merlin blinked. “You are upset,” he said, sounding surprised.

  “Of course I’m upset! Why wouldn’t I be upset?”

  “Normally, you have a placid temperament that cannot be stirred. Why do Morgause’s mind games upset you so?” Merlin asked.

  Britt briefly leaned against one of Merlin’s worktables. Her eyes were dark as she stared at the wall and hissed, “Because before this, I had not been insulted by one of my own men—to whom I bequeathed a title—in my own castle.”

  “Ah. When you say it like that…” Merlin trailed off, rubbing his chin.

  “What does she mean to accomplish by swaying my men like this? Does she want me to throw them out of Camelot or toss them in the dungeon? She’s trying to achieve something,” Britt said.

  “She’s trying to win their favor, and yours, too. Fortunately for us, you aren’t a calf-eyed boy who fancies older women. Morgause’s magic will never work on you, but she doesn’t know that, so she’ll keep trying,” Merlin said.

  “Why?”

  “She wants to win you over and lower your guard.”

  “She means to kill me.”

  “Morgause? No. She is too subtle for that. This trip of hers is for no purpose other than to parade Gawain around and win over the men of your castle so when Lot sends a warrior to kill you in stealth, Camelot will be besotted and will surrender peacefully,” Merlin said, spinning a glass model of the sun.

  “Oh, fantastic. That is so much better,” Britt said.

  Merlin shrugged. “It’s better than attempting to kill you outright.”

  “Not really.” Britt sat down in a wooden chair, stretching her legs in front of her. “So how are you going to break Morgause’s enchantment?”

  Merlin rubbed his chin and studied Britt. “I am not.”

  “What?”

  “I am not going to break the enchantment Morgause has over the knights of Camelot. If I do, those stupid goats who are falling for it will become her pawns again the moment they set eyes on her.”

  “But we can’t let her wander around loose, wreaking havoc! How do you propose we survive in a castle full of Morgause lovers?” Britt asked.

  Merlin took a stuffed owl off his desk and put it on a high shelf. “It will be fine. The men who really matter haven’t fallen for her tricks. Yet. Kay and Sir Ector are normal.”

  “What about Bedivere? He’s not fine, and he’s important,” Britt said.

  “If you’re so worried, maybe you should do something about it,” Merlin said.

  “What are you talking about? I can’t do anything. I don’t know any magic.”

  “Yes, but if your men were undyingly loyal to you, not even Morgause’s magic could entice them.”

  “So how do I make them undyingly loyal?” she asked.

  Merlin didn’t answer and brushed dust off a sorry-looking plant.

  Britt sighed and massaged her forehead. “I don’t understand you. You yell at me for doing anything without your permission, and then you refuse to help me when I ask for it.”


  “No one ever said being King would be easy,” Merlin said.

  “It’s not like you gave me a choice! I’m not Arthur. I didn’t get to run off with a shepherdess. I’m Britt Arthurs. You dragged me from my home and life so I could be your king. The least you could do is explain what is happening,” Britt snapped.

  Merlin didn’t defend himself and dusted a second plant before changing the conversation topic. “It is troubling that you cannot understand Morgause’s offspring.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not surprising. Are they speaking Gaelic? They’re from the north, right? Wait, isn’t that Scotland? Maybe I just don’t understand the Scotch.” Britt wondered.

  “No, they are speaking English, admittedly with a very thick accent. I wonder…” Merlin plucked a book from his bookshelf. He paged through it for a few minutes, his eyes tracing letters as Britt closed her eyes and tried to relax in the warm room.

  “Ah-hah. Here is the problem,” Merlin finally declared, pointing to a passage in his book. “It is the spell I used to bring you back through time. I knew there was a good possibility we may end up with a foreigner king, and it would do no good to have a worthy king if he couldn’t understand what we were saying. Keeping this in mind, I added a portion to the spell which I borrowed from an ancient faerie magic which would enlighten whomever I brought back to understand my language. I never thought to include any provision for accents. Gawain and his brothers are speaking English, but their pronunciation is horrible. It is likely that their accents have kept the spell from working.”

  “If it’s just a matter of accents, why can I understand Morgause perfectly?” Britt asked.

  “Morgause was born in central Britain. She does not have an accent,” Merlin said.

  “I suppose that makes sense. This is good, right? It should be easy to fix,” Britt said.

  Merlin grimly shook his head. “I don’t know. Faerie magic is difficult to translate, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a spell of theirs that refers to human accents. With time, it is possible I will be able to come up with something, but it will likely be months before I will have anything to cast on you.”

  Britt bit her lip. “Is there someone else who knows more about this sort of thing? Someone who could fix it faster?”

  “No,” Merlin sourly said. “The Fae teach very few humans the ways of magic. I do not doubt they would have a way to fix this, but as the only faerie people near us all live with the Lady of the Lake, I would rather not ask them. To begin with, she is not likely to help us, and it is very likely she would do something in retaliation for your heist of Excalibur.”

  Britt bit the inside of her cheek. Nymue might know? “Of course she would know.” She sighed. “She’s going to complain that I am hitting her up for a favor again if I ask for help.”

  “What?” Merlin suspiciously asked.

  “Nothing.” She stood. “You know, Merlin, I’m starting to think your magic might be all talk.”

  “What?” Merlin squawked.

  “You can’t break Morgause’s enchantment, and you can’t help me understand Gawain. It seems like there isn’t much you can do,” Britt said.

  “You ungrateful pig-child. Of course I can do magic. Lots of magic! I brought you here didn’t I?” Merlin said.

  Britt retreated to the door. “Whatever you say.”

  “Britt,” Merlin said. “What are you going to do about Morgause?”

  “Try to live with it, I guess.”

  “I told you, you could break her enchantment if you wish.”

  “I highly doubt that. Good night, Merlin.”

  Merlin sighed. “Good night.”

  The following day found Britt in a very poor mood. After spending her nightly insomnia pacing hours pondering her available options, Britt concluded that if she ever wanted to understand young Gawain—whom history foretold as being one of her greatest knights—she would have to talk to Nymue.

  “She’s going to have kittens when I tell her I need something after our pleasant discussion outside the castle.” Britt sighed, reaching down to pat Roen, her black horse.

  “Did you say something, Milord?”

  Britt groaned before twisting in the saddle. “No, I didn’t say anything of importance,” she reported to the six guards that followed her on horseback. “And I told you all, I was only going to the forest of Arroy. As I’ll be back to Camelot before dinner, your presence is entirely unnecessary.”

  The captain of the guards shook his head. “Wouldn’t be right, Milord.”

  Britt sighed and faced forward again. “It was worth a shot,” she muttered. She wasn’t looking forward to her guards observing what would predictably be Nymue’s absolute refusal.

  The frightened sobs of a child jerked Britt from her musing. “What’s that?” she asked, turning in her saddle as she tried to discern from which direction the cries were coming.

  “What is what, Milord?” the guard captain asked.

  “That crying. Someone is crying, this way I think.” She directed Roen off the path.

  “My Lord,” the guards protested as they followed her into the thick woods.

  “Milord, these woods are charmed. It might not be a child you hear—it could be a goblin or spirit,” the guard captain said.

  “I highly doubt that. If it is not a human, it is probably the wind,” Britt said, ducking a branch.

  Britt and her guards chased the sobs until they came to a small break in the trees. Sitting on a rock, crying her eyes out, was a ragged-looking child. Snot was smeared across her face, and she was covered in a layer of dirt. A basket of mushrooms rested near her bare feet, and she immediately silenced herself when she saw Britt and her guards.

  “Hello,” Britt said, swinging off Roen. “What’s wrong? Are you lost?”

  The little girl pulled her legs close to her body. “A-Are you a faerie that’s come to take me?”

  Britt smiled, holding back a grimace when she drew closer to the girl. The dirty child smelled overwhelmingly of sweat and pig. “No. I’m a…soldier,” Britt said, crouching in front of the girl. (Britt had a feeling that a king finding this poor girl would be even worse in her mind than a faerie.) “I live in the big castle that’s just past the edge of the forest.”

  “Camelot!” the little girl said.

  “Yes, that’s the one.”

  “I’m from Camelot, too,” the girl said, wiping her dirty face on her dirty sleeve.

  “Really? What are you doing all the way out here? We are a fair distance from Camelot.”

  “Mother sent me to the forest to pick mushrooms. I’m the only one in our family that’s good at finding them. I always pick lots.”

  “She told you to come this far into the forest to pick mushrooms?” Britt asked.

  The little girl blinked back tears and miserably shook her head. “No. But I saw mushrooms, lots of ‘em. So I went deeper ‘n deeper in the forest, ‘n I think a faerie bewitched me ‘cause I lost my way, and I never get lost ‘n I,” the little girl didn’t finish and instead broke off into a sob.

  “There, there,” Britt said, placing a gentle hand on the girl’s head. “You happen to be in great luck. As I said, we’re from Camelot. We’re running an errand right now, but we’ll be riding back home after that. Would you like to come with us?”

  The little girl hesitated. “Do you swear by the cross you’re from Camelot?”

  “I do,” Britt said.

  “Say it.”

  Britt raised her hand and solemnly said, “I swear by the cross that my companions and I are from Camelot, and we will have you home by supper.”

  The little girl flung herself at Britt, almost knocking her backwards.

  Britt coughed at the force with which the girl hit her, and the little girl’s odor. Maybe she could dunk her in Nymue’s lake before riding back to Camelot.

  Britt stood, carrying the girl—who meekly said, “My mushrooms.”

  “Right, we mustn’t forget the mushrooms. I’ll
have one of my men place them in a pack so they safely make the journey,” Britt said, carefully stooping over to pick up the basket as the girl clung to her like a leech.

  Britt passed the mushrooms off to the captain of the guards and idly eyed her protectors. “I don’t suppose one of you would be willing to break off and take this girl home right now?”

  “Not for your life, Milord.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Britt grumbled, turning to Roen. As Britt slid the little girl on Roen’s back, she noticed three knights in full armor riding war steeds further in the trees.

  Britt pointed to the girl and shouted to the knights, “Is she yours?”

  Two of the knights ignored the shout and rode off into the forest. The remaining knight—who was dressed in blue and white—shook his head.

  Britt mounted up behind the girl, blinking at the girl’s sour scent. “Are you in need of assistance?” Britt asked the knight.

  “You are Arthur,” the knight said, his voice muffled by his helm.

  “Yes,” Britt said to the horror of her guards—who immediately spread around Britt in a defensive pattern.

  “You mean to return her to her home?” the knight asked.

  Britt tilted her head, “Yes.”

  “Why not have your men care for her?”

  Britt wryly looked to her guards. “I don’t think they would,” she dryly said. “Any more questions?”

  The knight shook his head. “You are a just man, My Lord,” he said before riding off into the forest.

  “That was odd. Right, who can lead the way back to the road?” Britt asked, turning to her guards.

  The rest of the ride to Nymue’s lake was uneventful. The forest was peaceful, and the lake was just as Britt remembered it. There was a boat near the beach where Britt and her men arrived; there was still a mother and baby deer eating lush grass near the shoreline, and the lake was clear and untouched.

  “Nymue has a good eye for real estate.” Britt dismounted Roen before lifting the little girl off the horse’s back. “Stay close to my men,” Britt told her, pointing to her guards. “I’m going to speak to someone. I will most likely be back right away.”