The Camelot Betrayal

by Kiersten White

  Guinevere and Brangien walked into the arena, climbing the wooden benches until they reached the covered section reserved for royalty. It was built out so it overlooked the arena floor, giving them the best and most comfortable view possible. Today, however, there were additions. Anna was sitting in the back, mending stockings. And Guinevach was sitting in Brangien’s seat, leaning forward and waving a kerchief.

  Brangien froze. Normally she sat next to Guinevere, but with another lady here, it was not her place anymore. Guinevere could feel the tension in Brangien as Brangien led her to the seats at the front and then walked back and sat stiffly next to Anna.

  “Oh, hello!” Guinevach beamed at Guinevere. “I heard you never miss watching your knight in the arena. You have been very hard to spend time with!” Guinevach said it lightly, patting the chair next to her.

  Guinevere sat. “I told you I did not have time for you. I told you to go home. You did not listen. I owe you nothing.”

  Guinevach did not so much as flinch. “I am glad your husband is back. That must make you happy. Is he away often?”

  Was she fishing for information? She had to know Arthur often left the city. “The city is always protected.”

  “All those knights! I like them very much. But none is as good as King Arthur. He is so handsome.” Guinevach’s expression went soft and dreamy. “Imagine being betrothed to a stranger and riding to discover him waiting for you at the end! You are the luckiest.” The way she emphasized luckiest made it sound less romantic and more like a criticism. “Do you remember what Father always used to say to us?” She fixed her golden eyes on Guinevere, waiting.

  It was a trap. Guinevere was sure of it. “I am afraid you will have to be more specific. He said many things.”

  Guinevach raised one delicately expressive eyebrow. “Not to us.” She paused, but when Guinevere did not respond, she pitched her voice low and raised her chin, glaring down at Guinevere as though she were a mess to be cleaned up. “Pray you are beautiful and fertile; the world has no other use for a girl.”

  Guinevere must not have hidden her shock well enough. Guinevach’s brow furrowed. “You really do not remember? He would say that, and then you would cry.”

  “It has been a long time since I thought of Father.” Guinevere looked out at the arena, trying to end the conversation. She could not trade memories she did not have. And this one felt particularly cruel. Whether it was made up or not, Guinevach was obviously trying to communicate something. Maybe commenting on the fact that Guinevere was not pregnant yet? Until she provided Arthur an heir, she was not a good queen. She knew it. The kingdom knew it. Only Arthur did not care.

  “How fortunate for you.” Guinevach’s voice was as cold as a winter midnight, but she followed Guinevere’s lead and focused on the arena.

  Soon she was again cheering, waving her embroidered kerchief whenever one of the knights did something particularly good, or even when they did not. Lancelot led a group of boys through a drill to make certain they all knew how to wield a sword. If they did not have basic proficiency, even the blunted training swords could pose a threat to someone who had no idea how to block a blow.

  “Sir Lancelot,” Guinevach said. “That is funny.”

  “What is funny?”

  “That she is called sir.”

  “That is what knights are called, and she is a knight.”

  “Yes, of course.” Guinevach rested her pretty pointed chin on one fist. “But it is odd. It is also odd how close you two are. You spend so much time together. She even sleeps in your bedchambers sometimes, does she not? Does that bother the king?”

  “Why should it bother him?”

  Guinevach shrugged. “I do not know. That is why I asked whether it does. But she is a knight, and he certainly would not let any of the other knights sleep in your chambers. Why should the standard be any different for Sir Lancelot?”

  “She is a woman.”

  “But she is a knight. People are talking.”

  “Who is talking?”

  Guinevach brushed a hand dismissively through the air. “I cannot remember. It has been remarked upon to me is all. People find it odd that the queen spends less time in the company of other ladies than she does with her knight and her maidservant.”

  Is that what the little vermin was doing? Stalking through Guinevere’s city, gossiping about her? Gossiping about Lancelot and Brangien? As though she had any right! As though any of them had any right. Guinevere would never choose to spend time with horrid Blanchefleur, or Sir Caradoc’s insufferably snobbish wife. Besides which, everyone knew Dindrane was one of Guinevere’s closest friends. But somehow that seemed not to count. Or at least, Guinevach was pretending it did not.

  “People find it odd, or the ladies find it odd? Have you spoken to anyone in this entire kingdom who does not hold a rank or title?” Arthur treated all his people equally, and Guinevere had always endeavored to do the same. It helped, of course, that she felt more at home with waifish chicken maids and blacksmiths and knights who raised themselves in the wilds than she did with most of the ladies.

  Guinevach actually laughed. “I am the Lily of Cameliard. I am a princess. Unlike your maid back there, I know my place.”

  “Well, Lily, I am the queen of Camelot, and I choose my own company.”

  “Yes. I have noticed.” Guinevach glowered. Then that rosebud smile bloomed firmly back into place. She turned to the arena. Sir Gawain waved at them and Guinevach stood, waving back. “Oh, good, it is time!”

  “Time for what?”

  “Our turn!” Guinevach took Guinevere’s arm and forced her to stand, half dragging her from the booth and down the steps to the arena floor. The boys had finished training and were putting gear away and shuffling out, rubbing bruises and flushed with exertion and, in most cases, happiness. “Sir Gawain!” Guinevach released Guinevere and hurried toward him.

  Guinevere walked a few steps behind her, unsure how to get out of the situation, or what the situation even was. She had never been on the arena floor before. It smelled like packed dirt and sweat, and there was a hint of iron, as well, whether from the weapons or the not insignificant amounts of blood that had baptized this space over the years she was not sure. It had not always been used for training bouts. Before Arthur, its purposes were far more violent entertainments.

  “Princess Lily.” The young knight bowed. As an afterthought, he quickly added, “Queen Guinevere.” His bow was much less deep. Lancelot looked over at them from where she spoke with Sir Caradoc and Sir Percival, but it did not look like a conversation she could easily escape from.

  “Did you bring them?” Guinevach asked.

  “Yes, of course!” Sir Gawain rushed to the other side of the arena and dragged two bales of hay into place. Then he used a couple of daggers to pin up cloths painted with targets. Sir Gawain loped past them and returned with two small bows and two quivers of arrows, which he presented with a flourish. “As requested!”

  Guinevach took a bow and a quiver, then looked at Guinevere. “Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  Guinevach laughed. “I could not believe it when Sir Gawain told me they had never seen you shoot! My sister, who could best all the men by the time she was twelve! Come, I have waited years for you to teach me.”

  Guinevere looked at the offered bow and arrows with horror. She had never touched one in her life. This was a test, and she would fail it beyond question.

  Guinevere had wanted to be a viper lying in wait for enemies, but Guinevach had her beat. Guinevach knew she could not declare Guinevere a fraud, not with King Arthur supporting his queen. But she could slowly and surely poison everyone against Guinevere, undermine her place here, point out her deficiencies until no one could deny that their queen was an imposter.

  It was genius. And short of accusing Guinevach of witchcraft and
having her driven out of Camelot, there was no way Guinevere could combat it. She had already publicly declared Guinevach her sister. Everyone adored her. Guinevere was trapped.

  She had faced an evil king, rescued herself from kidnappers, stopped the Dark Queen’s forest attack and her wolves, and yet this girl was outmaneuvering her.

  “There you are!” Arthur’s voice flooded Guinevere with relief. She watched as he strode across the arena floor to them. He looked puzzled at the scene. “What is this?”

  “King Arthur!” Guinevach curtsied prettily. She really could blush on command. “I wanted my sister to teach me how to shoot. No one is better with a bow than Guinevere.”

  Arthur took in Guinevere’s panicked expression. She could see the wheels turning as he tried to think of a way to get her out of the situation.

  “I have not practiced since leaving for the convent,” Guinevere said. “It was not allowed.”

  “Oh, come now. Some things you do not forget.” Guinevach’s smile faded as Guinevere did not move to take the bow. Her voice dropped, the sweetness turning sharp. “Why will you not do this?”

  Arthur stepped forward and took the bow and arrows from Sir Gawain. “Not today, Guinevere. I do not want you to risk increasing the injury to your shoulder. Being so out of practice, you could be hurt even worse. I will teach Guinevach.”

  “That is very kind of you.” Guinevere retreated to where Brangien and Anna had come down from the booth and were sitting nearby.

  “Forgive her,” Anna said, not looking up from the stockings she was darning. “She likes an audience.”

  “Yes, I had noticed.” Guinevere watched as the knights gathered, smiling and laughing jovially as they offered pointers. Guinevach was terrible. But there was something artful to her absolute lack of skill. The worse Guinevach shot, the more she pouted, and the more the men consoled her and offered tips and praise for the slightest improvements. Even Arthur was drawn in, laughing at an arrow that failed to go more than two feet. He placed his hands on Guinevach’s arms, standing close behind her as he corrected her posture and guided her position. That arrow flew absolutely true, hitting the center of one of the targets. The men cheered, and Guinevach’s smile as she glanced at Guinevere hit its intended target as well, striking deep.

  It had all been an act, and every single man, including Arthur, was falling for it.

  “That was wonderful!” Guinevach lowered her bow and beamed at Arthur. “Soon I will be as good as you, Guinevere!”

  Guinevere was ready to leave. She had been ready to leave for some time. “I am certain you will surpass me. King Arthur, shall we—”

  “There is a play this evening!” Guinevach interrupted. “It should be starting soon. My maid told me about it.”

  Guinevere shot a glare at Anna, who shook her head and mouthed, The other maid.

  “Please, can we go? I have not been to a play in ages. Father did not approve of them.” Guinevach turned to Arthur, eyes wide and shining with hope. She was not asking Guinevere. She was appealing directly to Arthur.

  “It has been a while since I saw a play. I could use an evening of laughter sitting next to my beautiful queen.” Arthur smiled warmly at Guinevere, who was forced to smile back. How could she say no now? Maybe this was part of Arthur’s trying to make more of an effort with her. And if she refused to go, Arthur might still go. With Guinevach.

  “Oh, hooray! I am so happy! Guinevere, I know your shoulder is hurt, so the king and I will go ahead and get our seats. That way you can walk as slowly as you need to.” She put one hand on Arthur’s elbow and expertly spun him, already walking toward the exit. Arthur glanced back at Guinevere, helpless amusement on his face as he let himself be led away.

  Her shoulder required she go slowly? Guinevach was a witch. But she was a witch of words and emotions.

  “Can we go, too?” Sir Gawain blurted, staring after Guinevach.

  “The more the merrier,” Guinevere said through gritted teeth. Sir Gawain and a few other knights hurried after the king and his captor, Sir Gawain stripping off his armor and tossing it at a poor squire as he jogged to catch up to Guinevach. She noticed they did not even ask Lancelot if she was going. That, combined with Guinevach’s words, seized hold of Guinevere’s mind.

  Brangien stood, glowering. “Now we have to go to a play? I have a lot of work to do. It is unfair to leave it all to Isolde.” And, doubtless, she did not wish to be apart from Isolde more than she needed to.

  “I can attend the queen.” Anna tucked the stockings into a pouch at her hip. “Guinevach will be fine without my attention.”

  “Yes, she has plenty of other people to give her attention.” Guinevere hated the petulant tone in her voice, but Anna laughed good-naturedly. Guinevere waved to Brangien. “You go back to the castle. I will manage with Anna and Sir Lancelot.”

  “I would have dressed you differently for a play.” Brangien frowned thoughtfully. She pushed Guinevere’s hood back, letting it drape down her back. Then she undid two of Guinevere’s braids so her wavy hair framed her face. Finally, she pinched Guinevere’s cheeks.

  “Ouch!” Guinevere swatted Brangien’s hands away.

  “What? You need a pretty blush.” Satisfied, Brangien left.

  Lancelot stepped toward them, but Guinevere took Anna’s arm instead. She would not walk arm in arm with any other knight. It was something to think about, much as she hated to admit it. And there was more than that to think about. Her special treatment of Lancelot separated Lancelot from the other knights even more than her gender did. And Guinevere had created additional problems for Lancelot by using their closeness to convince Lancelot to do things and take risks no other knight would.

  She was being selfish. Being a knight was Lancelot’s dream, and Guinevere had been unknowingly sabotaging her the entire time. It was a devastating realization. Whatever they felt for each other, whatever closeness they had, it was getting in the way of Lancelot’s knighthood. Among King Arthur’s knights, Lancelot did not deserve to be on the sidelines.

  Lancelot said nothing, but walked a few paces apart from them to the theater. It was at the lowest part of the city. It was cheap entertainment, in many senses of the word, attended and enjoyed by anyone who could manage a coin to get in.

  “Have you been to a play before?” Anna asked as they joined the main street and followed it down toward the lake. The water shone distractingly, and Guinevere remembered rushing down this same street to embrace the Dark Queen.

  The Lady rushing down this street to embrace the Dark Queen. It was not Guinevere’s memory. She tried to shake off the sensation of remembering something that had not happened to her. Had the Lady of the Lake been as invasive as Merlin? Flooding her mind with memories that were not her own, while Merlin took away memories that were? “Yes, I went to one with Mord—I went to one, once.”

  If Anna noticed her slip, she did not remark on it. She would not know who Mordred was anyway. “Did you like it?”

  Guinevere sighed. “Yes. It was one of the happiest nights I have ever had.”

  “Then why do you sound sad, remembering it?” Anna paused. “Pardon me, my queen. I overstep.”

  “No, it is all right. It does make me sad, remembering. So much has changed since then.” Everything had felt so hopeful and full of promise that night, as she laughed beside Mordred and Brangien. An image of Mordred walking backward in front of them, eyes twinkling with mischief as he almost suggested something that could not be taken back. He had been good at that, at implying more than he said and watching for her reaction.

  And she had always reacted, had she not?

  Mordred could have handled Guinevach, Guinevere had no doubt of that. He would see right through her. They would have laughed together about Guinevach’s lack of subtlety. Guinevere wanted that right now more than anything.

  It was the cr
uelest thing Mordred had done yet, making her miss him instead of hate him.

  * * *

  “Can you believe her?” Guinevere demanded. They were in Arthur’s room, sitting across from each other. “Pretending she could not shoot to force you to fuss over her. And then making us all go to a play.”

  “Guinevere.” Arthur’s voice was soft, his eyes tired. “I think she just wanted to go to the play. She seemed to enjoy it. Have you considered that she is exactly who she says she is, and is here to visit her sister?”

  That was the brilliance of this attack. No one else could see it. Arthur had no idea of the little battles women waged every day—to be seen by men and respected, and also to navigate all the other women fighting for a place in this world. And Guinevere was not good at it. She thought she was improving, but Guinevach was proof she was not good enough. This was the most ingenious attack possible, because only Guinevere saw it.

  She paced. She needed Arthur to understand. “No. No! She is—she is more than that. I cannot say if there is magic at work, but how can you explain her pretending to recognize me?”

  “We have theories. We talked about them.”

  Guinevere waved that away. “And all her little tests. Earlier today she was quizzing me on things our father said to us. Then she tricked me into that absurd bow and arrow competition. If I had shot, it would have proved I was not the real Guinevere. She knew she could not expose me outright. I confronted her and told her to leave, so she changed tactics. Now she is proving to everyone that she is better than I am at everything. Being friends with the important ladies. Taking over the harvest festival. Making all the knights love her. Flirting with you.”

  “She was not—”

  “She was.” It had taken Guinevere months of marriage to get Arthur to even kiss her. Guinevach doubtless could have done it much faster. Perhaps she still would. “It is all deliberate. After she has shown everyone what an amazing princess she is, she will reveal that I am not Guinevere. She is trying to replace me!”