Surrender_A Queen's Honor Short Story

by Mande Matthews

  QUEEN'S HONOR

  Tales of Lady Guinevere

  Short Story: Surrender

  By

  Mande Matthews

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Queens Honor: Short Story - Surrender

  Copyright 2015 by Mande Matthews

  CREDITS:

  Design: AM Design Studios

  Model: Faestock

  Copy Editing: AM Design Studios

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Dear Reader

  Thank you for taking the time to read Surrender! This was an exciting reveal for me to write and I hope you enjoy the brief peek into Elibel and Arthur's night as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please feel free to drop me an email at any time. Have a magical day!

  Mande Matthews

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  QUEEN'S HONOR

  Tales of Lady Guinevere

  Surrender

  A lady in waiting's love for a king, her lady’s soon-to-be husband, forces her to choose between the desire of a king and the duty to her lady.

  By

  Mande Matthews

  TIMELINE:

  This short story takes place

  near the end of Quest, the night Elibel spends with Arthur, and is told from Elibel’s point of view.

  ***

  Surrender

  The heart wants what the heart wills no matter how honorably we reason.

  - From the private musings of Elibel of the House of Anwyl,

  First Lady to Guinevere, Queen of Camelot,

  or as most would come to whisper behind her back, the King's whore.

  ***

  One touch can change destinies. No matter how sweet, how fleeting, how unexpected, one whisper of skin on skin, flesh on flesh, can threaten a kingdom.

  It was that way for me with Arthur.

  When I fled from Guinevere after seeing her in Lancelot's embrace—my anger raging from either indignation, jealousy, or both—I ran blindly towards King Arthur's chambers. But even as my feet pounded the cobble streets of Camelot, as the hem of my gown dragged the dirt, as my own heart plummeted into my stomach, I knew I would never inform on my cousin.

  I would not. I could not. No matter how I threatened her. I loved her too much.

  I would never tell the king of her indiscretion with his most trusted knight.

  From the moment that I had been brought as Guinevere’s companion, when Uncle Leodegrance had led me to her chambers, and those mist-colored eyes haunted by her mother's death had begged me for some kind of solace, my cousin had taken up residency in my very being. Hurting her would be like inflicting a wound upon myself.

  No. I would never injure her.

  At least, that's what I told myself.

  So as I approached Arthur's rooms, my breath ragged from running, I floundered onward. Tears blurred my vision as I stumbled through the corridors, not knowing where I would go, but needing an escape from my tumultuous emotions, until I found myself in a grand hall.

  Guinevere's dowry, the Round Table, was assembled and sat in the center of the chamber. The masterpiece was everything that was Guinevere. Each divided slice represented fairness, and until the moment I had seen her with Lancelot, I had believed Guinevere was fairness incarnate.

  I stopped short of the table. “So this is the king’s dream? A land where peace reigns supreme while his own house trembles with secrets and desire.” I whispered.

  “Another piece of the Wooden Wisdoms appears.” A man’s voice echoed around me—one etched with time and intelligence, one I thought I recognized from earlier in the day. I hoped he wasn’t close enough to have heard me speak ill of Arthur’s dream. I turned in a circle trying to spot the source.

  “Lady Elibel, is it?”

  I swallowed. “I am. And who might I have the pleasure of speaking with?”

  Again, I swung around. And again, I found no one in the room with me.

  “A king centers the board, surrounded by his protectors, and then flanked again by twice the attacking forces.”

  “I know how the game of Wooden Wisdoms is played.”

  “Ah,” he said. “But do you know the game is real?”

  “Show yourself, Sir,” I tried not to plead, keeping my voice pleasant, but my nerves started to prick a warning over my skin. “Come out of the shadow and speak to me directly so I may know who—”

  “Already a knight and a queen have taken positions on the board, but now a lady in waiting emerges as well.” He laughed like an ancient dragon spitting fire, the sound bouncing off the walls, and in that moment, I recognized his tone from the onset of the quest.

  “Merlin?” I asked. My tone quaked a bit, and for all my courtly training, I could not cover it.

  Steam rose out of the floor in front of me, turning into a black-and-white spiral of smoke. I backed up, edging away.

  “Which will you be?” Continued his voice, “Black or white? A force for, or a force against? How will you aid the task of the king? How will you impact the fate of the land and its people?”

  The mist swamped the corner of the room, obscuring the tapestries that hung over the walls. Tendrils sprang from its edges, reaching for me. I turned to flee, but ran into what I thought was another wall. When I pulled back, I realized the obstruction was Merlin. A druid. An old one with such famed powers that I openly trembled as he blocked my escape.

  “Oh, fear not, pretty one.” His gravelly voice did not settle me one bit.

  I stared directly at the druid’s glass dangling at his chest, afraid to look up at him. The glass whirled with colors and blackness.

  “It’s not me who will trouble you. Let’s hope, though, that Morgaine has not identified you on her Wooden Wisdoms board. She likes to believe Arthur’s future is wholly in her control.”

  The colors of the orb dazzled me, drawing all my attention. I started to relax. His words turned to mush inside my head. A half-swoon swept me as if the room spun. Merlin placed his hands over the glass. Light shot through his fingers, and pulsed into his skin. Then he laid his hand on top of my head.

  Energy jolted through me like little needles invading my skull. I nearly screamed at the shock, but he pushed a finger over my mouth. “Hush. We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves, do we?”

  I reeled backwards as his fingers slid off my head. The sensation of wavering on the deck of a boat remained. “What have you done to me?”

  I swept my gaze up to square him in the eye. Within the depth of his irises, scenes played out: a naked Guinevere in Lancelot’s embrace, Arthur leading battle after battle, Morgaine cackling with laughter, a young man in golden armor, and blood—blood everywhere.

  “You are already a player on the board, girl. You’re set in motion, whether you know it or not. I have given you a moment’s reprieve from Morgaine, but it will not last forever. Once she spots you, be on guard. She will use you for her own gain or destroy you trying. I suspect, if your moves are not m
ade with the utmost caution, your fate may be the latter. But you. You have something every king needs to become the man behind the name.”

  I shook my head. “Me? What do I have? What about My Lady?”

  Merlin stared. Glints of the future still played in his eyes. The wooziness in my stomach doubled at the continued sight of blood and battle, until streaks of red washed over Arthur, Lancelot, and Guinevere as well. Then the crimson river turned and came for me.

  Footsteps sounded behind us, startling me out of Merlin’s hypnosis. I turned. Arthur entered the far side of the room. When I swiveled back, Merlin, along with his mist and his visions, had disappeared. I scurried to a curtain and hid before the king spotted me.

  Blood rushed my head, pounding. What had Merlin meant? The words tumbled around in my brain. They made no sense. I had nothing to give a king. Nothing. And what? What, pray tell, would stop all that blood?

  I peered from behind the drapery, being careful to remain out of sight. Arthur paced. His golden halo of curls bounced as he strutted. Finally, he thrust his fist on the table and collapsed to his knees.

  “Oh, Jesu!” he pleaded, folding his hands into a prayer. “Why have you done this to me?” He lowered his head onto the table. “Any other woman would be pleased to marry me! King of Camelot! Slayer of Saxons! And she turns from me with disgust in her eyes, just like my own mother once did. I have battled. I have taken swords to my flesh. I have won alliances. And still, I am not worthy?”

  His words ripped at me. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. A guilty flush rose in my cheeks. I should not hear such confessions. I shuffled to the side, inching my way through the cascade of drapery to search for an exit—any retreat to give this man privacy. My shoe sounded on the stone floor as I moved.

  Arthur started. “Who’s there?”

  Though I remained hidden behind folds of fabric, I heard him stand. His boots clomped as he walked.

  “I say, who’s there?” His voice rose angrily. His steps quickened.

  I stood as still as I could, but my chest flitted with my breath. His footsteps closed in and the curtain swung wide, revealing me in my hiding place.

  Arthur stood before me, drape in hand, sword in the other, ready to slice me clean through. His golden brows rose, turning the furrow into a look of surprise.

  He dropped his sword to his side and bent at his waist, exhaling.

  “I apologize, Sire. I never meant to eavesdrop. I was here, and you came in, and there was nowhere for me to go, so I—”

  Then he laughed—a long round side-splitting merriment before he turned those azure colored eyes upon me.

  “I am sorry to have startled you, Lady Elibel. But I dare say; you are quite the refreshing intruder.”

  I bowed my head. A slow burn edged into my cheeks. We sat there in silence for long moments.

  Finally, he cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “How much did you hear?”

  “I swear to you, Sire. I will not speak to My Lady of your confession.”

  Arthur nodded. He shifted, placing the tip of Excalibur against the floor and leaned on the hilt of his instrument.

  “To tell you the truth,” he said, “it’s a relief.”

  “Relief?”

  “That someone besides God hears me.”

  I smiled tentatively.

  “Because for the most part, God doesn’t answer. Unless… You’re his answer?”

  Heat flushed my neck and face again, and I thought I must resemble a tomato.

  He gestured with his head for us to sit at the Round Table. “Indeed, you may be the very person I need to speak with.”

  I followed his lead. He pulled over a chair and seated me, then hopped up and sat on the tabletop within alarming proximity. Had I reached out my hand, I could have touched his thigh.

  “You must know your lady well.”

  I nodded. “She is not a difficult woman to understand.”

  “Oh, on the contrary! I find her baffling.”

  “Her heart is generous, Sire. She seeks love, fairness, and understanding. This is all you need to comprehend her motives.”

  “Ah. A true heart. And yet…”

  “What?”

  He paused. “Do you know that Merlin warned me?”

  A knot formed in my throat at the mention of the druid, remembering all his archaic warnings and visions. “Warned you of what?”

  “That Guinevere, no matter what I did, would never love me. And if a queen with the blood of the old ones marries without love, the land will suffer for it. That if I choose to marry for the right to High King, there will be a price. And I will not like the repayment required.”

  “But you marry to ensure all Britons safety. Surely, that is honorable enough without needing love,” I said.

  “Ah, so you agree.”

  “On what?”

  “That Guinevere does not love me.”

  “She hasn’t had time to know you. She could come around, Sire.”

  “Will you stop calling me that?”

  “Sire?”

  “I feel like I'm holding court.”

  “As you command. How about Your Majesty?” I teased.

  He cocked his head, examining me. “You jest.”

  “Your Highness?” I asked.

  He shook his head.

  “Or Holy Lordship?”

  He shook his head once more.

  “Hmm…” I tapped my finger on my lips. “I know! What about Britannia’s Shining Golden God and Savior of All?”

  “Yes,” said Arthur. “I prefer that one.”

  Then we both laughed. Until Arthur sighed. “Life is full of irony, is it not?”

  “Sire?”

  Arthur knotted a mock-angry brow at me.

  “Oh!” I replied. “My apologies. I meant Britannia’s Shining Golden God and Savior of All!”

  “That’s better,” he agreed. “I dare say; I might need to employ you to bolster my confidence.” He grinned before the ghost of his prior thought returned.

  “What of life?” I prodded.

  He paused, considering. “It seems rather fitting that I shall marry a woman who will never love me.”

  “Why would such a cold arrangement ever befit a king?” I replied, indignation creeping into my tone. I found myself angry at Guinevere once more, and I pushed the feeling down. I cleared my throat and reminded myself to keep my lady-like demeanor intact, though I did not realize at the time any decorum would soon abandon me all together.

  “You’ve heard the stories of my birth, yes?”

  I nodded. The tale was well-told by bards, court gossipers, and commoners alike.

  He restated the facts anyway. “Merlin called forth a black magic on the night of my birth. One that would cloak my father. One that would trick my mother. One that would forge my entire future.”

  “Yes,” I said. “I know each word of the tale. Tailsen’s version, of course.”

  “Indulge me,” Arthur said.

  “Oh, I dare not!” I nearly squealed back at him.

  He smiled. “No, do tell! I like to hear how others sing it.”

  “I assure you. I’m no Lady Guinevere when it comes to bardic recitations.”

  He cocked his head and studied me for a long moment as if tracing every angle. “The face of an angel and the voice of a toad?” he chided.

  Face of an angel? I could hardly repress my smile, or the jitters invading my stomach. My wits normally remained in the face of flattery, but with Arthur, the praise ran over me like a rainstorm after a long drought. “My voice is more like mewling kittens. Or perhaps dying cats. I assure both your ears and your heart will fare better without my song.”

  His eyes, usually piercing, softened as he watched me.

  “I am well aware of my limitations,” I added for emphasis.

  “As am I,” he said.

  We stared at one another momentarily, and I sensed there was more to that statement than either of us admitted.

  Arthur
continued, “My father, as Merlin had warned him before calling forth the darkness, paid the ultimate price. My mother hated him for his trickery. While he lay with my mother, Father murdered her husband, his rival, all for lust of another man’s wife and chiefdom, both of which he took for his own. Eventually, my father paid with a Saxon sword wedged through his heart and all he had sacrificed was lost to him. I was the only lasting result.”

  “Surely, though, a king’s birth is never easy. To be born for greatness one must come from unusual circumstance.”

  “I am forged by blood and battle.” He said the words as if they tasted foul, and he wanted to spit them from his mouth.

  I recalled Merlin’s visions. The sensation of thousands of spiders ran the length of my spine. “But it’s with that birth that you have taken up the quest for Britannia’s safety. It is honorable. It is valiant. It is courageous.”

  “And yet, my mother died at the hands of murderous Saxons before I could prove to her that I was more than just an unfortunate trickery.”

  “But your mother loved you.”

  Arthur slumped his shoulders, bending his neck. The ringlets of gold sagged over his forehead. “Do you know what my signet stands for?” he asked.

  I shook my head.

  “My father’s signet was the dragon. After my birth, Mother swore off the old religion due to Merlin's black magic and converted to the new God. The cross is her symbol. And the color red, I chose for her blood. Her death, that one day, I will avenge and prove to her that my birth was no ill fate.”

  I shivered at his words.

  “You’re cold—”

  “No, I just—”

  However, Arthur hopped up and set to lighting torches. The shadows grew long in the grand hall as dusk threatened outside. Then Arthur pulled a drapery from the wall, strutted to me and whisked the fabric around me. He snuggled the material beneath my neck.