Endeavor (King Arthur and Her Knights Book 6)

by K. M. Shea

  Britt chuckled and opened her mouth to respond as she flicked her gaze back to her table. “If you’ll excuse me, Percival,” she said, distracted by the sight before she pushed away from the wall.

  She barely heard Percival’s “Of course, My Lord,” before she edged into the crowds and made her way to the table.

  Vivien stood in front of Britt’s table—the King’s table—her face morphed into a beautiful smile as she spoke to Guinevere. Her blonde hair glimmered in the torchlight, and she laughed. Guinevere, however, had tears in her eyes, and her lower lip trembled.

  Britt narrowed her eyes and made her way through the diners, but she couldn’t hear Vivien’s words until she reached the dais.

  “…You, on the other hand, are nothing but a tool for your father—a fattened calf he will sell to the highest bidder. He doesn’t even care about you. He considers anyone with a fat purse or a large army, and you’re just as stupid and foolish as he is. Your beauty will fade, and then no one will want you!” the vile girl hissed through her smile.

  Guinevere trembled, and her tears still fell, but she squared her shoulders.

  “You have nothing to say? I should have known,” Vivien laughed, looking lovely.

  “I do not reply because, because Arthur would want me to rise above your cruel words,” Guinevere said, a hiccup popping at the end of her words.

  “You bring the High King into this conversation? You think he likes you? I haven’t been here a day, and even I can see he only tolerates you. He pities you,” Vivien said.

  Brit moved to start up the stairs, but Guinevere’s next words made her freeze and broke her heart.

  “I know, but he is kind to me anyway, and I will not embarrass him,” Guinevere said.

  Britt shut her eyes with regret. Sir Percival was right. Britt—who did her best to instill honor and justice in her knights—was terribly unfair with Guinevere—just as she had been with Mordred. Kind? She was nothing of the sort. But no more.

  “You won’t, will you? I apologize, for I will drive you from these halls,” Vivien said.

  “I find that interesting,” Britt said as she glided up the stairs. “For it is I who rules Camelot. How do you intend to carry out your decree?”

  Vivien looked simultaneously horrified and angry enough to spit nails. “My Lord! I apologize; you misunderstand the situation.”

  “Do I? I arrive at my personal table—a place of honor—to find Lady Guinevere—a companion of my heart and a lady under my personal protection—in tears, whilst you hiss poison in her ear like a snake. Tell me, Lady Vivien, what part have I misunderstood?” Britt asked as she walked around the table to stand just behind Guinevere’s chair.

  Although Britt did not shout, her words were loud enough that some of the feasters sitting at the tables closest heard and gaped at the speech.

  Lady Vivien gasped and recoiled, her face shaped in a look of hurt. “I’m sorry if my words caused Lady Guinevere pain, but I am shocked by your conduct, My Lord. I was told the courts of Camelot were unrivaled in the respect and honor they bestowed upon the fairer sex.”

  Lady Vivien’s dramatic reaction garnered more attention, drawing notice from additional guests.

  Britt smiled darkly. “You are right. I have made great strides to bring the Ladies of Camelot honor. However, that also means the Ladies of Camelot must be more considerate of their positions. Insults of the degree to which you were delivering would never be accepted among my knights, nor will I allow them among my subjects—no matter their gender. Step carefully, Lady Vivien. Increased status and honor does not give you a free-pass to act in an ugly manner. If I ever hear you speaking to another person as you have to Guinevere—whether they be man, woman, or child—I will not hesitate to send you from my courts.”

  “You wouldn’t,” Vivien sputtered.

  “He would, and he is being generous. I would have tossed you from these hallowed halls the moment you uttered your first insult,” Morgan said, quickly climbing the dais. She joined Britt and laid her hand on Britt’s shoulder, murmuring “Brother.”

  The feasting hall was mostly silent now. Almost everyone stared at the drama with wide eyes.

  “This is dishonorable,” Vivien said. “Are you so unfeeling, King Arthur?”

  “No. My Lord is holds us to the same degree of conduct he holds the knights of his Round Table. It is an honor,” a lady at a table said, standing up.

  “We must conduct ourselves with nobility so we can be found worthy of the honor and favors the knights win for us,” another lady—Blancheflor, one of Guinevere’s close friends and the apple of Sir Griflet’s eye—said.

  Vivien gave a muffled cry. “I apologize, I did not know—I wasn’t aware. Forgive me, My Lord.”

  Britt raised an eyebrow. “It is not I to whom you owe an apology,” she said, pointedly looking down at Guinevere, who had wiped away her tears—although her eyes were still red.

  Vivien’s façade cracked for a moment as she looked at Guinevere with hatred. “I apologize, Lady Guinevere, for my harsh words.”

  “You are forgiven.” Guinevere sniffled and raised her chin.

  Vivien cast a glance at Britt and Morgan before she fled the dais, hurrying through the feasting hall. In mere seconds she was out a door, disappearing from view.

  “You conducted yourself well, Guinevere,” Morgan said.

  “Thank you,” Guinevere said in a small voice.

  “If that brat ever comes at you again, let me know. Okay?” Britt asked, her anger making her slip.

  “W-what?”

  “If Vivien speaks to you again like that, I want to hear about it,” Britt rephrased.

  Guinevere bobbed her head. “Yes, My Lord.”

  “Do you need to freshen up?” Morgan asked, an unusual amount of sympathy warming her voice. (Usually, she didn’t have much patience for Guinevere either.)

  “That would be nice.”

  “Let’s go then,” Britt said.

  “No. You, Arthur, must remain here. I shall accompany Lady Guinevere,” Morgan said.

  “Oh, right. Thanks, Morgan. Take all the time you need.”

  Guinevere rose and curtsied. “My Lord,” she said before she and Morgan also left the dais.

  Britt sighed and drummed her fingers on the back of Guinevere’s large, wooden chair. Just as everyone started returning their attention to their food, Britt was yanked back by her armor. “Arthur, a moment,” Merlin said.

  “Merlin, ah, hi,” Britt said, letting Merlin turn her around so their backs face the feasters. “Sorry, I know I should have stayed with Guinevere. How did you know Vivien would target her?”

  “I didn’t tell you to stay with Guinevere for her sake, but yours.”

  “What?”

  “Guinevere isn’t Vivien’s target. You are,” Merlin said.

  “So? She’s not going to charm me,” Britt snorted.

  “I know. However, this is more complex than you know. You need to trust me. Stay away from Vivien, and don’t confront her again.”

  “I’m not going to let her get away with mocking people in my courts,” she said, her voice sharp.

  “I know, but I don’t think she’ll try it again. Just avoid her at all costs, and make sure Guinevere is often seen with you,” Merlin said. His forehead was wrinkled, a sure sign he was worrying.

  “Is there anything else I can do to help?” Britt asked.

  Looking tired, Merlin shook his head. “No. This, unfortunately, is something I must take care of alone.”

  “Alright. Thank you for taking it on,” Britt said.

  Merlin’s spirits cheered, and he offered her a smile. “Of course.” His eyes lingered on Britt for an abnormal amount of time, a hint of his smile still lurking. “Whatever it takes, I will see you safe. Now, mind my instructions,” he said. He darted down the dais, leaving her alone, before Britt could say anything in response.

  The feast continued on, but it wasn’t until after the food had been cleared
that the next bit of excitement arrived.

  “Do you intend to practice with Excalibur on the castle walls this night, Milord?” a guard—one of the ones Kay had selected to be part of Britt’s elite guards/babysitters—asked.

  “Yes. I’m hoping to slip out soon—the noise is getting to be too much.” Britt rubbed her temples as she stared out at the hall.

  The feast doors opened, and Britt straightened with a smile when she saw who stood in the doorway. “Griflet!”

  Knights crowded around the young man to welcome him back, but they cleared out when Britt reached him.

  “My Lord,” Griflet said, bowing to Britt. He offered her a boyish smile. “I’ve returned home!”

  “How were your travels? What feats did you manage?” Britt asked, performing a manly back-slap for appearance’s sake. She noticed Griflet winced under the lighthearted blow. “Are you alright?”

  “As good as can be expected. My travels were magnificent until their end. I was helplessly trounced by a white knight.”

  “Come, eat and rest at my table, and tell me your story,” Britt said.

  Griflet—and several knights of the Round Table—followed Britt to her place on the dais and filled the abandoned table.

  Griflet ate with gusto, which quickly restored his energy and spirits. He spoke of the quests he conducted and the services he rendered for the poor and champion-less. He looked at Blancheflor with great longing as he recited his actions, but the beautiful lady didn’t seem to be aware he even existed.

  Griflet’s stories progressed like the typical recitation of a knight’s feats, until the end.

  “That was where I found the abbey with the shield.” Griflet paused to take a swig of his drink.

  “Shield?” Britt asked.

  “Yes. T’was a great white shield emblazoned with a red cross. One could see, just by looking at it, that it is blessed and is surely a holy talisman.”

  “I see,” Britt said.

  “I was filled with great desire to own it. It is a noble-looking thing, and all who saw it would admire it,” Griflet said, staring at the lady Blancheflor again.

  “Did you take it?” Sir Percival asked.

  Griflet winced. “Ah, well. The hermit who lived at the abbey told me off. He said the only one worthy of the shield was to have it, and anyone who took it would face the White Knight.”

  “But you took it anyway?” Britt guessed. She would never understand why, but the men of Camelot were like ravens—obsessed with shiny things.

  “Yes,” Griflet was slow to admit.

  “Then where is it?” Sir Agravain demanded.

  “I met the White Knight.”

  “And?”

  “I lost.”

  “Ah,” all the knights around the table said, their voices heavy with sympathy.

  “Where was the abbey?” Sir Agravain asked, eagerly leaning forward.

  “A ride a day and a half south of here,” Griflet said.

  Britt glared and tapped her fingers on the table. “Pellinore,” she muttered.

  “Did you say something, My Lord?” Griflet asked.

  “You say this was all over a shield?”

  “Yes.”

  “He trounced you badly?”

  “That is not to say that—”

  “Griflet.”

  “Yes.”

  Britt’s glare sharpened into a scowl.

  “Is something wrong, My Lord?” Sir Percival asked.

  “Yes. This has your father’s fingerprints all over it.”

  Sir Percival blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Twice he’s set up camp and swiped shields from knights. I wouldn’t be surprised if this is his newest modus operandi.”

  “His what?”

  “Nothing,” Britt said, shaking her head.

  “Is the abbey due south or southeast?” Agravain asked.

  “You’re not thinking of going, are you?” Sir Safir asked.

  “Why not? Wouldn’t you like to have a go at this knight?” Agravain asked.

  “No, because I have a correct notion of my level of skill,” Sir Safir said.

  “You are too modest, my friend,” Sir Percival said.

  “The White Knight is dreadfully skilled. It will take someone great to defeat him,” Griflet said.

  “Wasn’t it King Pellinore who pounded you the last time you went after a shield?” Agravain asked.

  “I am much more skilled now,” Griflet huffed. “Besides, you haven’t done a tenth of the quests I have.”

  “He’s got you there, Sir Agravain,” Sir Lanval said.

  Britt affectionately shook her head and pushed away from the table. Her knights didn’t even notice when she slipped away.

  “Wasn’t it you, My Lord, who defeated King Pellinore?” Mordred asked. He stood directly behind her, making her jump.

  “I apologize, Mordred. I didn’t know you followed me. What was that?” Britt asked, resting one hand on her sword belt.

  “I couldn’t help but overhear what Griflet and his friends were saying. The time he faced King Pellinore, right after he was knighted; didn’t you ride out and defeat King Pellinore in return?”

  “He was dressed as a black knight at the time, and Merlin clubbed him in the helm first to get him off his horse so it would be a sword fight, but yes.”

  “It is remarkable,” Mordred said, strolling after Britt as she walked the perimeter of the room.

  “What?”

  “You. I cannot recall ever hearing of a king who fought for his knights and subjects on such a personal basis. Most stay in their castles and fight only in wars.”

  “Oh, well, it was early in my reign. We didn’t even have a peace treaty with King Lot of Orkney at the time. My life was a lot less valuable then.” She grinned. “Merlin let me off my leash more often. The last time I rode out on a real adventure was last year when I accompanied Sir Tor for part of his first quest.”

  “Do you wish you could quest more?” Mordred asked, tilting his head like a curious dog.

  “Of course. It’s refreshing to get away from the politics and weight of being king, but it is also nearly impossible to leave because of those same reasons.”

  “Would you like to go to the abbey with me and face this White Knight of Griflet’s?” Mordred asked.

  Britt was so surprised, she stopped walking. “You’re serious?”

  “Yes.”

  Britt carefully considered Mordred. It would be a dream to leave Camelot for a few days, but was it wise to go with Mordred? “Perhaps…but only if you convince Sir Kay to agree to it,” she said.

  “Why, if I may inquire.”

  “I made Sir Kay a promise last year that I would never venture forth without informing him—or without his blessing. If he does not accept your proposed idea, I’m sorry, but I will be forced to refuse it.”

  “I see,” Mordred said, scratching his cheek as he thought. “Very well, I shall speak to him.”

  “Honestly, I don’t think you’ll ever get him to agree,” Britt said, thinking it was only fair to warn him.

  “I can be most persuasive, My Lord.”

  Britt shrugged. “Give it all you’ve got, then. I look forward to hearing the results. If you’ll excuse me,” Britt said, making her way to a door.

  “Of course, My Lord,” Mordred bowed, and Britt slipped from the feasting hall.

  He has no idea how badly he is about to fail, Britt thought, shaking her head.

  CHAPTER 6

  The Holy Shield

  Two days later, Britt, baffled and shocked, found herself mounted on Roen, geared up in plain, silver armor, and holding the rope of a packhorse.

  “How did this happen?” she asked.

  Mordred checked the girth of his saddle. “You said to get Sir Kay’s permission, so I did.” he mounted up.

  “Are you secretly a wizard?” Britt asked, turning in her saddle to face the handsome knight.

  “No,” Mordred chuckled. “I’m afr
aid magic is not one of my talents. But I believe I did tell you I am very persuasive.”

  “Forget persuasive. You would need to have the powers of mind control to convince Kay to let me quest with only you and no bodyguards,” Britt said.

  “I’m not sure I follow your meaning, My Lord.”

  Britt frowned and looked around the nearly empty stable-yard. Only three other knights were present: Kay, Sir Bedivere, and Sir Bodwain.

  Britt nudged Roen, her black courser, to the trio. “Are you sure he didn’t magic you into agreeing, Kay?”

  Mordred laughed. “I can hear you, My Lord.”

  “I know. I genuinely want to know,” Britt called back to him.

  “Both Merlin and I believe it would be wise for you to leave Camelot for a while, My Lord,” Kay said.

  Britt sighed. “This has something to do with Vivien, doesn’t it?”

  Sir Bodwain and Sir Bedivere avoided Britt’s gaze, but Kay nodded.

  “And why does Merlin insist on keeping me in the dark?” Britt asked, her voice frosty.

  Sir Bodwain gave her a sympathetic smile. “It’s because he cares for you, My Lord.”

  “More like he’s afraid I’ll do something stupid.” Britt snorted and secured the packhorse’s tether to Roen’s saddle.

  “No,” Sir Bedivere shook his head. “Not this time.”

  Sir Bodwain pitched his voice low. “He’s afraid for you, Arthur. He’s protecting you as best he can. Ignorance is part of it.”

  Britt looked to Kay for confirmation. Her seneschal nodded, easing some of the tightness in her chest.

  “Well then. I may as well enjoy myself.”

  “Remember, you agreed to travel as Sir Galahad,” Kay said, naming the alter ego Britt had created when her position as king was shaky at best.

  “For safety—I know. Thank you for seeing me off, gentlemen. Although I must say I’m surprised you are the only ones,” Britt said, leaning forward in her saddle. She gave the stable-yard another quick inspection, looking for Merlin. He did not appear.

  “We won’t announce your quest until tonight,” Sir Bedivere said. “We thought it would be the wisest course of action—or young knights like Agravain might chase after you.”

  “That sounds about right,” Britt chuckled.