by K. M. Shea
“It can’t be me,” Britt said. “I’m already beardless and no one is following my example. Our fashion icon must be a man that knights imitate out of admiration or jealousy,” Britt said.
“A fashion icon?” Sir Ulfius asked.
“The court favorite,” Merlin supplied.
“I see, we must have a beloved knight take the first step and shave, is that it?” Sir Ector asked.
Merlin looked to Sir Kay.
Sir Kay raised his brows and shook his head no.
“Agreed,” Merlin said to Sir Kay’s silent refusal. “No one much likes you anyway since you keep a tight guard around Arthur.”
Britt sighed and sank into an open chair. “The knight that gave me the idea would have been perfect. He was clean shaven and as handsome as they come.”
“Who was it?” Merlin asked in interest.
“I didn’t ask,” Britt said.
“Britt, you should know better. Names and relations are important,” Merlin scolded.
“I didn’t ask on purpose. As soon as I knew who he was I would have to worry about offending whatever second or fifth cousin of his lives in my courts,” Britt said.
Sir Ector muffled a crow of laughter as Merlin scowled.
“If I might venture to change the subject,” Sir Ulfius said.
“I suppose, as long as we have no model knight my idea isn’t much good. What’s on your mind, Sir Ulfius?” Britt asked.
Sir Ulfius pressed his fingers together. “I have located the Round Table you so greatly desire.”
“Really? That’s fantastic!” Britt said, flashing the older knight a brilliant smile.
Britt had always disliked stories about King Arthur—she hated Lancelot the back-stabbing best friend with a vengeance and found the courtly romances to be trite—but as one of her close friends was an avid fan Britt wasn’t able to entirely escape stories about the famous king. As such she knew vaguely of some of the more famous parts of Arthurian lore, like the Round Table.
“I suppose so,” Sir Ulfius reluctantly said.
“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Sir Ulfius, the Round Table is a big deal. Thank you for finding it. Where is it?”
Sir Ulfius shifted and avoided looking at Britt. “I have discovered that it was given to King Leodegrance by Uther Pendragon. He still has it.”
“Leodegrance? That’s even better news. He’s been our ally since I was crowned king, and he owes us after Sir Bodwain and King Ban and King Bors saved him from that weasel King Ryence,” Britt said. “He’ll let us buy it off him, have you asked what he wants for it?”
“I know you have your heart set on the table, so I had one of my comrades from Uther’s court make an inquiry on your behalf,” Sir Ulfius said.
“And?”
Sir Ulfius sighed. “His requirement is that you would take his daughter, Guinevere, as your wife.”
“Not an option. Ask him how much gold he would like,” Britt said.
Sir Ulfius shook his head. “He informed my comrade marriage was the only way he would see the Round Table removed from his halls.”
“Doubtlessly he’s figured out how important the Round Table is to you,” Merlin said, finally chiming in. “He is an unimportant ally compared to King Ban and King Bors, and having you as a son-in-law would be the greatest boon he could ever ask for. If you marry his daughter he’ll be able to lean upon you even more. We will tell the prig to bugger off and that will be the end of it.”
Britt frowned. “I want the Round Table, Merlin.”
Merlin threw his hands in the air. “Why? We’ll make you your own blasted round table!”
“It wouldn’t be the same.”
“No, it would be better. It wouldn’t be stained and scratched up like this cumbersome thing Leodegrance has,” Merlin insisted.
“Do we know for certain that it is the Round Table?” Sir Kay asked, smoothing his mustache.
“No,” Sir Ulfius said. “My comrade never saw the table, it is in storage. King Leodegrance only brings it out for great feasts and such.”
“Good riddance,” Merlin said. “It’s probably a nasty, half destroyed piece of furniture. Uther was a rough man. I can’t imagine any table of his has fared well.”
“Merlin… I really want that table,” Britt said.
The young wizard met her gaze and the two stared at each other for several moments. “Blast. Fine,” Merlin said, mussing his blonde hair as he scratched the top of his head. “Have it your way. Kay, send an official courier to Leodegrance from Arthur inquiring about the price of the table. Make it absolutely clear that desires for marriage are intolerable.”
Sir Kay bowed and left the room as Merlin planted his chin on his hand.
“Happy?” Merlin snarked.
“Abundantly so,” Britt smiled. “Thank you, Merlin!”
Merlin rolled his eyes. “I still do not understand your fascination with circular tables,” he said as Britt seated herself in the chair next to him.
“It’s part of the legend,” Britt said.
“You are the legend, you can make up your own legends,” Merlin complained, raising his hand to acknowledge Sir Ulfius and Sir Ector as they rose and left the room.
“Maybe, but some things have to happen,” Britt said.
“Like owning the Round Table?” Merlin asked.
“Like owning the Round Table,” Britt echoed.
Two weeks passed without any new revelations. Couriers were sent back and forth between Merlin and King Leodegrance without any successful bargains being struck. The usually affable king was quite stubborn in his demands.
“I’ll go without the Round Table before I see Guinevere in Camelot,” Britt said. Her intense hatred of Lancelot was matched by her disdain for Guinevere, King Arthur’s unfaithful wife.
Cavall, Britt’s giant apricot colored mastiff, a guard dog given to her by Sir Kay, whined at her feet.
Britt leaned over the armrest of her wooden throne and affectionately scratched her dog’s side. “It’s nothing, my fine boy. Don’t worry.”
Cavall set his head on the ground and sighed.
Britt patted him once more and raised her gaze to her courts. It was mid afternoon on a cool spring day. As most of her knights had little to do since they were, surprisingly, at peace with not even a hint of war on the horizon, most of them chose to sit in Britt’s throne room and chatter as Merlin’s Minions ran the kingdom.
Britt considered her knights. “We need to make things more efficient. We have all these knights with no work to do. Talk about a waste of man power,” Britt said, sitting taller when Sir Kay approached her throne.
“There is a foreign knight that wishes to speak to you, My Lord,” Sir Kay said.
Britt scratched the back of her neck. “What for?”
“He claims he recently spoke with you, and you instructed him to seek you out in Camelot should he need anything,” Sir Kay said. Although he spoke no chiding words, his displeasure of Britt’s generosity was made obvious by the slant of his mustache and the rebuke in his eyes.
Britt waved Sir Kay’s unspoken concern off. “Oh! Him! Don’t worry, Kay. He’s not a nut or a covert killer. He’s the fancy pants knight that gave me the shaving idea.”
“Still, one should be cautious when extending hospitality to an unknown knight,” Sir Kay grumbled.
“Yes, yes. I’m sorry. I should have let you look him over before I made any invitations. Send him in, please?” Britt said.
Sir Kay bowed and swept out of the room.
Moments later the handsome, dark haired, clean shaven knight entered the hall.
His entrance raised some notice from Britt’s knights. Several of the men clustered closest to Britt’s throne fell silent as they watched the young knight approach Britt.
“Welcome to Camelot,” Britt said as she stood and glided down the stairs of the dais her throne was perched upon.
“Thank you, My Lord,” the knight said, bending over in a perfec
tly executed bow.
“What brings you here today?” Britt asked.
“I approach you to ask for living quarters for myself and my two cousins. We grow weary of making our beds under the stars and would like to rest for a time before setting off in search of more adventures.”
“There are just three of you? I don’t think that will be a problem,” Britt said, glancing to Merlin, who was crouched over an abacus and parchment.
The wizard flapped his hand without looking up. “Go ahead. Adopt any number of vagabond knights. We have enough room,” Merlin said.
Britt nodded in satisfaction. “There you have it. You and your cousins may seek refuge in Camelot as long as you like. We can speak to Sir Kay, who will make the proper arrangements.”
The young knight smiled. “I thank you for your generosity, My Lord.”
“Name,” Merlin said.
Britt winced. “I must beg you to forgive my poor manners, for I do not know your name,”
“It is I who must beg your pardon, My Lord, for I never thought to introduce myself. My cousins are Lionel and Bors, the sons of King Bors. I am Lancelot du Lac, the son of King Ban.”
All of Britt’s good cheer left her. She forced her lips into the shape of a smile that held no warmth. “Lancelot?”
Merlin looked up in alarm, hearing the frigid edge to Britt’s inquiry.
“Yes, My Lord,” Lancelot said, bowing again.
“If your name is indeed Lancelot you can go—,” Britt was cut off when Merlin hustled to her side.
“Lancelot, welcome to Camelot. You know who Kay is, yes? He’s the man with the unfortunate face and the intimidating mustache who showed you in. Talk to him and he will show you and your cousins to your rooms. If you will excuse us,” Merlin said, yanking Britt out of the throne room.
They stumbled past Sir Kay and a squad of guards and nearly ran into a gaggle of servants before Merlin hauled Britt into an unused bedroom.
“I want him OUT of Camelot, right now,” Britt snarled.
Merlin folded his arms across his chest and stood in front of the door, barring the way. “Why?”
“Because he’s a back-stabbing, spineless worm who destroys Camelot and ruins Arthur.”
“Is that in the Arthur legends from the future?” Merlin asked.
“Yes.”
“What happens?”
“He worms his way into the position of Arthur’s best friend and has an affair with Arthur’s wife, Guinevere,” Britt spat. “The two rip Arthur’s kingdom to shreds.”
Merlin didn’t even blink. “I see. You fail to realize one thing.”
“What?”
“That is a legend from the future, Britt, but right now you are the legend,” Merlin said.
“What do you mean?”
“It is your decision to marry. You decide who your closest knight is. You are in control. It is your decision whether or not you wish to put Lancelot in a position of power.”
“Exactly, which is why I’m kicking him out of Camelot,” Britt said.
“You can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Did you hear anything he said after he gave his name?”
“No.”
Merlin sighed. “I thought as much. He said his father is King Ban.”
“So?”
“King Ban is your ally, and his cousins’ father, King Bors, is as well. They were the pair who rode to your rescue when King Lot and his allies attacked you. Don’t you remember?”
“I do. So what?”
“We cannot kick out the sons of our closest allies.”
Britt groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. “This is why I didn’t want to know his name. Now we have to be afraid about offending all of his relatives. Bother feudalism!”
“It’s worse than that, I’m afraid,” Merlin said.
“How? How can it possibly be worse?”
“As long as he stays he and his cousins will have to be seated in positions of honor.”
“What?”
“They are princes and the offspring of your closest allies. Naturally they will sup with you at your table,” Merlin said.
“You mean I’ll have to interact with Lancelot?”
“I do.”
“Being a king sucks. You can’t do anything you want,” Britt sighed.
“Well done. Now you’re starting to get it.”
Chapter 2
A Quest
Britt tipped back the remaining wine in her goblet before letting a page refill it.
Merlin, seated at her side, leaned in and whispered, “I do hope you’re not going to tolerate the young princes’ presence by consuming as much alcohol as you did during Queen Morgause’s stay?”
Britt spoke through clenched teeth as she smiled at Lancelot when the handsome knight glanced at her from further down her dinner table. “If my methods work I see no need to correct them.”
Normally Merlin invading her personal space made her squirrely. Today she was too angry to notice.
Merlin patted her shoulder. “Cheer up, at least these three won’t be here long, and they’re not trying to kill you.”
“Fantastic,” Britt said, stabbing a radish with her knife.
Britt’s attention was redirected by a dust covered courier who hurried up the steps. “This is for you, Milord. A correspondence from King Leodegrance,” he said, passing over an envelope sealed with wax.
Britt carelessly passed the letter to Merlin—she couldn’t read old English writing—and took another slug of her wine as the wizard opened the letter and read it.
“What is it?” Britt asked.
“You’re never going to guess,” Merlin said, shaking his head in disgust. “King Leodegrance’s lands are about to be invaded.”
“Again?”
“Again.”
“By whom?”
“Duke Maleagant.”
“Who’s that?”
“One of King Ryence’s allies.”
“We should attack Ryence’s lands and be done with it. I thought Lot was annoying, but Ryence is proving to have more perseverance,” Britt said, slumping in her chair.
“I’m not much inclined to help him,” Merlin said, folding the letter. “We’ve already bailed him out once. If we lose him as an ally I suppose it is not the worst thing in the world. You have prince Gawain and prince Ywain in your halls. If they had to, King Lot and King Urien would ride to your aid so you are not in any danger.”
“Yeah,” Britt said. She stared out at her dining knights and watched them eat, drink, and roar in laughter. “Wait a second,” Britt said. “If Maleagant and Leodegrance do make an alliance my chances of getting the Round Table are ruined, aren’t they?”
“Undoubtedly.”
Britt thought for a moment before she stood and declared, “It is not right to let an ally face an enemy alone. We must help King Leodegrance, my honor is staked on it,” Britt said.
“Bravo,” Lancelot clapped.
Merlin rolled his eyes at the foreign knight’s antics and muttered, “You just want to save your precious table.”
Britt ignored the observation and slowly turned to face Lancelot, a stiff smile molded on her face. “Were you listening in on our private conversation, Lancelot?”
“Only a bit. I admire the stoutness of your loyalty, My Lord. You are truly worthy of being the King of England,” Lancelot said, rubbing his chin.
On either side of him his hulking cousins shoved food in their mouths like it was their last meal for the week.
“Hmm,” Britt said before forcibly turning her body back to Merlin. “It doesn’t matter what my motives are. What is clear is that we must ride to King Leodegrance’s aid.”
Merlin sighed. “It’s not that easy. If you save him he’s going to insist you marry his daughter.”
“So we help him without his knowledge,” Britt said.
“Go on, I am intrigued,” Merlin said.
“A small party of our best knights
could easily enter King Leodegrance’s borders. They could pillage and plunder Maleagant’s forces,” Britt said.
“Pillage and plunder? What happened to honor and chivalry?” Merlin asked.
“They flee the moment I sense my table is in danger,” Britt said.
“There is some intelligence in what you say. Maleagant will not be able to amass the army Ryence did. At the very least the knights could scout the land as we prepare the army.”
“We. We could scout the land.”
Merlin shook his head. “You are not going with them.”
“Yes I am. I want to see the Round Table,” Britt said, folding her arms across her belly.
“You cannot. Not only would it be asinine to send a king on a scouting trip, but looking at the round table would mean getting into Camelgrance, King Leodegrance’s castle.”
Britt leaned into Merlin and whispered. “You just made me welcome the man I hate most on Earth in any century and his cousins into my castle. I. Am. Going.”
Britt sank back into her chair as Merlin raised an eyebrow. “Very well, I suppose I should let you win occasionally. Besides, I doubt there’s much danger if we head out immediately.”
“We’ll call a meeting after dinner?”
“Yes, of course.”
“My Lord,” Lancelot said, making Britt stiffen. “My compliments on your bountiful table.”
“Yes, it’s certainly a good thing that it is bountiful,” Britt said. Her gaze did not waver from Lancelot, and his cousins continued to eat with great enthusiasm.
Lancelot laughed. “I must say, My Lord, I find your kingdom both unusual and beautiful. I have never met folk half as clean nor well fed as the subjects of Camelot. ‘Tis a charming kingdom, and all can see that you have the blessing of your faerie neighbors. They guard your forests and do mischief on your enemies, leading them astray in the woods and such.”
“Perhaps, but I think lately they have failed in that area,” Britt said.
Merlin choked on his wine and gave Britt a dirty look, but Lancelot did not catch the implied slight and laughed.
“Careful with your words,” Merlin growled.
Britt smiled triumphantly. “Always.”
“Ywain and Gawain should come. Gawain has become quite adept in combat, and Ywain will never allow us to bring his cousin and not him,” Merlin said, tucking his hands into the sleeves of his robe.
