Royal Enchantment

by Sharon Ashwood

  Arthur sprang to his feet, his hand on Excalibur’s hilt. He could fight his way out, but that would get them nowhere.

  “No!” Gwen cried, pushing past the guards to stand at Arthur’s side. Her mind scrambled frantically, reviewing in seconds everything she knew about goblins. “No, I beg you to let us go!”

  “Gwen!” Arthur interjected.

  He got no further. As theatrically as she could, Gwen fell to her knees and held up her hands in supplication. The crowd, who had fallen silent, responded exactly as she’d hoped. A murmur of sympathy and protest rippled through the room. “Please, great King Zorath,” she asked, putting a throb of anguish into the words.

  She gambled on what she’d seen so far—the shimmering tunnel, the glowing mosaic over the throne and even the fact they’d kept her token of affection as a relic. Goblins loved theater, especially when it elevated their role in the world. How could they resist an honored queen begging for the return of her spouse? “Word of your generosity would be sung among our people.”

  A crafty expression came over Zorath’s features. His gaze moved from Gwen to Arthur and back again while black-clawed fingers rubbed at his warty chin. “You are persuasive, Queen, and I can hear the approval of my citizens in their cries. But law is law, and what ruler can break it without weakening his position? I cannot grant your wish without exacting a price. Will you pay it?”

  Arthur’s expression was puzzled. “Clearly my wife had a purpose in coming here. If there is a way I can further her mission without dishonor to either Your Majesty or the good name of Camelot, I will assist you. And, yes, I would like to go home without the need to battle my way to freedom.”

  “Spoken like a noble man.” Zorath sounded unimpressed. “But a public hall is not the proper place to speak of bargains.”

  “Do you fear so many witnesses?” Arthur asked coolly.

  “I fear your clever wife, King of Camelot. She has them wrapped around her dainty fingers. We will adjourn to my conference rooms.”

  Zorath rose and stumped his way down from the dais. The guards gestured with their spears for Gwen and Arthur to follow as he led the way to a side passage, ermine cape flapping around his crimson knees. The walk was short, ending in a smaller chamber with many maps pinned to the walls.

  “Clear the room,” Zorath said to the guards.

  The guardsmen looked hesitant, but Zorath shooed them away. The goblin king roamed the room, arms folded, his expression thoughtful. “You are carrying Excalibur, I see.”

  Arthur’s hand went to its hilt. “I am.”

  “I know your reputation,” said Zorath. “You could have killed my men. You let yourself be taken.”

  “It was the fastest way to find out if you had Guinevere.” Arthur’s tone was firm, but not challenging. “And I have no wish to start a war with you, King Zorath. There is enough turmoil among the realms.”

  “We have a common enemy in the fae, it is true.” The goblin jabbed at one of the maps. “The fae realms are at our back door. There are those among them who hunger for the treasures in our mines.”

  “Is that your price? Do you require protection of your lands?”

  “Yes, but it has nothing to do with the fae.” Zorath slapped a different map. “There is another who plagues us. Here.”

  Gwen and Arthur drew closer to inspect the map. It appeared to be a network of tunnels with a large red X over the entrance to a nest of twisting lines. Arthur frowned. “Something has blocked access to a subsection of your mines?”

  Zorath nodded. “Mines, living units, surface access and vaults. Miles of treasure and territory stolen and hundreds of lives lost. We sent our soldiers, but they never came back.”

  Gwen took a step back, as if the red mark on the map might suddenly come to life. “What is it?”

  The crafty look was back in Zorath’s eyes. “A troll. Only a charmed weapon like Excalibur will kill it. You’ll get your freedom and all the information I can give you about your dragon problem once you bring me the troll’s head.”

  “A troll!” Gwen wasn’t even sure what a troll looked like, but she knew their reputation. There was little wonder Zorath needed a warrior of Arthur’s caliber to defeat it.

  The goblin king nodded. “It has taken our livelihood bit by bit, tunnel by tunnel. There is no family who has not lost a son, a brother or a husband to its ravages. None of my workers will report for their duties. We lose trade, and soon we will begin to fade. It is devouring us in more ways than one. We have been desperate for a solution.” Zorath turned to Arthur. “And here you are.”

  Too worried to stand on ceremony, Gwen grabbed Arthur’s sleeve and dragged him to the other side of the room. He followed willingly enough, but his mouth was set in a hard line.

  “Can you kill a troll?” she asked under her breath.

  Arthur’s eyes were dark with temper, but his answer was calm. “They’re deadly, but not smart.”

  She squeezed his arm, feeling the hard muscle beneath his sleeve. “That doesn’t answer my question.” There was much wrong between them, and she knew the risks every warrior accepted as part of their mission. But she suddenly wanted guarantees, a word, a hint of safety to cling to. She needed to believe this adventure would end well.

  “In the stories I’ve heard, trolls are conquered more often by wit than brute force.”

  Gwen nodded slowly, remembering that she’d seen dragon flame dousing Arthur’s shield only hours ago. She reached up, and cupped his cheek. She wished she could rewind time until they were back in the hotel, drinking champagne and unbuttoning each other’s clothes. How did they go from that to goblins and trolls in a single night?

  “Have you ever done it before?” she asked quietly. “Killed a troll, I mean.”

  He shook his head. “I’ve never seen one. They stay in mountains like these, far from Camelot.”

  She didn’t like that answer. Experience would have been better. She leaned closer. “Why does it have to be a charmed blade that kills it?”

  “Ordinary weapons won’t pierce their hide.”

  Her stomach dropped. “Oh, Arthur.”

  He studied her face, and something in his expression softened. “This is what I do, Gwen. My job is to keep people safe. That includes goblins.”

  “You’re agreeing to this?” She tightened her fingers, holding him fast. She could feel his heat in the cool air of the room. She wanted to press closer, to soak it up and claim it for herself. It wasn’t her fault that he was here—he had come of his own accord—but reason couldn’t erase the ache in her heart.

  Unexpectedly, a faint smile curved his lips. “You paved the way for this exchange of information for my services. Now I’ll do my part to close the bargain.” He turned to Zorath and gave a sharp nod.

  And it was done. Her husband was committed to hunting a deadly, iron-hided troll that had already devastated hundreds. His only advantage would be in a game of wits.

  That was her department. She wasn’t letting him do this alone. “We’re both going,” Gwen said suddenly. “Or the deal’s off.”

  Chapter 14

  “Under no circumstances!”

  The only surprise in Arthur’s response was the look in his eyes. She’d expected irritation or pride or resignation that they must retread an argument they’d had so many times. He was the warrior. Even as king, fighting monsters was his stock-in-trade. She was a woman with no such skills.

  What she saw was real fear. On some level, she’d assumed he was simply fulfilling a role—the protective male to a hopefully submissive wife. But perhaps the strangeness of the situation had caught him off guard, because the wall he kept between his thoughts and the world was missing and Gwen saw what was in his heart. He truly cared.

  An ache settled in her chest as she reached up, cupping his face in
her hands. He was hot to the touch, the pulse in his temple throbbing. “Don’t leave me behind again,” she pleaded.

  She wasn’t a warrior. She could manage a bow—everyone in Camelot’s court knew how to hunt and hawk—but more important, she was another set of eyes. Someone had to watch Arthur’s back, even if it was just her.

  Gwen could see him weighing his answer and prepared herself to be stubborn. Arthur rarely changed his mind, especially about the things that mattered to him.

  “You leave me a poor choice, my lady.” His voice was soft, but angry. “If I leave you here, you will curse me. If I take you with me and you come to harm, I will never forgive myself.”

  As if on a single instinct, they both turned to Zorath, who held up his hands as if to shield himself. “I have three wives and know better than to say a word.”

  Arthur pulled Gwen’s hands from his face. “Promise that if you come, you will obey my every word. Both our lives might depend on it.”

  He was giving in! Joy and trepidation both stopped her breath—she’d been so focused on changing his mind, she’d barely thought beyond the moment. “I promise,” she said, barely managing more than a whisper.

  When she kissed him, his eyes were angry, but they were also sad.

  In less than an hour, they set off. Gwen watched the stiff line of Arthur’s back as he disappeared down the tunnel. Although he’d given her permission to come, he was not happy about it. With grim determination, she hoisted her knapsack and charged after him, breaking into a trot to keep up.

  The goblin tunnels were surprisingly comfortable. They were as wide as any castle corridor and high enough for even a tall man to walk without bumping his head. A complex system of crossbeams and bracing kept the tunnels stable and provided an anchor for an ingenious system of pulleys used to move buckets of ore and unpolished stones. Frequent ventilation shafts brought in fresh mountain air, and storage chambers with food, water and other supplies were dotted throughout the tunnel network. The only drawback was the miles of rock over Gwen’s head. All that stone weighed on her imagination, making it wonder what it would be like to be buried alive.

  And she disliked the darkness. The miners had to carry their own light—either a candle stuck to one of their helmets or a metal lantern. Gwen had opted for the lantern, which squeaked as it swung from its wire handle and cast crazy shadows as it moved. The sounds in the flickering gloom were disturbing—trickles and echoes and mutterings of air in the deep shafts. Since the troll had come, the goblins had deserted the mines, leaving the mountain with only its own voice for company.

  Oh, yes, the troll. That had her imagination scrambling, and she desperately needed a distraction. She quickened her pace until she was at Arthur’s elbow. “Are you going to refuse to speak to me throughout this entire journey?”

  Arthur stopped and turned. He had his sword in one hand and a scowl on his face. “This is not the time for witty conversation, my lady. Too often the hunters turn into the hunted on these quests.”

  “I saw the map. We’re nowhere near the troll’s lair.”

  He made a face. “As Clary would say, color me cautious.”

  She stilled. “Cautious, or are you still angry?”

  “Believe me, if there had been any chance that I might leave you in Zorath’s care, I would have.” His eyes bored into her. “You left me no choice.”

  She bridled. “I will pull my weight. You’ll be glad of me before the end.”

  “Slaying a troll is not a Maypole dance. Trust me, Gwen, the penalty for losing on this hunt is death. You should not be here.”

  “I’m not playing a game.” She poked him in the chest, tired of his judgment. “You should be glad I’m here. I got us this far.”

  “That’s no excuse for behaving in a reckless fashion.”

  “Reckless? Reckless is confronting a dragon single-handed!” Gwen suddenly felt short of air and struggled to catch her breath. “I was watching the television. I saw what happened. Why didn’t you call me? You might have reassured me that you were all right!”

  He stalked away, making it three or four steps before he turned again. “By the time I was in a fit state to call, you had left for this realm. I followed as soon as I could.”

  “In a fit state?”

  “I was unconscious,” he mumbled.

  She buried her face in her hands. “By all the saints, Arthur. The knights might have attacked as a group. Why did you face Rukon alone?”

  His expression grew opaque, closing her out. It was worse than his anger. It was like she wasn’t even there.

  “How can I ask anyone else to risk what I am not willing to give?” he said in a low voice. “Acting as shield and champion for the human realms is my responsibility.”

  “Others want to help, Arthur,” she said softly. “They deserve the chance.”

  She wanted to reach out, reassure herself with touch, but he turned away and silently resumed his march into the tunnels. The only change was that now he slowed his pace enough for her to walk by his side. It was little enough, but it was something.

  Their quiet passage gave her time to think as she stole glances at his rigid profile. If she had to guess, she thought he was cursing himself for imperfections only he could see. But why? There was so much she didn’t know about her own husband, and what she did know was more legend than man. He never spoke of his childhood, and it was little wonder. His parents had been murdered when he was still a baby. It had been Merlin who’d rescued him from slaughter and smuggled him to Sir Hector, who raised him as his own son. Every time Gwen heard the story, it turned her blood to ice.

  They kept on walking for what seemed like hours, but time was deceptive in the lightless silence. One tunnel looked much like the next. Their only guides were the clay tablets screwed to the support beams and marked with the goblins’ system of wedges and slashes.

  “We’re at the twenty-ninth tunnel,” Gwen said, running a finger over the indented clay.

  “You can read their tongue?” Arthur asked in surprise.

  “Only the numbers, but someday I’ll learn more. Ambassador Krzak said their written language is sophisticated, containing many dialects and a long history of epic verse.”

  Arthur gave her a sharp look, but this time it wasn’t critical. “You really did spend a lot of time with the goblin delegation in Camelot, didn’t you?”

  “I liked him. He said what he thought, and that wasn’t easy to find at court.”

  Arthur gave a wry laugh. “True enough.”

  “Most of the delegations from other courts were fascinating.” There had been humans from other countries, and once elves from far, far away. Her favorites had been the fae, but that had been before the demon wars, when they were still in full possession of their souls. “I made many friends among them.”

  Arthur was watching her, a furrow in his brow. “I didn’t know you found them so interesting. Many look on entertaining the castle guests as a chore.”

  “Sometimes it was dull, but there’s usually at least one intriguing thing about any person. I just looked for that.”

  They kept walking, falling back into silence, but it was a different quiet. They were both deep in thought.

  “I’m sorry I trusted the Mercian prince,” she said suddenly. It came out before she even knew she was thinking it. Impulsive as always, Gwen. “He made me feel important. I didn’t know any better.”

  It had been a disaster. He’d flattered her, danced with her, was always there to hold her horse or play a game of chess. And then he’d drawn her into political discussions—about this treaty or that. She’d divulged too much, and the damage was done.

  Arthur nodded. “I bear some responsibility for that. I should have been at home more.”

  “And I should have known better.” Gwen’s stomach twinged at t
he confession. She’d blamed Arthur for leaving her alone, but it was true—she should never have mixed business with flirtation. The truth made her feel small.

  “Our instinct is to trust,” Arthur said gently. “Knowing when we can’t is a bitter lesson.”

  As they turned down the tunnel, he put a hand on the small of her back as he had in the cocktail lounge. The memory, so out of place, jarred her.

  He glanced down, his eyes sad. Our instinct is to trust. The one time he’d formed a significant alliance was during the demon wars, and that had ended with the fae swearing vengeance against Camelot and humankind. It was a war they were still fighting.

  “I understand why a king doesn’t trust, but how can you live with that as a person?” she asked.

  “Should I point out that when hunting monsters, it’s best to keep your mind on the job?”

  “I understand,” she said, wincing a little. “But just tell me, was it the incident with the prince that made you question my judgment?”

  “It gave me pause, but you misunderstand me.”

  He stopped, holding up a hand as he edged toward an intersection of tunnels and listened intently before waving her forward. Gwen quickly obeyed, aware that they were nearing the X on Zorath’s map—the troll’s lair. It was time to stop talking, but she couldn’t help herself. This was an answer she’d waited years to learn. “How do I misunderstand?”

  “All my life, I’ve been surrounded by assassins. Mordred, Morgan LaFaye and a hundred others. That puts everyone around me in danger. Often it seems better to work alone than expose others to that risk, especially those I love.”

  Gwen blinked, suddenly understanding much. She wasn’t the only one that Arthur shut out. At times he’d distanced himself from Merlin and even his foster father, Sir Hector. On other occasions, it had been his friends—Lancelot or Gawain. She’d assumed Arthur had suspected them all of disloyalty, but perhaps she had it wrong. Maybe it had been a wrongheaded expression of love.

  “Family shares your danger, whether you like it or not,” she said.

  “I know,” he replied, his tone grim. “And a king is expected to marry.”