Up until now, I’d expanded Camelot’s borders considerably, and through my alliances, we’d gone from a war-torn mess to a formidable and wealthy kingdom. But the mark of a true king lies in his actions in war and Charlotte’s little escape along with my dragon gave me the perfect reason to attack. This was my chance. When I wiped out Vires, executed Charlotte, and took back my dragon, I’d gain the respect and finally wipe out what was left of my reputation as a child king. I would be a fearsome conqueror. A legend. The man who ruled Camelot with Excalibur for a thousand years.
I made my way through my castle soaking in the riches displayed about. Fine tapestries, displayed jewels, rare furs. It was a museum of my success. I had half a mind to head to the armory to commission a fine set of armor, the one I’d envisioned myself in when I daydreamed victory. Gold trimmed and encrusted with jewels. But I knew the castle smiths, along with every other, were busy preparing armor for the war ahead. As the king, I could order them to prioritize my armor, but I needed something exceptional and I had a specific smith in mind.
I pushed through the doors of my castle, and the sudden rush of wind on my face made me realize it had been a significant amount of time since I’d been outside. Weeks, maybe. I ordered a guard to fetch my horse and, while I waited, I checked the wall for knights to accompany me as protection. At the base of the giant doors stood the knights Lamorak and Percival, who seemed to be too engaged in a heated discussion to notice me. Anyone else? I thought as I scanned the wall. I guess they’d have to do.
I walked over, intentionally dragging my steps to alert them to my presence.
“A bow by itself is way more effective than an arrow,” Percival said.
Lamarck threw his hands up. “You’re a bloody idiot. An arrow has a pointed end.”
Percival huffed. “It would snap like a—”
“Ahem,” I said.
They dropped to a knee. “Your Majesty,” they said in unison. Both were so tall and broad that they even looked like giants when they kneeled.
“I need you to guard me on a small errand.”
Lamorak opened his mouth to speak but I cut him off.
“Neither of you will speak a word until I have safely returned to this castle. Understood?”
They nodded, their gaze low to the ground.
“I said, understood?”
Lamorak looked up at me, his eyes dimly blinking with confusion. I didn’t know what he was thinking until the thoughts blurted from his brother’s mouth.
“But you told us not to say anything.”
I’d already decided to slice their heads off, then and there, when a soldier arrived with my horse. I let out a sigh and mounted, eager to get a close look at my kingdom. Percival and Lamorak stood and fell in step behind me, walking on foot beside my horse.
When we breached the walls of the castle, the kingdom beyond didn’t disappoint. The streets were packed with people adorned in fine silks. The businesses and homes were multi-level and lavish with flowers and elegant design. After just a few minutes, I decided I needed to raise the taxes, both domestically and abroad. There was plenty of wealth in Camelot to go around. However, considering I was the reason the citizens enjoyed such spoils, they certainly paid me no mind. I passed without much of a glance from anyone, and even with a golden crown on my head and a magic blade sheathed to my belt, the eyes of the people passed me and found the striking red-headed brothers that guided my horse.
When I was a war hero, everything would change, and I felt determined to earn their love and admiration.
It wasn’t more than fifteen minutes before we arrived at a small unlabeled building that was hardly able to warrant the description shack. It was a hovel, built pre-Camelot and much smaller than I’d remembered. It’s strange how places you know well in childhood can change along with your perception of the world.
Turning to the twins, I said, “Wait here.”
Percival said, “Yes, Your Maje—” Lamorak’s elbow slammed into Percival’s side, cutting his words.
I rolled my eyes, suddenly unable to remember why I’d given them a title.
Without knocking, I pushed open the door to the small shop and stepped inside. The room was cluttered with half-finished swords, tools, and various metal plates that were bent but unrecognizable as any specific object. The room was heavy with the smell of smoke even as the open windows on each side pushed a draft of air through. The left side of the room had a small kitchen, and the right was almost completely taken up by a staircase. There was a fire pit at the back that had gone out, but from the smoky smell of the room, not long ago. The gavel had an unfinished sword on it, half bent and beaten, the hammer laying flat on top instead of in its proper place, like the smith had left in a rush. But I knew he hadn’t, because by the window was a rocking chair where a late-middle-aged man slept soundly. The skin around his eyes were wrinkled in the corner, where bags of skin hung down like the soft folds of a newborn puppy. His mouth was agape and, despite the obvious wear on his body, he was still muscular from the strenuous work he endured day in and day out. His gray hair was stuck to his forehead with sweat, and I thought he looked very much like my father. But this man wasn’t the gentle soul my father had been, despite their shared genes. He was a grouchy old coot. I took a look at the unfinished, unpolished weapons lying about, wondering if he’d lost his touch or if reuniting with him was worth getting the armor I’d imagined.
I sighed, determined to make my dream a reality, no matter the cost. “Uncle Roger,” I said, and his eyes snapped open.
19
Minseo
I needed to get it together. I knew that. The moment I discovered Young was alive, I knew it meant letting Charlotte go. They were married and the thing we’d bonded over, Young’s death, wasn’t valid anymore. But there we were, reunited, and every action and word that fell from my mouth was a desperate plea for her to choose me. There was no choice, Minseo. There was no possible future where she’d be mine again. But the problem was I was hers.
My thoughts flashed back to Young’s cool departure earlier that morning. He didn’t seem to have any trouble remembering there was no choice. His unwillingness to compete infuriated me. The old Minseo would have taken it as a sign that he didn’t love her. After all, he practically pushed us together, but the old Minseo lost his brother. I wouldn’t make the same mistake, not even for Charlotte.
Still, what I knew and what I felt were two different things. My body couldn’t ignore the woman who broke out of Camelot on the back of a dragon. As if I needed another reason to find her attractive. I scoffed. Why didn’t Young just grab a dragon and get out of there? I chuckled at the absurd thought and tried to ignore the heat radiating from my hand that hung inches away from Charlotte’s as we walked the palace grounds.
“What’s so funny?” Charlotte asked. Her cheeks were a deep pink and I wondered if they were sunburned.
Oh. She said something. “What?” I asked.
“You laughed.”
“Yeah. I uh, I was wondering why Young didn’t just grab a dragon and come home.”
She laughed, a beautiful open-mouthed chuckle that brought me directly back to every moment I’d heard it before. It was a joy to witness, pulling me into a smile with her infectious glow. Enough.
I stopped in front of the bathhouse. The bottom was made with carefully stacked stones with pockets that the servants filled with coals to heat the various stone baths. Above the base were wooden pillars and walls painted white and red. The roof came together with two curved wooden panels that were tiled and protruded off the edge so we could hang lanterns.
I turned to Charlotte who gaped at the structure. I eyed it, but I was so used to seeing it, I hardly noticed it anymore. I tried to imagine it through her eyes, and when I looked again, I saw it for what it truly was. It was the finest Vires had to offer. Combine that with a style of architecture she’d never seen, and I could see the cause of her awe.
“So there are attendants insi
de,” I said. “They’ll put you in different baths with different temperatures and then scrub you.”
She bit her bottom lip. “Can’t I scrub myself?”
“You can, but they’ll get all the dirt off, plus the dead skin. It’s actually nice.”
She nodded.
“I’m going to go check in with Young and the council. Will you be okay?”
She pressed her lips together.
I tilted my head. “What’s wrong?”
“What if I need you to translate something?” she said with a pout.
I pushed my palms together. “You... want me to supervise your bath?”
“Oh, uhm no. I’ll be fine. I’ll see you in a bit.” She turned and walked into the bathhouse alone, leaving me with the image.
It was several minutes before I moved from my spot outside, finally scrubbing a slew of lewd scenarios from my head. I headed for the throne room, the furthest point from the bathhouse inside the castle compound. In fact, there were so many buildings between, I couldn’t even see the lake from that side. By the time I made it, my body and mind had calmed.
I walked across the stone bridge and entered the throne room to find the council deep in discussion, with Young standing at the head of the table. My father watched intently from his throne.
“One dragon does not win a war,” a council member said, his gravelly voice rife with frustration.
“You’re thinking too small,” Young said, his voice commanding. “We leverage the dragon.”
Silence hung in the air as the council waited for the rest of Young’s plan. “We’ll inform the other allies of its existence and use it to convince them to join us against Camelot.” His eyes lingered on each council member before moving to the next. “They just have to believe we have a chance. None of them are happy with the conditions of this alliance.”
“You mean fly the dragon out of Vires?”
“No,” another member interjected. “We can’t risk our only advantage. It stays in Vires.”
The discussion shot across the room from one council member to another.
“How will we convince them that the dragon exists?”
“We can intercept their kingdoms’ traders for testimony.”
“That just might work.”
“Your Highness,” Hanbit said. “Do you plan to take on this mission?”
“Yes,” he said, his lack of hesitation surprising me.
“No,” I interjected. “I will.”
Suddenly noticing my presence, the council turned to me.
Young turned to the table. “Please, excuse me for a moment,” he said. He marched over to me, the furrow of his brow reminiscent of eight-year-old him after I once broke his sword.
“What are you doing? This is my mission,” he said.
“What are you doing? Charlotte needs you here, and so does Morgana.”
“That’s exactly why I’m doing this. I want them to be safe. I want Vires to get out of this situation. I’m the reason we’re in it.”
I put a hand on his shoulder, “I get that. But I can complete this mission, for you and for Vires, and you can get your life back.” He looked down at the ground thoughtfully.
I spoke more gently. “You’re pushing her away.” And into my arms.
He nodded. “You’re right. I need you to take on this mission. Thank you, brother. There’s no time to waste. Go to the market, find someone from one of Camelot’s allied kingdoms who is ready to depart. Show them the dragon and ride with them.” He stopped and looked me over. “Are you alright? You look tired.”
“I’m fine,” I assured him. “I’ll leave immediately.”
20
Charlotte
I stood naked at the center of the bathhouse as a woman on the crest between middle-aged and elderly peeled the last of my training gear from my skin. I squirmed to cover my body, crossing my legs and using my arms as a shield, but it was futile. I was as naked as the day I was born. I scanned the room, struck by the set of stone baths that were scattered throughout the wooden room. The stones were dark gray and reminded me of the ones that lay along the shore of the Jin Sea to the east, in both color and smoothness.
The pools spat clouds of steam that fogged the room with a pleasant floral scent that was both familiar and unplaceable. But my bare skin exposed in such an open space alarmed me, even with the movements of the old woman so nurturing and sure.
Without a word, she led me over to the first pool. Her gaze bore into me, the creases around her eyes telling me my hesitation perplexed her. I’d had servants wash me before, but it had been quite some time since I’d been a part of that world.
As I stepped into the pool, my breath caught. It was much hotter than I imagined it would be. I jerked my foot back. The woman gestured back to the pool, her white hair neatly pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck.
“It’s hot,” I said.
She gestured back to the pool. I sighed and stepped in, my foot tingling as I felt around for the next drop. My feet reached an edge, and I stepped down on the gray stones that were black under the water. Once at the pool’s center, I lowered my body until the warmth covered my shoulders. A freezing chill slid down my spine before my whole body pricked with overheat. My body adjusted slightly, but each micro-movement sent a new flush of heat to that area. But then the heat sunk deeper into my flesh and soothed my sore muscles. I closed my eyes to savor the sensation.
Just as I started to relax, the woman of the bathhouse plucked me from the water. Her strength was mismatched with her small frame, her tired, crescent eyes contrasted by the speed with which she moved.
This time, she placed me in a lukewarm pool that felt cold against my heated skin. It was refreshing, like the first morning of winter. After a few minutes, the woman appeared behind me. I scrambled out of the pool as not to burden her with lifting me and she gestured to a third pool. As expected, this one felt hotter than the first. Luckily, she didn’t leave me there for long and shortly after led me to a gray stone slab at the back of the room.
Without hesitation, she sat me down on the slab, lay me back, and positioned me in the middle of the stone. I was struck by how surely she touched me, like a mother dressing her child, only rougher and we were strangers. I found myself clenching my eyes shut, ready to surrender to whatever unusual custom came next. I heard the shuffle of her feet grow fainter but return a minute later. Her hands came down on my stomach and my eyes snapped open. Her hands were gloved in a strange material with a rough surface.
I clenched my teeth as her hands began to scrub. Once again, her strength surprised me. The scratch of the material feeling good on some parts and agonizing on more sensitive ones. The worst parts were the areas that tickled. I fought the urge to squirm off the stone slab as she moved to my inner thigh. Next, the woman grabbed my arm and lifted it above my head as she scrubbed my underarm.
I had a sudden urge to both laugh and cry. I shut my eyes as the small woman stroked and scrubbed every bare inch of me. I felt the flick of something hit the stone in front of me and opened my eyes to find it covered in rolled flakes of dead skin. Stunned and mortified, I fought the instinct to flee. The woman lifted a bucket and poured a mass of water onto me and the slab. Most of the skin washed away, but I felt some particles gather underneath me.
Then, in one smooth motion, she flipped me over with force and scrubbed me again, without a sign that the dead skin would cease. She occasionally poured hot water onto me, which was welcomed as I started to shiver with cold, even in the steamy room.
When she finished, my skin was raw, red, and softer than I’d ever felt it. She washed my hair and dried me before standing me in front of a mirror. She came up behind me and examined my naked body in the reflection, a half-smile as the only indication she was pleased with her work.
The embarrassment I’d felt when we started had washed away with my dead skin and I took a moment to embrace my curves and stretch marks, earned from birthing Morgana. The woman
brought me clean undergarments to change into. When I put them on, she returned with a long spool of pink fabric. What is this? Is she going to make something? Now?
Instead, she put the fabric across my chest and my hand on top to hold it as she wrapped it tightly around me. My breasts pooled over the top, but each time I tried to adjust it, she slapped my hand away. She tied a thin strand of fabric, in the same color, a hand above my waist and tied it tightly.
I gawked at the gorgeous floor-length dress in the mirror. It hadn’t been a spool after all, but something beautifully Viran. I looked much like a princess, but it had been quite some time since I felt like one. I still felt the top was too exposed. Even back in Besmium with courtiers always trying to outdo each other, it never came to this. Relief filled me as the woman returned with a short jacket that just barely covered the area of my concern. It was white and crisscrossed in the front. Once secured, the woman pulled over a stool, stood on it. She wrangled my already frizzing hair into one braid down my back, tying a ribbon to its end.
I couldn’t take my eyes off the dress. It was beautiful and elegant. I moved my hips, in love with the sway of it as the smooth material held its cone-like shape.
“Hanbok,” she said, pointing to the dress.
“Hmm?”
She repeated herself.
“Hanbok,” I said back to her, and the word was as foreign on my lips as the gown on my body.
21
Arthur
“Uncle Roger! It’s me!” I yelled as the bulky man rushed toward me with an object cocked over his head. “It’s me, Arthur!”
The blaze of intensity in his eyes extinguished and his face returned to his default scowl.
He grumbled. “Then you should know better than to sneak up on a man while he’s sleeping.”
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