Crisanta Knight: The Lost King

by Culbertson, Geanna;

  Oh, right. Knight of the Round Table. No big deal.

  “Um, all right,” I responded.

  “If you won’t be needing anything else, we shall get going,” Barbara said. “The ceremony begins at noon, but the queen requested that you meet her in the ballroom at half past eleven.”

  “Okay, will do,” I said.

  The girls curtsied and left. When the door clicked behind them, I took a giant bite of the croissant. Then I wandered over to the balcony and threw open the curtains. There was a great mist covering the citadel, but the sun shone behind the fog. When it burned past this haze, the result would surely be a glorious spring day.

  I munched on the croissant, appreciating the view of the curves, dips, and heights of the mountain range that the citadel was built into. It was marvelous to see architecture living in such harmony with stone.

  Off to the right I could partially spot where the bridge crossed the moat to the castle. Carriages drove over it like nothing outside of normal had occurred there recently. Other than some scorch marks on the side of the bridge, there wasn’t much evidence to suggest otherwise. The exterior of the castle, like the stairway intersection, gave the illusion of regularity.

  Wait, scratch that.

  I swallowed my croissant bite and leaned over the balcony. The components of the living building I’d created were still where they’d crashed. The mangled composites of concrete, brick, metal, and more were in a heap on the far side of the moat, jutting out of the water and spilling over the embankment. I guess that was one thing even the most dedicated clean-up crew couldn’t cover up in one night.

  My bad.

  I reminded myself to apologize for the destruction later. For now, I was going to put aside my anxieties in favor of a few precious hours of distraction. I headed back inside and gazed at my reflection in the full-length mirror again. All of my Magic Burn Out fractures had faded; I no longer looked like a glowing, broken freak.

  I turned my attention to the garment bag in the armoire, wondering what poofy creation resided inside. I unzipped the bag. Then I raised an eyebrow.

  “Huh. That’s not what I was expecting.”

  The ballroom was immaculate. Again, it was weird to think about the death and struggle that we’d faced in this very place not twenty-four hours earlier. Floors once littered with bodies were shining from fresh polish. Broken, dangling chandeliers had been restrung. Even the wrecked windows had been replaced.

  Geez, did these people have genies?

  My mother Cinderella and SJ’s mother Snow White had a talent for keeping a tidy household, but even they would have been impressed by this. I underestimated how much the people loved Arthur and Gwenivere and were willing to bend over backward for them. There was a flurry of happy, dedicated movement in all corners of the palace—people smiling everywhere no matter what job they were performing. The helpers in the ballroom were practically whistling as they worked to adjust the final decorations and prep the buffet tables.

  Gwenivere stood on the elevated platform at the back of the ballroom where four thrones resided. She was giving direction to a team of attendants dressed in gold and navy robes like Elsie and Barbara. She noticed me enter and waved me over, dismissing her attendants as I arrived. I grinned at her.

  “I suppose a change of name designation is in order. I need to stop calling you Gwenivere and start calling you Your Majesty,” I said, gesturing at her ensemble.

  The queen’s smile was radiant like the rest of her. She was dressed in a long-sleeved, shimmering indigo gown with silk bands of navy and gold flowing around it. The same belt woven from gold and sapphires that she’d worn over her armor yesterday sat at her waist, only now it matched her glittering necklace and earrings.

  “I could say the same to you, Lady Knight,” Gwenivere responded. “You certainly look like a true Knight of the Round Table.”

  She was right. I’d been expecting some fancy gown but had been surprised with the awesome armor and chainmail that had been inside my garment bag. The arm plates, breastplate, and shoulder plates were a smooth and shiny black. They matched the sword sheath at my waist, which carried a loaner weapon. The dark shirt under the armor had a high collar and the chainmail skirt looked hot over the fitted black leather pants that came with the outfit. I had the pants tucked into my boots, which matched nicely with my black leather gloves.

  The only part of the outfit that wasn’t resolutely dark was the belt. The links were black, but like Gwenivere’s, it was woven with blue sapphires.

  “Thank you for this,” I replied. “It’s an exceptionally cool outfit. In my kingdom, princesses usually wear dresses to formal functions. And since Rampart’s knights wore black, this whole get-up was a surprise.”

  “Before Rampart came along, black armor was only worn by Knights of the Round Table, not mass-produced for common knights and soldiers,” Gwenivere explained. “We are bringing back the custom, but for today you alone will wear the traditional gear for a knight of your stature as you are the only person currently sworn into the post. All of Arthur’s original Knights of the Round Table are long gone. Most of them were killed at one point or another by the ruling opposition following his supposed death seven years ago. During the ceremony today we will be knighting a selection of new men and women into the order. For now, though, you my dear are the only one. That is why I wanted to speak with you ahead of time.

  “As Arthur’s only acting Knight of the Round Table, you will be asked to stand at the head of the throne room during the event. And when the time comes to knight the others and give them The Pentecostal Oath, you will stand by Arthur’s side and place a wreath upon the head of each new member. An attendant will be nearby to hand them to you.”

  Gwenivere paused for a second. “I hope you’re not upset you did not get a ceremony. Arthur told me that he knighted you in the woods in Neverland.”

  I almost laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m good.”

  “All right,” Gwenivere said. “Now follow me. I’m going to hand you off to our head event planner.”

  Gwenivere picked up her skirt and stepped off the stage. I followed her out into the hall, careful to dodge all of the people coming and going.

  The commotion was heartening, yet I would’ve been remiss to deny that for me it contained a somber undertone. The scene was, for all intents and purposes, a double-edged sword. My heart swelled with pride from having brought Arthur home to his people and family. I felt happy to have beaten Rampart and removed him from power. I was glad Excalibur had been reunited with its rightful owner. And of course I was eternally grateful that my friends and I had managed to achieve all this and remain in one piece. This celebration and the resulting hullabaloo was beyond joyous . . . but it made me a little sad too because it brought back bad memories. The last time I’d been in a castle in the midst of a large-scale royal function had been when I was home in Midveil, the day Alex revealed his true, dark nature and things changed irrevocably.

  I wondered about him. Where had he gone? What was left of him after I’d purged his Shadow? I suppose I would know in time—but how much time was uncertain.

  “Crisanta,” Gwenivere said, drawing my attention, “this is Dwayne, our head event planner.” She introduced me to a tall, slender woman with a cropped hairstyle that very few people could pull off, but looked good on her. “Dwayne, this is Crisanta Knight. Can you please get her in position?”

  Dwayne held a thick clipboard under one arm and shook my hand brusquely. Her navy suit was likely a size double zero and her brown eyes were magnified by her large round glasses. “Lady Knight, pleasure to meet you. This way please.” She turned swiftly on her high pumps and strutted down the hall.

  All right, I guess we’re moving.

  I shot the queen another quick grin. “I’ll see you in there, Your Majesty.”

  Gwenivere patted my hair. “Crisanta, you saved my husband’s life. You can always call me Gwenivere. We are friends first.” She nodded behind me wit
h a smile. “Better hurry though. Dwayne waits for no man or woman.”

  I turned and saw Dwayne was already twenty feet away.

  “Gotcha. Off I go.” I waved at Gwenivere before speeding after the event planner.

  “So, how long have you worked here?” I asked Dwayne when I’d caught up with her.

  “About ten years,” Dwayne replied, not breaking her stride as we maneuvered through the busy castle. “During the leadership changeovers in Arthur’s absence, most original castle staff either fled or were killed. But a few of us were a delicate combination of being good at our jobs and good at staying out of the way. When Arthur and Gwenivere were in power I started as an apprentice to their lead event coordinator. She was murdered during the reign of the ruler before Rampart. When he took over, he promoted me, and now he’s been murdered and our former rulers are reigning again. Funny how life works, isn’t it?”

  “Yup, nothing says funny like bloody monarchy changes,” I said airily.

  Dwayne shot me a look.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I have a weird sense of humor.”

  “Well, just don’t do any stand-up comedy during the ceremony and you shall be fine,” Dwayne replied curtly. “In fact, for all our sakes, limit the jokes whenever possible today.”

  The majestic doors of the throne room were open when we arrived and the place looked beautiful. Decorative silks and tapestries sporting Camelot’s colors and the Pendragon Mark cascaded from every rafter, swooped from arches, and hung around the two thrones at the opposite end of the walkway. Each of the mighty pillars had a thick golden cord wrapped around it like a necktie. And an elegant indigo carpet rimmed in swirling florets led from the entrance to the stage. I pursued Dwayne down the carpet to the elevated obsidian thrones and climbed onto the stage beside her.

  “You will stand here during the king and queen’s entrance and throughout the re-coronation,” Dwayne instructed, grabbing my arms like I was a prop and placing me to the side of the left throne. “Don’t speak, don’t bend your knees, and try to breathe lightly.”

  Ugh. Next she’s going to tell me to suck in my stomach and keep my shoulders back.

  “Perfect posture is preferable,” Dwayne said, putting a finger under my chin and tilting it upward. “So I would advise you suck in your stomach and keep your shoulders back.”

  What’d I just say?

  Dwayne pulled a quill from her clipboard and gestured with it as she talked. “When it’s time for the king to give The Oath to each of the knighthood candidates, you will stand exactly three feet behind him and two feet to his right. After the king pronounces the candidate knighted, you will place a wreath upon the knight’s head before he or she rises. An attendant will be close behind to provide you with a new wreath each time you give one away. It’s that simple. Any questions?”

  “Um, no. Not about this,” I said. “But I was wondering if you’ve seen any of my friends. There are five of them. I don’t know if you even know what they look—”

  “Yes, yes. I know who they are and they already know what they’re supposed to do. You will see them soon.” Dwayne stepped off the stage and I made to follow her.

  “Wait, what are they supposed to—”

  “No, no. You stay, Lady Knight.” She pointed her quill and adjusted her tone to imitate how a trainer might address a puppy. “Stay. Stay.”

  “But I—”

  “Stay.”

  “All right,” I huffed. “I’m staying. I guess I’ll just stand here like a coat rack until the ceremony starts.”

  “That’s the idea.” Dwayne looked at her watch. “Time to launch the projection orbs,” she muttered to herself. Then she darted off.

  I stood there and admired the setting and the influx of people. There had been a dozen or so courtiers in the throne room when we’d entered, but within minutes, the room filled. Folk of every caliber entered through the open doors, awestruck by the grandeur of the decorations.

  Soon enough, a cluster of projection orbs flew through the main doors in a V-formation like geese, then quickly spread out and rose to the higher parts of the room. One orb came up to me and floated in front of my face. I gave the thing—and by extension the populace of Camelot—a customary princess smile and wave, but my smile spread into a genuine grin when I saw my friends enter. They were decked out in military regalia suits and gorgeous ball attire. They waved. I waved back. The orb took off after them like it was a floating member of the paparazzi.

  I spotted Ormé, Morgan, Elaine, and several other Gwenivere Brigade girls arrive after them, all dressed to the nines. Actually, everyone was so gussied up I would say they were dressed to the tens.

  While my friends stood with the crowds lining the left side of the walkway in between the pillars, Peter and two dozen Lost Boys and Girls in formal outfits flew in and sat on the rafters. The way they pulled at their suit jackets and gowns suggested they were uncomfortable, but they seemed perfectly at ease being so precariously high up. They certainly had the best view in the house. As did the ghosts. Elaine the Younger and a few of her spirit companions hovered near the kids and watched the scene with attentiveness. Elaine gave me a grin and a mock salute, which I returned. Then the music started.

  I whipped my head in the direction of the main doors, which were now shut. Every guest stood still on either side of the walkway.

  “Get ready.”

  I startled a bit as Merlin appeared beside me, golden light fading off him as he removed the invisibility he’d been donning.

  The grand doors began to open. Trumpeters performed a humbling tune that was deep in resonance and filled up the room in the same way it seemed to fill up my body. To that tune, Arthur and Gwenivere emerged in the doorway. The two held hands and proceeded down the indigo carpet. Every person in their presence bowed as they approached, their movements creating the world’s coolest ripple effect. Waiting for them at the base of the stairs were several men in monk-like robes. They hadn’t been there before; a fading golden aura around their frames confirmed that Merlin had also been making them invisible to add mystique to the moment.

  When Arthur and Gwenivere arrived at the stage, they knelt before it. The monks started singing some ancient song in a language I didn’t understand. The baritone notes echoed across the throne room as Merlin made more players visible. An elderly priest in sparkling robes with a big, pointy hat appeared on the stage. Beside him were two attendants with smaller hats carrying embroidered pillows. Upon each cushion sat a magnificent, beautiful crown.

  The priest held a scepter; the monks stopped singing as he proceeded to move it from one of Arthur’s shoulders to the other. The priest repeated the action with Gwenivere. All the while, he spoke what I assumed was the same ancient language the monks had used. Although I couldn’t translate a word, I felt the gist of the message in my bones. It carried the weight of tradition and centuries and blood, but also was crested with an appreciation for change and a celebration of the new about to be born. Arthur and Gwenivere kept their heads bowed and held hands throughout the ceremony.

  The projection orbs zoomed around the room to get different angles. Eventually the head priest waved his attendants forward. One stood in front of each ruler.

  “Let all who witness this event acknowledge that the past is not a shadow to run from and tribulations are not memories to be kept hidden in the closet,” the priest said, now speaking normally and addressing the entire room. “The past is a gift and hardship is a blessing. Both provide us with the chance to learn and become better. And that is a miraculous opportunity. We are a species of change, and with that comes the capacity for great good and great evil. Which direction we head in is dependent on this ability to learn.

  “I have the pleasure today to renew the royal vows of King Arthur and Queen Gwenivere Pendragon. And while they were already king and queen of this land many years ago, they are not being welcomed back with a promise of repeating history. They have changed in the years they’ve been gone, as th
is land has changed. As such, they bring something new to our realm. They bring all they have learned—the experiences of all they have seen, done, and struggled against.”

  The priest gestured to the grand room. “On this day, they symbolize the future and inspire the present, but also carry the past proudly as a motivator, teacher, and guide. In return, they will become our motivators, teachers, and guides as we forge ahead into a new age of light and prosperity.”

  The priest took the bigger crown and placed it on Arthur’s head. Then he put the second crown on Gwenivere’s head. Both shone vibrantly with gold and jewels.

  “Please rise,” the priest said.

  Arthur and Gwenivere stood and looked at each other. While their expressions were serious, I saw the joy in their eyes, and that made me smile.

  “Let all present acknowledge and give thanks,” the priest called gallantly. “The king and queen have come home. Long may they reign! Hoo-rah!”

  “Hoo-rah!” everyone in the audience bellowed.

  I guess I missed the memo about the chant. Thanks, Dwayne.

  The audience broke into wild cheers. Arthur and Gwenivere ascended to the stage and sat on their thrones to exuberant cheering and applause. Arthur gave me a wink as he passed. Merlin waved his hands and the priest and his attendants vanished while a squire with a scroll appeared and stepped forward. Arthur raised his hand and the room fell silent. Then the squire began to speak.

  “All candidates for induction into the Knighthood of the Round Table, please step forward when your name is called.” He cleared his throat then pronounced even louder: “Prince Galeschin of Garlot.”

  A young man stepped out of the crowd and made his way down the walkway to the throne stage. I recognized him from a portrait I’d seen in Gwenivere’s castle in the Forest of Mists. He was Elaine’s son and Elaine the Younger’s brother.

  Oh, cool.

  Galeschin had been working with Morgan’s son Ywain to lead the Gwenivere Brigade movement. He was going to make a great Knight of the Round Table.