Kingdom Soul

by Brittni Chenelle

  Minseo

  A deep voice boomed from behind me. “Uhm, good morning?”

  I awoke, my head still on Charlotte’s lap as she slept soundly. I sat up, my shoulder aching where I had my weight on it all night. Gabriel stood over me, his blank expression as unreadable as the rest of him. I braced myself for impact, but he didn’t hit me. My gaze drifted down to Charlotte, still asleep on the floor. I quickly stood, scrambling for the words “nothing happened”, but the night before rushed back to me with each throb of my pulse… Except I confessed my love to your wife.

  He stared at me unbothered and said, “Of course not.” His easiness bothered me.

  Did he not know who I was? How could he not be threatened by me, not even a little? Didn’t he care that I’d spent the night with his wife? Under his roof?

  Suddenly, small footsteps sounded, and a tiny girl sprinted into the room. A touch of pink hit her cheeks as she peeked out at me from behind Gabriel’s leg, her mop of curls spanning in all directions like warped rays of the sun. My pulse raced; she looked just like him. Wide-eyed, I leaned forward and, for a moment, I felt like I was looking at my little brother. All the air left my lungs and my eyes pricked. No wonder Charlotte couldn’t let go.

  “Uh,” I said, “I’m Minseo.” My gaze moved back to Charlotte who lay still, but she had her eyes open—watching her daughter.

  The little girl remained behind Gabriel but said, “Do you like stories?”

  “I guess,” I said, feeling Gabriel’s gaze on my skin.

  “Great!” she yelled, a toothless grin on her face. She walked over to me and grabbed my hand—startling me. She led me to a chair. “Sit here,” she said. “Once upon a time, there was an evil witch.”

  Bewildered, I watched her. She was a little person, yet in the glitter of her eyes was the joy of a person who didn’t live in the same world as I did. Gabriel took a seat beside me to watch the little girl’s performance.

  “Shall I make us all breakfast?” Charlotte asked, prompting a scrunched-up scowl from the little girl.

  Gabriel leapt from his chair. “I’d better handle that. Why don’t you come sit here and listen to Morgana’s story.”

  Morgana. The last time I heard that name, my brother spoke it. I watched Charlotte whisper something to Gabriel as he left, a devious smile on his face. What was that guy trying to prove? That I was no competition at all?

  “Listen!” Morgana demanded, her tiny hands on my cheeks.

  “Oh. Yes, sorry. I’m listening.”

  “But the prince didn’t care that she was a witch, or about the fire,” she continued. “Because he had a terrible secret.”

  I leaned forward. “What was it?”

  Morgana’s face dropped. “What was what?” she whispered.

  Charlotte reluctantly took a seat beside me.

  “What was his secret?” I whispered back.

  Morgana sighed. “I can’t tell you because it’s a secret. A secret means you can’t tell the person. You’re the person, so I can’t tell you,” she said.

  I laughed, which delighted her to no end. My participation seemed to fuel her performance, and I enjoyed egging her on to see what she’d do next.

  I had been right about one thing: there was still a piece of my brother in this world. My focus drifted to Charlotte’s hand, and I let myself imagine what this life would feel like. My gaze moved up her arm to her chest—she wasn’t a scraggly teenager anymore. She was a woman and a mother. She’d lost the glow of an inexperienced girl facing the world for the first time and instead saw the world as a dragon for her to slay. Her movements were sure and her strength didn’t come and go like it did when I knew her, it was earned—hard-fought. Years under the weight of grief had weakened me, but Charlotte wore it well. Heat burned my cheeks. I felt myself soften as she watched Morgana with loving eyes. Without thinking, I reached out for her hand. Before my fingers grazed hers, Gabriel entered, a tray in his hand. I stood quickly. Should I make a break for the door?

  Charlotte spoke first. “Minseo, are you okay?”

  “Y-yes, I have to go and check in with my men.”

  Charlotte pressed her lips together.

  “I’ll be back, of course.”

  Two cold hands wrapped around my fingers. “Promise?” Morgana asked, staring up at me with my brother's eyes.

  I knelt. “Of course. I have to find out what happens to Juniper the witch.”

  She squirmed into my arms. “Junipee,” she corrected. My heart warmed; my brother was never this friendly or outgoing. She was my brother in looks but Charlotte in the soul. “How about this?” I said, my gaze briefly meeting Charlotte’s. “How about I take you, your mother, and your…” I froze, looking nervously at Gabriel.

  “My Gabriel?” she asked. “Yeah, that’s right. Your Gabriel. Why don’t I take you all to a special dinner?”

  Her eyes widened. “TONIGHT?”

  “Oh, that’s very soon. Perhaps I should give your mother a break.”

  Gabriel’s deep voice filled the room. “How’s tomorrow?” he added. Charlotte nudged him. What game was he playing? Whatever it was, I wasn’t backing down.

  “Tomorrow it is.” I headed out into the crisp morning air, feeling free like my drunken confession had lightened my soul. Sure, the way it happened was embarrassing, but she knew how I felt, why I was here, what I wanted, and everything about that felt right.

  “You.” I turned to see Charlotte closing the door behind her. “You can’t just say that stuff last night and walk away like everything is normal.” She let her curls fall into her face as if she could hide behind them. “Why now, Minseo? After all this time. Is this your way of coping with Young’s death? To try and live the life he left behind?”

  I sighed. “I don’t think I ever told you this, but I once challenged my brother for you.”

  Her chin lifted, her mouth dropping open. “I’m going to ignore all the problems I have with that for a second. What?”

  I nodded. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “What did he say?” she asked, and the question stung.

  “He said you were his wife.”

  She turned away, and I let her stray to give her space. But there were so many things that needed to be said. Things I couldn’t bring myself to say when my brother was alive.

  I steeled my nerves. “I remember waking up from being poisoned. Before then, I’d always thought of poison as a humane way to die, like drifting into sleep, but there was nothing humane about the searing pain of poisonous blood while my organs boiled. I would have welcomed a knife to the heart, even done it myself if I had strength enough.” I waited for her response, and when it didn’t come, I continued. “Back then, I hated every choice Young made. Risking his life for you and your kingdom before you were even married. Jealous, reckless, impulsive. All the things I’d never known my brother to be. I was certain it was insanity.”

  I ran my hands through my hair. “There I was dying, caught in the crossfire of his insanity, and in you walk. The girl who caused it all. And worse, you just talked all the time. I’m wishing for death and you’re describing the color of the trees outside.” I laughed, more grounded in my memory than the present. “Day after day, you came back.”

  “I came back for him,” she said coldly, “Because of what you meant to Young.” I blocked it out. She didn’t want to remember; she’d forced herself to forget. “You ran out of seasonal updates after the first few days. You waited until you thought I was sleeping to say anything real, then…”

  Her gaze met mine. “You spoke of your father, your desire for a normal life. You told me you felt alone.” I held her gaze, her eyes glistening wet. It hurt to look at her, it hurt to continue my story.

  I clenched my jaw. “I pretended to sleep for a week straight, waiting for you to fill in the gaps. Then, one day, it slipped. I whispered, ‘Why?’ You paused and I was certain that was the end. That you’d stop talking or return to updates about the weat
her. But you surprised me when you answered. We spoke from sunup to sunset every day for months and, before long, I knew you far better than my brother did.”

  “Stop,” she whispered.

  “I could tell by the way he spoke about you, like some immortal being. He didn’t know how broken you were, or how lost you felt.”

  “Stop it, Minseo.”

  “You stop it, Charlotte. We did the best we could. You were a faithful and loving wife to my brother. You ignored my growing feelings for you, even though you knew—but you didn’t stop coming to visit.”

  Her gaze was cold. “I didn’t—”

  “And soon, I felt jealous, reckless, and impulsive. All the things I’d judged Young for. I was so blinded by it that I raised my sword to my own brother—only snapping out of it long enough to watch him die.”

  My breath sharpened. “How could I stay with you then? I wasn’t the man he was. I was an imposter that had fallen in love with my brother’s wife. I didn’t deserve a life with you, so I told myself you were dead. I said it to myself so often that I swear I watched you die.”

  She exhaled, hard enough to make me feel she’d faint if this went on much longer. “It was a long time ago, Minseo. We should let it all go.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I mean you and me. A lot has changed. I haven’t been waiting for you all this time. I have a life and a family. And the fact that you’d come here to, I don’t know, open old wounds, means that you haven’t grown or changed at all.”

  “So what? You’re never going to love again? Don’t you think we deserve one more chance at happiness? We were teenagers. Still children in many ways, and we went through terrible things. We did the best we could at the time. But our lives are just beginning. You loved him until his last breath despite the marriage being arranged. It’s okay to let go. It’s okay to be happy again.”

  “What makes you think I don’t love my current husband? Why do you think it has to be you?”

  I leaned in. “Because you’re still here with me, Charlotte. Just like you were then. You keep showing up. You might’ve even felt something for me back then, but you had a reason not to let yourself. Now you don’t. Fall in love with me, Charlotte.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Wow, sober and still spouting nonsense.”

  I took a deep breath and smiled. “To be honest, I don’t feel totally sober yet.”

  Her eyes darkened and, for a second, I thought she’d slap me again, but her anger flickered to sadness and she turned away. I waited for her to speak, but after a long pause, she walked back to her house and vanished inside.

  17

  Lancelot

  There’s no city like Bullhorn. It had been several years since I’d even set foot in it, and in that time it had grown even more luminous and modern. There were more trade routes, merchants, and goods from every corner of the world. The structures were built higher to accommodate the massive population. Arthur’s trade deals and alliances brought Camelot from a broken and war-torn land to a kingdom unmatched by power or commerce. He had opportunized taking prisoners and forcing them into labor camps and on their backs, built more than any king before him—and he was only sixteen.

  As much as I’d struggled with the notion of how he became king and considered how easily I could have wound up on the throne instead, I had to admit he was a strong leader. Everyone had to.

  The castle towered above the city like a great white tower. Arthur had covered the gray stones, that seemed a little out of fashion but made up the structure, with some smooth white clay. The entire city stood in the shadow of his palace.

  I was nervous to see him, but this was made worse by Merlin’s somber temperament. I wondered if she’d go as far as to mention to Gwen that I’d called her beautiful. I knew how women confided in each other. Would Gwen understand? Perhaps if I told her myself, if I told her I meant it as a friend.

  The carriage came to a halt outside the castle. A row of knights stood at attention to greet us and a row of guards behind them. Trumpets sounded as soon as my foot hit the stone path.

  It was just like Arthur to make a scene.

  Merlin followed closely behind. At the entrance of the white-stone archway, King Arthur stood. His crown gleamed on a head of golden hair, his blue eyes bright with wonder. He looked too small for the fur-lined red cape that trailed behind him, Excalibur radiant even sheathed on his hip.

  “Jeremy!” He beamed. I clenched my jaw. “I mean Lancelot,” he corrected, winking at me. He was still more boy than man, and perhaps he’d always look that way to me, but when he wrapped his arms around me, I felt the same way I had when we first became brothers seven years ago. It was good to be home.

  “Merlin,” he said, opening his arms to her. Merlin had to bend down slightly to return his hug. “How’s the training coming?”

  “Very well, Your Majesty,” she said. I found the question odd and wondered if there was a goal they shared that Merlin hadn’t told me about, but it didn’t matter. I was home, and even if it were just for a short time, it would be nice to visit the life I strived so hard to obtain.

  The inside of the castle was almost exactly as I’d remembered but with one major difference. Every wall was covered in a great work of art or tapestry, and the floors were covered in fine rugs and furs. It was clear that Camelot was as teeming with wealth as it seemed, and Bullhorn was the center of the universe. All the wealth I’d witnessed on the streets was eclipsed by the gaudy castle interior that brimmed with treasure.

  Arthur led Merlin and me to our quarters, and we were allowed to bathe and rest for a few hours before a feast was to commence. But I couldn’t rest; I needed to see Gwenevere.

  I stalked through the hallway, relying on faded memories to direct me to her room. They led me to the end of the north wing, a hallway with a series of arched double doors that led to rooms belonging to the highest-ranking members of the court. When I reached her room, Merlin’s warning flashed through my mind. Blue fire. But everything I’ve ever wanted waited for me on the other side of this door. Gwenevere. My mouth dried and I licked my lips, hoping to calm my nerves.

  I put my hands against the door and pushed. The door swung open.

  The ornately decorated room was empty. Though it still had furniture, the tabletops were as barren as the inn’s I now frequented, and what’s more, there was no family crest hung on the center wall. All that remained was the dusty outline of where her crest once hung.

  Had they moved her room?

  “What are you doing here?” My heart leapt, and I spun to see Merlin outfitted in a corseted gown that had been dyed the deepest purple I’d ever seen. “I know you’re not worried, but let’s stay together just in case.”

  Why did she always have to talk like that? I sighed. “We’re not together, Merlin. I’m looking for Gwen.”

  Merlin placed a hand on her hip. “She’s probably at the feast. We should be too.”

  She held her hand out, but I slapped it away. “Fine,” I said. “Let’s go.” We headed to the banquet, and an usher led us to a large table set with golden cutlery and porcelain plates. The banquet had several large tables, but Arthur sat at the head of the longest, a boyish grin plastered to his face. The hall was filled with courtiers and foreign visitors, mostly not royal by blood but gifted titles in exchange for their friendship and allegiance to Arthur. Old money was out of fashion. In Camelot, opportunity lay at your feet as long as you were beautiful, useful, or loyal. Where is Gwenevere? I scanned each table one by one but couldn’t spot her.

  “Lance,” Merlin whispered, “I have a bad feeling.”

  “Shut up, Merlin,”

  I barked. Arthur sat at the end of the table, eight or nine people between us. He stood, and the guests quieted to listen to his speech.

  “Drink some water,” Merlin urged.

  On edge, I snatched the goblet from her hand and took a large gulp.

  “Thank you for joining me on the eve of my wedding,” Arthur said
. “I feel very fortunate to rule over such a prosperous kingdom, and I’m honored to be chosen by fate and merit rather than blood.”

  A white haze washed over my eyes.

  Arthur continued, “And let us all welcome my lovely wife to be, Gwenevere.”

  Trumpets sounded, drowning out the thrum of my heart. In walked my Gwenevere in a golden ball gown that glowed in the candlelight, her pink cheeks and hazel eyes as lovely as they’d been four years ago. Rattled with a mixture of dizziness, confusion, and despair, I swerved.

  “Cheers!” the crowd shouted. Dread seeped into my skin for one agonizing moment, then Merlin leaned into my ear and whispered, “Sleep.”

  Everything went black.

  18

  Minseo

  Little brother,

  It’s been five years since I last saw your face and nearly the same since I’ve seen your Charlotte. I know this letter is an exercise in futility, but it helps to quell the near constant need I have to speak with you again.

  I take comfort in knowing you died without regrets—a death that has taught me much about how to appreciate life and it’s fleeting moments. After I lost you, I was as broken as Charlotte and quickly realized that I was not whole enough to console her. I offered her refuge in Vires, and when she refused, I regrettably took my leave without regard for her safety or the cold of the winter that followed.

  When I’d finally accepted your passing, I sought her out—though, I must admit, I never expected to find her. I found it difficult to gather information about her whereabouts without revealing her former identity. My travels brought much news. What was once the land of Besmium had been swallowed by Drethen, only to be renamed Camelot and ruled by a teenage tyrant named Arthur. After weeks of fruitless searching, I finally found Charlotte. I was relieved to find she was not the dead-eyed widow I’d abandoned, but a woman of grace and silent strength.