King Arthur and Her Knights: Enthroned #1, Enchanted #2, Embittered #3 (8 page)

Most of the banquet attendees murmured to each other in excitement as they turned their attention to Britt, but from her advantageous position at the head of the room Britt saw King Lot and his three crony kings stand.

“We,” King Lot said, his eyes cold and piercing. “Will refuse any gifts this beardless boy offers us.”

“What did you say?” Sir Ector roared, leaping to his feet.

“Is there a reason why he is so obsessed with my lack of a beard?” Britt sighed.

“This
boy
king you’ve found comes from low or unknown birth,” King Urien, one of Lot’s lackeys, sneered.

Sir Kay also stood and narrowed his dark eyes at the mocking kings.

“He’s barely older than a babe. He can’t rule yet,” King Pellinore said. The ferret-y King Ryence nodded vigorously behind him.

“Indeed,” King Lot agreed. “Instead
we
shall give
him
gifts of good, hard blows on his back.”

All of Britt’s supporters/Merlin’s Minions leaped to their feet, roaring in anger and fury.

“And that pretty much ends the party,” Britt supposed as she sipped her goblet of sweet wine. She leaned back in her chair, adjusting for maximum comfort as she watched the shouting match.

“You seem relaxed for one whose right to rule is being questioned,” Merlin said, popping up at Britt’s shoulder.

Britt glanced at the wizard and shrugged. “Why should I be upset when I have dozens of men to be upset for me?” Britt asked, gesturing to the crowd. She frowned when she spotted Sir Ector barreling towards King Lot with an alarming amount of agility. Britt looked for Sir Kay, hoping he would stop his father, but the knight seemed to be making a beeline for King Urien.

“Perhaps it is just as well that you have become King, and not the real Arthur,” Merlin supposed as he plopped down into a chair next to Britt. “He had a horrible temper and took offense to the least of things. A King of solid spirits is not a bad thing, so long as you don’t appear to be a coward.”

Britt half smiled as she took another sip of her wine and watched Sir Ector’s progress across the banquet hall.

“I must admire Lot’s perseverance,” Merlin said, watching the furious king.

“He acts like a juvenile delinquent,” Britt snorted as she watched her ‘adopted father’ and the foreign king enter a shouting match.

“A what?”

“Oh, sorry. Umm, a naughty, spoiled child,” Britt supplied.

Merlin shook his head. “You have such an odd way of speaking.”

“Just wait until I bust out slang words. I’ve been pretty nice to you so far,” Britt said, watching King Urien move to slug Kay. The grave knight dodged the blow before knocking the king on his butt.

“So you know who to appoint to what positions?” Merlin asked.

“
YES
,” Britt said, watching the knight from her crowning ceremony, Sir Bedivere, shake a scrawny looking baron who was siding with Lot.

“Excellent. In a few days we shall set out to get you a new sword. It would be wisest to wait until Lot and his ilk leave London. The lake from which we will obtain your new sword is not far from the place I mean to fortify as your castle.”

“Oh?” Britt asked, leaning forward as she watched Lot push Sir Ector, making the older man stumble backwards a few paces.

“Indeed. It is partially why I chose that particular location. The construction is almost finished, I believe. There is just a small length of the outer wall that has yet to be built. I thi—,”

“Merlin how do we shut everyone up?” Britt asked, her throat tightening as she watched Sir Ector attempt to ram Lot. The king and knight collided.

“What?”

“I want to silence them, stop this,” Britt said, stabbing her finger at Sir Ector, who was puffing as King Lot pulled a dagger.

“No harm will come out of this. There might be a brawl, but even if daggers are used there will be no serious injuries,” Merlin said, waving off Britt’s concern.

“Merlin,” Britt repeated.

“Very well,” Merlin sighed. He got out of his chair and meandered over to a fireplace. Britt could see his mouth moving, but the hall was too loud to hear anything. When he gestured the fireplace, the torches, and all flames in the hall burst to at least twice their original height, roaring in fathomless hunger.

Men shouted and cowered before the sight, covering their arms and forgetting their quarrels for the moment.

“
SILENCE
,” Britt yelled, cupping her hands around her mouth.

The room obeyed, mostly, Britt suspected, because they were already half hoarse.

Britt studied King Lot for a moment before she once again took up a relaxed posture, planting her elbow on the armrest of her chair and leaning her head against her hand. She slightly narrowed her eyes and did her best to look unaffected and cold.

“King Lot, you are nothing but an old windbag. If you so dearly desire to face me in combat it can be arranged,” Britt said, her voice chilly as she stared down the king.

King Lot scowled and shrugged his shoulders to fix his cloak. “I will meet you on the fields of war,” he vowed before he banged out of the room, the three other kings and their supporters on his heels.

The rest of the feast attendees spoke to one other as they reseated themselves and set the table right. Sir Ector and Sir Kay approached Britt’s table.

“I’m sorry, Arthur,” Sir Ector said.

“What for?” Britt asked, stretching her legs out in front of her.

“I didn’t knock down that doghearted clotpole,” Sir Ector declared.

“It’s fine,” Britt smiled. “There’s always next time.”

“The boons, Arthur,” Merlin said as he reclaimed his chair.

“Of course,” Britt said, pitching to her feet. “To start the festivities I wish to announce those whom I would have directly serve me. First of all I bequeath on my foster brother, Sir Kay, the title of seneschal of the realm. Of Sir Ulfius—a steadfast knight belonging to my deceased father—I ask that he serve as my chamberlain. The great and wise Merlin I do request to be my counselor, and Sir Bodwain of Britain I name as constable,” Britt finished. She glanced at Merlin before she added in a rush. “Finally I ask Sir Bedivere to serve as marshal.”

Britt sat down in her chair as the people murmured and gossiped among each other. Merlin had never instructed Britt about assigning a marshal. She only knew it was a necessary job because she overheard Merlin quarreling with Sir Ulfius over who should be assigned to the position.

Merlin growled under his breath about pert lasses, but he did not seem to be as furious as Britt thought he would be.

Britt didn’t know what possessed her to name Sir Bedivere as her marshal. It was an impulsive act, but she wanted to repay the knight for his loyalty.

Sir Kay stood only to kneel on the ground. “I thank you, my King, for your great generosity. It would be my honor to serve and protect you.”

Sir Ulfius and Sir Bodwain—also fully expecting their positions—knelt as well.

“I will serve you for the rest of my life, my King,” Sir Ulfius said.

“You are my lord and liege. Thank you, my King,” Sir Bodwain said.

Sir Bedivere scrambled to his feet. “I-I thank you, my King,” he said, clearly shaken in comparison to the other men.

“We will talk about this later,” Merlin muttered to Britt.

“You don’t like my choice?”

Merlin narrowed his eyes at her, making him look hawkish, before he stood and declared. “I will live to serve King Arthur!”

Chapter 4

The Lady of the Lake

“Furthermore, I am your counselor. The very title implies you ask me for my opinion before you do anything at all.”

“I don’t think—,” Britt started.

Merlin ignored her and continued. “In this case God was merciful and you assigned one of the best knights in the realm to an appropriate position, but don’t think that will always happen! One must rely on good sense and logic, not luck,” he said as he spread a bedroll on the ground.

“If he’s one of the best knights in the realm why didn’t you try to recruit him earlier?” Britt asked, kicking at a log that had rolled from the firewood stack.

Sir Kay had gathered enough wood to burn their fire for a week. They were only camping out for the night—on their way to a blasted lake to get another sword—but Britt had decided over the months that Sir Kay was the Boy Scout type. He was not merely prepared, he was set.

“Because he’s young and green, and he hasn’t a spot of land to his name. I went after men of influence, not legends that make maidens misty eyed. But that is not the point,” Merlin said.

“Look, Merlin, I get it. I’m not supposed to do anything without your permission except breathe. I KNOW. You’ve been harping on about it since we set out two days ago. Can you give the topic a rest yet?”

“Have you learned your lesson? I think not.”

Britt grumbled and looked to Sir Kay, who was busy scratching away in some sort of logbook. Britt wasn’t sure exactly what he was doing, but whenever she tried to interrupt him Merlin threw a hissy fit. Sir Ector was there as well. He was already passed out on the far side of the fire, softly snoring.

“I am not saying you are an imbecile incapable of making decisions—you handled Lot quite well. It is merely that you
still
do not understand all the ways and customs of this kingdom in spite of my efforts to educate you,” Merlin said, settling down on his blanket. “Tomorrow you
must
be respectful. The lady we are going to visit is not one of my allies, she is of the faerie. The faerie do as they please and side with no one.”

“I’m going to sleep. Good night,” Britt said before turning her back to the fire and pulling a thin blanket up to her shoulders.

Merlin poked around the fire for a bit longer, muttering the remaining chastisements he intended to give Britt, before he also turned in. Britt listened to Sir Kay rustle papers as she slowly drifted off to sleep.

Several hours later Britt bolted upright. Fear grasped at her throat, and her heart pounded in her ears as she heaved gulps of air and stared at the fire.

It was a nightmare. Britt couldn’t remember what about, but the terror that burned her heart and gnawed at her stomach felt too real to ignore.

After a few moments Britt relaxed and glanced around the makeshift camp. Sir Kay—she was startled to see—was watching her. When he was satisfied she was well he closed his eyes, propped up by horse packs.

Britt shifted, trying to make herself more comfortable, and almost kicked her backpack—the one she had worn on the day she was struck by lightning and blasted into a coma.

As the days stretched into months and Britt hadn’t woken up she avoided looking at the backpack more and more. The sight of it brought a stab of homesickness and fear to her heart. Why hadn’t she woken up yet? Was there something seriously wrong with her? Was this a medical induced coma, or had she hit her head on something? Britt knew dreams often seemed to last longer than they were in actuality, but the length and clarity of this odd King Arthur dream was starting to frighten her.

Britt hesitated before she reached for the backpack and pulled it towards her. She opened it up and unearthed the British travel guidebook, flipping it open to the informational section on British mythology and legends.

“
King Arthur
,” she murmured, reading the section about the famed king. “
is a legendary British king and hero. His historical existence and role is widely debated, but he is said to have been crowned at age 15 on the day of Pentecost. The day of his crowning ceremony he selected Merlin as his counselor, Sir Ulfius as his chamberlain, Sir Bodwain as his constable, his foster brother Sir Kay as seneschal, and Sir Bedivere as marshal.
”

Britt went numb, and the book dropped from her hands.

How
? How was it possible that Britt, knowing very little King Arthur lore, had dreamed of those particular men?

“Well, it is my dream. I can dream up information to fill a guidebook too,” Britt muttered, picking up the book again. She flipped through it, her desperation growing with each page she turned. City maps, historic notations, points of interest, it was all there, detailed, organized, and displayed.

Britt threw the book away from her. Her heart thundered painfully in her chest, and Britt started to feel light headed.

It was real. For months she had been in denial, but it was time to face the facts. This historical nightmare was real. Tears fell from Britt’s eyes, and she gasped for air as she tried to face this fact.

Her mother, her friends, would she ever see them again? Hadn’t Merlin said he couldn’t send her back? Could she even
survive
in this era? Britt knew very little about King Arthur, but she knew he died. And she knew he fought a lot.

“No,
no
,” Britt whispered, shaking her head.

“…Britt?”

Britt looked up, wide eyed and frightened, into the fatherly face of Sir Ector.