Endeavor (King Arthurs and Her Knights Book 6) (5 page)

Britt swung around to see Sir Ulfius striding across the field, a beautiful girl gliding behind him.

She couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen. She was beautiful with blonde hair and hazel eyes, but had a self-conscious, mean-spirited presence that reminded Britt of the catty, popular girls in high school.

“My Lord, King Arthur, and the great Merlin. I ask that you would allow me to announce the presence of Lady Vivien, daughter of the King of Northumberland,” Sir Ulfius said, his bow short and choppy.

Britt tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and looked to her advisor, a frown threatening to tug at the corners of her lips.

Typically Sir Ulfius never bothered to introduce
any
girls to Britt and Merlin—princess or not. As much as it chafed Britt to witness it, women—young girls in particular—were unimportant, politically speaking, in the era. There were exceptions, like Queen Morgause, wife to King Lot and mother of Gawain, Agravain, Gareth, and Gaheris; and her sister, Morgan. But women like them were mournfully few.

Merlin stared at Sir Ulfius, who was scratching at his throat. It seemed to be a kind of wordless communication, for Merlin abandoned his map-checking and joined Britt, Rudolph, and Mordred.

“Welcome to Camelot, Lady Vivien,” Merlin said. His voice was neither warm nor cold.

Following his cue, Britt added, “We hope you enjoy your stay.”

“Thank you. I am delighted to be here,” Vivien said in a whispery, simpering voice.

“Sir Ulfius and I will show you to your chambers, if you will wait for a moment,” Merlin said.

“Of course. I do not mean to intrude upon you, My Lord,” Vivien said. She waited until Britt met her gaze and smiled.

Merlin stepped between them—his back to the girl—and hooked his arm around Britt’s shoulders. “Come along, Arthur,” Merlin said, towing her away.

Mordred reached out and took Rudolph’s rope with a smile.

“Thank you,” Britt said before Merlin yanked her out of hearing range.

“Listen to me.” Merlin spoke in a soft whisper as he gripped her shoulder with surprising strength. “At any public event, I want Guinevere with you.”

“
What
? Please tell me you are joking.”

“Morgan will do in a pinch, but keep that silly-headed princess by you whenever possible.”

“Why?” Britt asked. Conversing with Guinevere wasn’t the punishment it used to be, but that didn’t mean she was Britt’s first choice—or even in the top ten—as a dinner companion.

“I can’t explain it right now, but it is
essential
that you do as I ask. Do you understand?” It wasn’t his words that convinced Britt the situation was serious, but his dazzlingly blue eyes. They had a faint cast of desperation to them that seemed to highlight the gloomy sky and heavy air.

“You’ll tell me soon?” she asked.

Merlin mutely pressed his lips together and his forehead wrinkled with worry.

Britt nodded. “Fine. I’ll sit with Guinevere.”

“Thank you, lass,” Merlin said. He studied Britt for a moment, looking her up and down, then squeezed her shoulder and stepped away. “Shall we be off, Sir Ulfius?” he asked.

“Of course,” the older knight said, turning back to Camelot. “This way, Lady Vivien.”

“Good bye, King Arthur. I hope to see you tonight,” the girl said.

Britt raised her hand in a wordless farewell as she rejoined Mordred with Kay and Morgan. “That was odd. Do any of you know her, or the King of Northumberland?”

“No,” Mordred said.

“I’ll find out,” Kay said as the first raindrop fell.

“Better get inside before this storm wages war. Wouldn’t want to frighten…Rue…?” Mordred started, turning to Britt.

“Rudolph. And that is a wise plan.” Britt took her pet’s leadline back and marched towards the castle.

Morgan joined her as sky opened up in a steady trickle. “That was not, I take it, the Lady Vivien you crowned lady over her brothers’ lands a few short week ago?”

“No. She’s about as opposite as you can imagine. I gave Vivien her brothers’ lands because she is responsible and kind. This Vivien reminded me of a high school mean-girl.”

“I do not know exactly what you refer to, but I believe the title of ‘mean-girl’ might accurately reflect this new arrival,” Morgan said. “Though I hope we are wrong.”

“Me, too.”

CHAPTER 5

True Colors

“You seem to be in good spirits, My Lord,” Sir Percival said, joining Britt. She was tucked against a wall of the feast hall, surveying her friends and subjects as the evening feast progressed. Dinner with Guinevere as her “date,” so to speak, was progressing well, but she needed the break or she would soon go cross-eyed from listening to the younger girl categorize the knights by their pleasing manners and questing feats.

“Indeed. I was just thinking how
nice
it is with Sir Lancelot gone,” Britt said.

“You do not miss his tales that highlight his prowess?”

“No,” Britt said, her response sour.

Sir Percival laughed. “Father said you didn’t care much for him. I find it surprising—you’re so similar, after all.”

Britt gave the knight a look of horror. “You think so little of me?”

“Not at all, My Lord. I think the very best of you, just as I think the best of Sir Lancelot. He is a skilled man.”

Britt made a noise of disgust in the back of her throat. “He’s talented. But I prefer my knights more chivalrous—like Gawain, and your father—although he’s a king, not a knight,” she said, referring to King Pellinore.

Sir Percival shook his head. “Father is proud to be called your knight.”

Britt thought for a moment to arrange the appropriately courtly words in her mind before she spoke. “It is a testimony to his character that he is so.” She watched Vivien the vixen stroll up to Britt’s table—which was located on a dais. (Merlin seemed to have a thing for daises and putting Britt several feet above everyone else.) Guinevere sat there, nibbling on her food and smiling at the knights who approached her. “I am proud to say, however, that many of my knights more closely resemble your father’s character than Lancelot’s. Even those new to the table.”

“Such as myself?”

“Yes. And Mordred, I think,” Britt said, frowning as Vivien clasped her arms behind her back and climbed the dais stairs to speak to Guinevere.

“He fought well and lost honorably to Sir Lancelot,” Sir Percival said.

“Yes…Tell me, do
you
think he is a good knight?” Britt asked, tearing her eyes away from the girls to directly address the tall knight at her side.

“I do,” Sir Percival said, his manners open and his expression honest. “Just as I think Sir Lancelot is a good knight.”

“What do you mean?”

Sir Percival shifted and placed a little space between them as he cleared his throat. “Forgive me for my impertinence, My Lord, for I have been a Knight of the Round Table for only a short time. I should have said nothing.”

“I value your opinion. What is it?”

Sir Percival hesitated.

“Percival?”

“It is only that, well, you seem unusually suspicious of Sir Lancelot and Sir Mordred.”

Britt tried to think of a response that wouldn’t involve the word “huh?” but came up short. Thankfully, Sir Percival didn’t seem to notice and pushed on.

“You invited Sir Tor, the son of a cowherd, to the Round Table when any other King would have beaten him for his request. You welcomed my father—who waged
war
against you—when by rights you could have killed him and taken his lands. Yet with Sir Lancelot and Sir Mordred—two of the most talented knights in Camelot—you hold back your affection. You are more polite with Mordred, but it is obvious to all that you hold him at arm’s length.”

“He doesn’t know who I am,” Britt said, gesturing up and down her body.

“A scant month ago,
no one
knew who you were,” Sir Percival quietly replied.

Britt considered the knight’s words. Was she unfairly prejudice of Mordred and Lancelot? She had always struggled with the responsibility to either fulfill or destroy the legends of King Arthur that she knew. While she no longer put herself under pressure to be a replica of the original Arthur, she still held Lancelot and Guinevere’s affair responsible for the downfall of Camelot, when that wasn’t even possible—
especially
as her knights now knew who she was.

“You’ve given me much to think over, Sir Percival.”

He drew his shoulders back. “I hope I did not overstep my place, My Lord.”

“Not at all. You are as wise and insightful as Pellinore. He has helped me puzzle through the difficulties of being a king on more than one occasion.” Britt smiled. “Thank you.”

The faintest hint of a blush bloomed in Percival’s cheeks. “You exaggerate, My Lord.”

Britt chuckled and opened her mouth to respond as she flicked her gaze back to her table. “If you’ll excuse me, Percival,” she said, distracted by the sight before she pushed away from the wall.

She barely heard Percival’s “Of course, My Lord,” before she edged into the crowds and made her way to the table.

Vivien stood in front of Britt’s table—the King’s table—her face morphed into a beautiful smile as she spoke to Guinevere. Her blonde hair glimmered in the torchlight, and she laughed. Guinevere, however, had tears in her eyes, and her lower lip trembled.

Britt narrowed her eyes and made her way through the diners, but she couldn’t hear Vivien’s words until she reached the dais.

“…You, on the other hand, are nothing but a tool for your father—a fattened calf he will sell to the highest bidder. He doesn’t even care about you. He considers
anyone
with a fat purse or a large army, and you’re just as stupid and foolish as he is. Your beauty will fade, and then
no one
will want you!” the vile girl hissed through her smile.

Guinevere trembled, and her tears still fell, but she squared her shoulders.

“You have nothing to say? I should have known,” Vivien laughed, looking lovely.

“I do not reply because, because Arthur would want me to rise above your cruel words,” Guinevere said, a hiccup popping at the end of her words.

“You bring the High King into this conversation? You think he
likes
you? I haven’t been here a day, and even I can see he only tolerates you. He
pities
you,” Vivien said.

Brit moved to start up the stairs, but Guinevere’s next words made her freeze and broke her heart.

“I know, but he is kind to me anyway, and I will not embarrass him,” Guinevere said.

Britt shut her eyes with regret. Sir Percival was right. Britt—who did her best to instill honor and justice in her knights—was terribly unfair with Guinevere—just as she had been with Mordred. Kind? She was nothing of the sort. But no more.

“You won’t, will you? I apologize, for I will drive you from these halls,” Vivien said.

“I find that interesting,” Britt said as she glided up the stairs. “For it is
I
who rules Camelot. How do you intend to carry out your decree?”

Vivien looked simultaneously horrified and angry enough to spit nails. “My Lord! I apologize; you misunderstand the situation.”

“Do I? I arrive at my personal table—a place of honor—to find Lady Guinevere—a companion of my heart and a lady under my personal protection—in tears, whilst you hiss poison in her ear like a snake. Tell me, Lady Vivien, what part have I misunderstood?” Britt asked as she walked around the table to stand just behind Guinevere’s chair.

Although Britt did not shout, her words were loud enough that some of the feasters sitting at the tables closest heard and gaped at the speech.

Lady Vivien gasped and recoiled, her face shaped in a look of hurt. “I’m sorry if my words caused Lady Guinevere pain, but I am shocked by your conduct, My Lord. I was told the courts of Camelot were unrivaled in the respect and honor they bestowed upon the fairer sex.”

Lady Vivien’s dramatic reaction garnered more attention, drawing notice from additional guests.

Britt smiled darkly. “You are right. I have made great strides to bring the Ladies of Camelot honor. However, that also means the Ladies of Camelot must be more considerate of their positions. Insults of the degree to which you were delivering would never be accepted among my knights, nor will I allow them among my subjects—no matter their gender. Step carefully, Lady Vivien. Increased status and honor does not give you a free-pass to act in an ugly manner. If I ever hear you speaking to another person as you have to Guinevere—whether they be man, woman, or child—I will not hesitate to send you from my courts.”

“You wouldn’t,” Vivien sputtered.

“He would, and he is being generous. I would have tossed you from these hallowed halls the moment you uttered your first insult,” Morgan said, quickly climbing the dais. She joined Britt and laid her hand on Britt’s shoulder, murmuring “Brother.”

The feasting hall was mostly silent now. Almost everyone stared at the drama with wide eyes.

“This is dishonorable,” Vivien said. “Are you so unfeeling, King Arthur?”

“No. My Lord is holds us to the same degree of conduct he holds the knights of his Round Table. It is an honor,” a lady at a table said, standing up.

“We must conduct ourselves with nobility so we can be found worthy of the honor and favors the knights win for us,” another lady—Blancheflor, one of Guinevere’s close friends and the apple of Sir Griflet’s eye—said.

Vivien gave a muffled cry. “I apologize, I did not know—I wasn’t aware. Forgive me, My Lord.”

Britt raised an eyebrow. “It is not I to whom you owe an apology,” she said, pointedly looking down at Guinevere, who had wiped away her tears—although her eyes were still red.

Vivien’s façade cracked for a moment as she looked at Guinevere with hatred. “I apologize, Lady Guinevere, for my harsh words.”

“You are forgiven.” Guinevere sniffled and raised her chin.

Vivien cast a glance at Britt and Morgan before she fled the dais, hurrying through the feasting hall. In mere seconds she was out a door, disappearing from view.

“You conducted yourself well, Guinevere,” Morgan said.

“Thank you,” Guinevere said in a small voice.

“If that brat ever comes at you again, let me know. Okay?” Britt asked, her anger making her slip.

“W-what?”

“If Vivien speaks to you again like that, I want to hear about it,” Britt rephrased.

Guinevere bobbed her head. “Yes, My Lord.”

“Do you need to freshen up?” Morgan asked, an unusual amount of sympathy warming her voice. (Usually, she didn’t have much patience for Guinevere either.)

“That would be nice.”

“Let’s go then,” Britt said.

“No. You, Arthur, must remain here. I shall accompany Lady Guinevere,” Morgan said.

“Oh, right. Thanks, Morgan. Take all the time you need.”

Guinevere rose and curtsied. “My Lord,” she said before she and Morgan also left the dais.

Britt sighed and drummed her fingers on the back of Guinevere’s large, wooden chair. Just as everyone started returning their attention to their food, Britt was yanked back by her armor. “Arthur, a moment,” Merlin said.

“Merlin, ah, hi,” Britt said, letting Merlin turn her around so their backs face the feasters. “Sorry, I know I should have stayed with Guinevere. How did you know Vivien would target her?”

“I didn’t tell you to stay with Guinevere for her sake, but yours.”

“What?”

“Guinevere isn’t Vivien’s target. You are,” Merlin said.

“So? She’s not going to charm me,” Britt snorted.

“I know. However, this is more complex than you know. You need to trust me. Stay
away
from Vivien, and don’t confront her again.”

“I’m not going to let her get away with mocking people in my courts,” she said, her voice sharp.

“I know, but I don’t think she’ll try it again. Just avoid her at all costs, and make sure Guinevere is often seen with you,” Merlin said. His forehead was wrinkled, a sure sign he was worrying.

“Is there anything else I can do to help?” Britt asked.

Looking tired, Merlin shook his head. “No. This, unfortunately, is something I must take care of alone.”

“Alright. Thank you for taking it on,” Britt said.

Merlin’s spirits cheered, and he offered her a smile. “Of course.” His eyes lingered on Britt for an abnormal amount of time, a hint of his smile still lurking. “Whatever it takes, I will see you safe. Now, mind my instructions,” he said. He darted down the dais, leaving her alone, before Britt could say anything in response.