"My lady, he's here."
Four words. Four small words Princess Guinevere has been dreading since the day she was informed by her father that he had promised her to King Arthur of Camelot.
This was three weeks ago. The warrior king had defended Cameliard in battle, and the two kings agreed to form a permanent alliance.
Princess Guinevere, second and youngest child of King Leodegrance, was to be the bridge joining the two kingdoms. Cameliard will gain protection provided by Camelot's formidable army, and Camelot's young king will benefit from the older king's reputation and diplomatic skills.
King Arthur Pendragon's recently-deceased father was a tyrant who left his son a kingdom with few remaining allies, and Arthur is eager to repair the damage done by his father's reign.
"Thank you, I'll be down presently," she curtly says, not turning around. She knows it is rude of her. Usually, she treats her servants with respect and kindness. Hopefully, they will forgive my curtness, understanding my reticence to be whisked away by some… escort… to go and be married to a complete stranger.
Couldn't even be bothered to come get me himself. Sends a knight.
She heaves a sigh, turns and sweeps from her beloved chambers, not looking back.
King Leodegrance is speaking with a man in the council chambers, awaiting her arrival. She studies the man's back, but a red cape and medium-length hair give her no clues to his nature.
"Ah, Guinevere, my dear, may I present Sir Leon of Camelot, Knight of King Arthur's Round Table and Captain of the Guards," the king says, noticing his daughter's presence. He limps closer to her, and she quickens her pace to meet him.
"I am pleased to make your acquaintance, sir knight," she mildly says, curtseying out of deference to his king.
"My lady, it is my honor to escort you to Camelot," the knight says, bowing respectfully in return.
Guinevere takes a moment to study the knight. He's handsome. Blue eyes, a kind face. At least, I won't be in the company of an ugly brute. Well, not ugly, anyway. He could certainly still be a brute. So could his king. Some of the most dangerous men are the most handsome.
She squares her shoulders, growing tired of waiting. "Shall we depart while we have the light in our favor?" she asks.
"As my lady wishes," Sir Leon nods, the barest hint of a smirk playing about his lips. He turns toward the king. "My lord, King Arthur will send word when we've safely arrived."
"Yes, tell, ah, King Arthur, that I will await his messenger," Leodegrance answers.
Guinevere looks between her father and the knight, mildly puzzled and unable to shake the strange feeling they are not telling her something.
"Guinevere, my treasure," the king says, holding his arms open to his daughter. She walks to him, tears slipping from her eyes. "You will be happy in Camelot. The king is a good man," he whispers as he hugs her. "I wouldn't have promised you to someone with whom you would be unhappy."
She looks up at his dear face, etched with lines and surrounded by graying hair. She has so many questions, but doesn't feel she can ask them. How can you know what kind of man will make me happy? Why does it seem so easy for you to simply send me away after years of keeping me cloistered like a caged bird? What would Mother think about this?
"I will miss you, Father," she says instead. It is the truth, but a small part of her is beginning to feel that maybe leaving this place may be good for her. As long as King Arthur doesn't keep me closed up in a tower.
He takes her face gently between his hands and kisses her forehead.
"I am sorry I cannot come with you. I wish I could," he quietly says.
"I know," she nods. Her father's gout has progressed to the point where his foot is swollen and painful most of the time. Much of the physical aspects of his kingship are now handled by Guinevere's older brother, Prince Elyan. "You should not be on your feet even now."
He nods. "I will retire to my chambers after you leave," he promises. "Elyan should be returning from his visit to Gawant tomorrow, and he will see to it that I behave myself."
Guinevere glances over her shoulder and sees Sir Leon waiting quite patiently for her to say farewell to her father. "I know he will," she answers, hugging her father once more.
"I love you, my Guinevere. Your mother would be proud of you, her little copy," he smiles fondly at her.
"I love you, Father," she says. She gives him one final squeeze, then steps out of his embrace to face Sir Leon.
She nods, turns, and strides from the hall. The knight follows on his long legs.
"So eager to be off, my lady?" he asks, catching her up.
He's certainly forward. "We must take advantage of the daylight while we can," she answers, keeping to her original story. In truth, she simply wishes for an end to the mystery her life has become.
She knows very little of King Arthur, only what she's heard or has been told. He's "kind and fair". He's "a fierce warrior". And, thankfully he's young, which is reassuring to the young princess. Perhaps I can find out more about him from this knight.
"Will you be riding in the wagon, my lady, or…" Sir Leon asks, snapping her out of her thoughts.
"I prefer to ride my horse, thank you," she answers, walking to her beloved white mare, Lavender.
Leon smiles. "Of course, my lady. You have a fine horse," he nods, climbing astride his massive brown stallion.
"I am quite fond of my horse," she proudly says. "I will have to remember to thank the king for allowing me to bring her."
"Indeed, my lady," he says, showing that curious smile again. "May I?" He holds his hand out and she puts hers in it, the fine kid leather of her glove appearing soft and feminine against the rough leather of his knights' gloves.
Once she is settled, they head out, Leon leading the way. She follows, and the wagon with her dowry and personal items follows behind, driven by another Knight of Camelot.
Outside the citadel, Guinevere quickly pulls alongside Sir Leon, not wishing to look at a horse's backside all the way to Camelot.
"How long is the journey?" she asks.
He turns to face her. He seems pleased she has chosen to ride beside rather than behind him. "Less than a day. We should arrive by nightfall."
"Oh," she says, a little disappointed.
"In no hurry to meet your future husband?" he asks.
"Well, to be honest, I was hoping to have the opportunity to stay at an inn. I've never been to one."
"No?"
"No. I've never been anywhere really. My father would barely allow me out of the castle, and if so, it was with at least four bodyguards."
"So, never an inn or… a tavern?" he asks, his eyes twinkling with humor.
"Princesses do not go to taverns," she answers.
"Of course not. What do princesses do, if I may ask?"
She looks sideways at the knight, wondering if everyone in Camelot is so forward. "Well, I don't know what other princesses do, but I don't do much of anything. I can sew and weave. I can sing a little. I read. Quite a bit."
"What do you read?"
"History. Stories. Whatever I can find," she admits, strangely worried that the knight might now think she's bookish and odd. "I like to walk in the gardens. I know some about herbs and flowers. Not a very useful skill…"
"Do you also know how these plants can be used?" he asks.
"Of course."
"Then, I would say it's a very useful skill indeed," he appraises.
She cannot decide if she should feel pleased she has his approval. Despite his bold manner, she finds she cannot help but like this man.
"What do you sew?" he continues.
"Needlework, mostly. I made a tapestry for the king. It's in the wagon."
"Oh?"
"Yes. It's a… work in progress, I guess. Family trees of Pendragon and Leodegrance. I'll… likely have to add… to… it…" she replies, blushing suddenly, thinking of exactly why she would need to do so.
"Hmm," he noncommittally replies.
Guinevere avoids his gaze, not wishing to see if he is silently laughing at her. Why does he rattle me so?
xXx
After a few hours' riding, Princess Guinevere and Sir Leon stop to rest. The sun is high and the day has grown warm. They leave the second knight on the road with the cart and guide the horses into the woods a short distance to a clear, gentle stream. Leon leads the horses to the bank so they may drop their muzzles into the water and drink.
Guinevere carefully picks her way to the stream as well. She removes her gloves and scoops some cool water into her hands, drinks, then pats the back of her neck with her still-wet hands. When she stands and places her cool hand on her forehead, she sees Sir Leon regarding her curiously. She pretends not to notice his attention, quickly turning towards her horse.
She reaches into her saddlebag and pulls out three apples. She feeds one to Lavender, stroking her nose and speaking softly to her. Then, she feeds the second to Storm, the horse that had been pulling the cart.
"May I?" she turns and asks, holding up the other apple and looking at Leon's horse.
"Um, all right, but be careful. He doesn't always like strangers…" the knight says, walking over as she makes her way to his stallion.
"He's beautiful. What's his name?"
"Um, Captain," he says, his voice tinged with concern as she nears the horse's head.
"Hello, Captain, would you like an apple?" she asks, reaching up and stroking his long nose. He ducks his head and pushes against her hand. He wants the apple. She holds up her other hand and when he gently takes the apple from it, she grins triumphantly at Sir Leon.
Her smile falters when she sees the same strange expression on his face, a combination of amusement, confusion, and approval. Is he trying to figure me out? Why would he bother?
"I have more apples, if you'd like one. Apples fit for people, that is," she hastily says, turning away, eager, for some reason, to be away from his gaze.
"Are you going to stroke my nose and feed it to me, too?" he asks.
"I beg your pardon?" she asks, scandalized. She straightens her back and turns to face him, a shiny red apple in each hand.
"Oh. Um. Yes. Forgive me, my lady. I forget my place," he stammers, the silly grin falling from his face.
"Here," she says, thrusting the piece of fruit at him while keeping as much distance as possible from him.
"Thank you," he mutters.
"Does your king allow you to be so flippant in his presence?" she tersely asks. She knows she's being haughty and feels badly about it, but this knight is making her feel confused in a way she has never experienced before, and she doesn't think she likes it. She turns and faces the river, taking a bite of her apple and willing away the images his words have brought into her mind. Feeding him apples… and grapes, and cheese, and sweet honeyed cakes. I want them to go away. They need to go away.
"I think you'll find that the king is not the man you may think he is," Sir Leon says, speaking with his mouth full.
His tactful change of topic is enough to eradicate her unsettling thoughts. "What do you mean?" she asks, turning to face him again.
"I only mean that he is a man of the people. Or, at least, he tries to be."
"I have heard good things about King Arthur; you had me worried for a moment," she says, taking another small bite.
"King Arthur always tries to be fair and just, especially where his father wasn't."
"King Uther was a tyrant, I hear."
"An argument could be made to support that rumor, yes," Leon allows, tossing his apple core over his shoulder.
Guinevere stares down at her apple, only one-third eaten. Should I offer him another apple? Or some dried meat? Surely he has provisions in his bags...
"King Arthur is trying to learn from the mistakes his father made. He actually listens to his knights, the council, and the people."
"The Round Table," she says, citing one of the things of which she does know about Camelot.
"Yes. And, truth be told, one of his closest advisors is his manservant, Merlin. Though, he'd never admit it to anyone," he says, smirking.
Her eyes widen in surprise and realization. Oh, I do hope I'm not going to be one of those kinds of queens. A decoy to hide the fact that the king prefers the company of his manservant.
"My lady?"
She quickly schools her features. "I'm sorry, but your words just now… it's wonderful if that's how the king is. But, may I ask a delicate question? About the king and his… manservant?"
Sir Leon nods, then his eyes grow as wide as two blue and white saucers. "Oh! No! It's not like... that… ugh, no." He makes a face, as if he is truly disgusted.
"Thank you for your honesty, sir knight. I… was momentarily afraid that I was being sent to Camelot to… quell rumors, or something…"
"No, not at all."
"You seem fairly confident. Is the king a… a womanizer?"
"No. Just… I just know he definitely prefers the company of a beautiful lady such as yourself, my lady."
The princess stares, stunned into speechlessness by his bold words, her apple momentarily forgotten in her hand.
Leon seems to realize what he's just said, and shifts his attention to the thicket behind her.
She softly clears her throat. "Oh. Shall we continue on then? Sir Leon?"
He holds his hand up, and Guinevere notices that the forest has indeed grown very quiet. She slowly backs up against her horse as Sir Leon draws his sword.
In a flash, they are ambushed by three men, masked and dirty. Guinevere watches as Leon dispatches one almost immediately, almost without effort. He kicks the second into the third, but the third man pushes the second one back at Leon, toppling the sword from his hand.
Sir Leon and the second bandit struggle, and the third one circles around, setting his sights on Princess Guinevere.
"Well, well, what have we here?"
"Just humble travelers, we have nothing of value," she says. She knows she is not skilled at lying, and even if she were, the finery of her garments would belie her words.
He clicks his tongue, tutting at her. "Shame. Princesses should not lie, should they, Princess Guinev—" His words become a thick gurgle as Sir Leon's sword runs through his middle, the tip stopping just inches from her. The bandit drops to the forest floor. Leon withdraws his sword and sheathes it.
"Are you all right?" he asks, his voice soft and low, full of concern. He reaches his hand up to her face, but drops it, realizing touching her would be improper.
"Yes, I'm fine," she whispers. "The wagon!" she exclaims, remembering the third member of their party on the road. "I hope your knight is all right..."
Leon angles his head, intrigued and impressed that her concern is not for her belongings, but for the man guarding them. "Let's go see. I didn't hear anything, so Sir Bors is probably fine."
"They could have been quiet," she says, not convinced.
"These were unskilled thugs, my lady. It's doubtful they would be quiet while ransacking a wagon," he says, gathering the reins of all three horses.
She nods, conceding his point. He would know better than I. He's seen these kinds of things before. I have seen little more than tournament battles. They get back up to the road and Bors is standing beside the cart waiting for them, whistling idly. He appears quite bored. Guinevere passes him an apple.
"Thank you, my lady," he nods, setting it on his seat before aiding Leon in hooking Storm to the cart.
"You can eat and drive," Sir Leon says once they've finished. She notices the unmistakable air of authority in his voice, and she wonders at it. She heard it earlier, when he was speaking of King Arthur as well. He is Captain of the Guards, so he does have authority over the other knights.
Back in his seat, Bors simply nods, clamping the apple in his teeth as he flicks the reins to start the horse moving again.
"That bandit didn't harm you?" Leon asks again, clearly concerned about Guinevere's safety.
"He didn't even touch me. He knew who I was though," she answers.
"I would imagine many people know who you are, my lady. Your beauty is widely known throughout the five kingdoms."
"You should not compliment me so," she mutters, looking away.
"I am merely repeating what is held to be common knowledge," he says, a little defensively. "Though, the rumors do not do you justice, my lady."
"Sir Leon, please," she says. "You are making me uncomfortable."
"Forgive me, my lady."
"I do not want to have to report your behavior to your king," she replies, but there is no conviction behind her words. She finds she cannot help but like this knight, bold and forward though he is.
"That would not do at all," he says, frowning. "Forgive me."
"I forgive you. Just mind your tongue, please."
"Yes, my lady," he answers. Then, he falls silent.
They ride quietly for a while, but Guinevere feels his gaze on her. She does not even have to turn her head, but can feel his eyes tracking her movements. It is like he is the hunter and she, his quarry.
It is improper and it makes my pulse quicken in a way that makes me feel very unsteady. I am to be married to his king.
Yes, this knight is handsome. No, I may not think so ever again.
The sun is low in the sky by the time they pass through the gates into the courtyard of the castle. Guinevere looks up, surveying her new home. It is a beautiful place, white stone with tall, proud spires touching the clouds.
Sir Leon dismounts and immediately steps over to help her down from her horse, his broad hands nearly circling her waist.
Guinevere expects to be welcomed by the king, since he did not make the journey. Instead, she is greeted by a tall, skinny, pale man with shiny black hair and large ears.
He bows, a smile plastered on his face. "Welcome, my lady. The king begs your forgiveness for not meeting you. He is, at present, indisposed with matters of state, but has asked that you dine with him this evening," the young man says, speaking a mile a minute.
"Thank you…" she answers, finding herself returning his smile, which she now realizes, is genuine. It's bright and cheerful, like the sun coming out from behind the clouds.
"Merlin," the young man says, glancing at Sir Leon as the knight passes the reins of both horses to the servant.
"The king's manservant?" she asks.
"Oh, you've heard of me?" his grin broadens.
"Merlin…" Sir Leon interrupts.
"Sir Leon mentioned you while we journeyed, yes," Guinevere answers, ignoring the knight.
"Good things, I hope," he cheerfully says.
"Merlin!" Leon says crossly. "Princess Guinevere has been traveling all day and surely would like to retire to her chambers."
"Yes, of course… Sir Leon," Merlin replies. He turns to his future queen and formally requests, "If you will follow me," leading the way into the castle. "Your things will be brought," he adds absently. "We have the largest guest chambers ready for you, my lady."
As Merlin continues to chat, Guinevere looks over her shoulder at Sir Leon. He hasn't moved. He is standing in the courtyard, watching her walk away, his face inscrutable.
Why did I choose to look back?
"Your rooms for the night," Merlin declares, pushing the door open for her. "There will be a maidservant attending you presently. Her name is Sefa. Hazel, the head maid, selected her especially for you, my lady."
"Thank you," Guinevere answers, looking around her room. "It's lovely," she adds.
"You are very welcome, my lady. We are very happy to have you here in Camelot, and we hope you will be happy with us," Merlin says. "Ah, here is Sefa."
A young woman, perhaps a few years younger than the princess, appears beside Merlin. She curtseys, but says nothing, waiting for her mistress to address her.
"Hello, Sefa," Guinevere says. "I'm very pleased to meet you."
Sefa looks pleasantly surprised at the princess' kind manner. She smiles and answers, "It is my honor to serve you, my lady."
Merlin allows some pages to enter with Guinevere's possessions, then bids them farewell, stating he'll return for her in an hour's time to escort her to meet the king for dinner.
Princess Guinevere of Cameliard, now Camelot, stands in the middle of the room, watching Sefa and the pages bustle around her, organizing her belongings.
She thinks about telling them not to go to so much trouble as they'll only have to do it all again tomorrow night.
As Merlin said, these are my rooms just for the night. My temporary quarters. Tomorrow, I am to be married to a man I've never met. Never seen.
Any little girl who wishes she could be a princess clearly knows nothing of actually being a princess.
xXx
Sefa is just finishing Princess Guinevere's hair when Merlin knocks. "You look beautiful, my lady," the young maid says, smiling. She has found her new mistress to be one of the kindest people she has ever met, and is very happy to have been chosen to be her maidservant.
"Thank you, Sefa," Guinevere answers. "Your skill with taming my unruly curls is to be commended."
Sefa smiles and ducks her head as she hurries to open the door for Merlin. She gives him a deferential nod, and Guinevere realizes the king's manservant is a respected member of the royal household. She saw glimpses of it earlier, how the pages and other servants seemed to defer to him, taking orders from him as if he were their better and not merely another servant.
The princess is well aware there often exists a hierarchy among servants in a castle, and she is quickly learning that Merlin is very near, if not at, the top of the list. I shall have to see him interact with Hazel in order to make an accurate determination.
"The king awaits your company at dinner, my lady," Merlin pronounces with a bow.
Guinevere stands and walks towards him. She has changed from her simple burgundy traveling dress into a finer one of blue silk. Her hair, which had been pinned up into a simple chignon, is still pulled away from her face, but now cascades in umber ringlets down her back.
"Thank you, Merlin," she says. She lauds herself on keeping her voice and steps steady while her stomach feels like an entire swarm of butterflies is trying to escape. She feels cold, but slightly sweaty, and hopes her anxiety doesn't show.
"Follow me, please," Merlin requests. Guinevere walks beside him, fighting the urge to wring her hands. Sefa walks a few paces behind them, puzzling over why they are walking towards the king's chambers instead of the great hall.
Merlin knocks on the door, then opens it before an answer comes.
Guinevere hesitates. "We are dining in the king's chambers?" she asks.
"King Arthur wishes to have a private dinner with his future wife, my lady. The great hall is... too big. Too impersonal," Merlin explains, hovering in the doorway.
"Very well," she replies, unable to contest his words. She steps into the room, then immediately stops.
Sitting at the head of the long wooden table, his expression a combination of hope and remorse, is Sir Leon.
At least, it is the man Princess Guinevere has been led to believe is Sir Leon. She feels her face heat in humiliation and anger. To what kind of man did my father promise me?
"I'll be right outside, Sire," Merlin quietly says. He exits and closes the doors behind him. Guinevere can hear the muffled sounds of Merlin explaining things to Sefa, who had come along expecting to serve.
Sir Leon – King Arthur stands and walks over to Guinevere, his face still wearing his apology. He reaches his hand out to take hers, hesitates, then drops it.
Guinevere notices the gesture, and it touches her heart in a way she didn't expect. Her butterflies return, but are swarming in a different way now, a way that is also not unpleasant. Remembering her ire, she pushes them away.
He gazes down at her, his blue eyes bright and soft, and whispers, "How angry are you right now?"
"Angrier than I've ever been in my entire life, Sir Leon," she retorts, her voice not as steady as she would like. "You've made me feel a fool." She wonders what he would do if she left the room, abandoning him and their dinner, but his remorseful expression combined with her sense of honor compels her to stay. At least, hear his explanation.
"I am sorry, Guinevere. Truly. It is not, and never has been, my intention to humiliate you. Will you let me explain?" he asks.
She pauses a moment, regarding him. He appears to be in earnest. Guinevere nods, and he pulls out her chair for her. She sits and allows him to slide her forward. She watches with interest as he serves her himself, pouring wine into her goblet before taking his seat.
"Please," he gestures for her to start eating.
She has been too nervous to be hungry, and now her nerves have turned into confusion, but she doesn't wish to be rude. She picks up her fork and eats a bite of food. It's very good, but she hardly notices.
"As I said, I did not intend to humiliate you. My... ruse was not some lark, a prank to make a fool of you. I understand that you do not know me, but please believe me when I tell you I have never found joy in making others look foolish, and have nothing but disdain for those who do," he begins. His voice is soft and warm, like a blanket of honey. "I have several reasons for hiding my identity from you during our journey."
"From me, but not my father," she interjects, stung by this sudden realization. Of course, he knew. He had met Arthur. He agreed to this "ruse".
Arthur nods, knowing he doesn't need to elaborate. He takes a small drink from his goblet, then begins his explanation. "The first reason, I will admit, is a bit selfish. I simply wished to get to know you as you truly are, not as a bride trying to be who she thinks her husband wants her to be," he explains, his soft blue eyes searching her honey-brown ones.
She opens her mouth to retort, but closes it again, unsure how her future husband will feel about her speaking her mind.
"Please, Guinevere. Say what you will," he implores.
"I fear you will not like what I have to say," she carefully answers.
"Whatever it is, I wish to hear it. Please."
She blinks and breaks his gaze. "It was terribly unfair of you, Sire. You put me at a distinct disadvantage, and I feel as though I've been deceived and humiliated!" she says, thumbing away a single tear as she looks down at her plate. She jabs a piece of meat with her fork, looks at it, then sets it back down on her plate and reaches for her goblet, willing her shaky hand to be steady.
"Please. Call me Arthur. And, you are absolutely right. It was unfair of me. But, I never once found you foolish. Far from it," he answers. His voice is soft and full of contrition. He noticed the tear she tried to hide, and it makes him feel like a scoundrel.
There is silence for a moment or two. Then, Guinevere quietly says, "Thank you."
Arthur takes a deep breath and continues. "The reason I wanted to get to know you this way is because... well, I thought it would be easier. For both of us."
She looks at him, her brows furrowed in confusion.
"Were you feeling anxious at all during the trip? Did you feel as though you had to behave a certain way, behave in a manner you thought I would like? Were you feeling the need to impress me?" he asks.
"I was anxious, but not for the reasons I suspect you mean," she answers, now following his logic.
"I understand."
"But, no, I did not feel the need to pretend to be your perfect future wife."
He smiles. "You were simply yourself, Princess Guinevere of Cameliard, not the future Queen of Camelot."
She nods. "Yes."
"Ah. The woman I truly wish to know. And, I promise you, Guinevere, the only thing about which I lied was my name." He pauses. "Well, I did have to remember my place a few times, but the man you traveled with was truly me." He reaches out and offers his hand, palm-up, on the table. She regards it for a moment, unsure, then places her hand in his.
His hands are warm and slightly rough, but not in an unpleasant way. "For what it's worth, I found you to be delightful, intelligent, excellent company, and a wonderful traveling companion," he says. "I was pleased to learn everything your father said about you is completely true." He softly rubs his thumb over the back of her hand.
Her breath hitches slightly at the caress, and she keeps her eyes trained on her plate. "I found your company pleasant as well," she quietly admits, risking a glance at his face.
"Only 'pleasant'?" he asks, smiling impishly at her. She removes her hand from his and looks away. "Too soon for levity?"
"It's not that," she says. She closes her eyes, then looks at him. "I have been berating myself all day for being attracted to a man who I thought was the First Knight of Camelot. Your little... ruse made me feel something I did not want to feel, was not expecting to feel, and..." she pauses, taking a deep breath and exhaling it in a frustrated huff, "it's all become very confusing!" she exclaims.
His eyes widen in surprise. He hadn't thought of this possibility. "Oh," he dumbly says. "I... I am so sorry, Guinevere. I simply cannot say it enough it seems. I never intended..." He sighs, resigned. "It was a bad idea."
"Well-intended, but deeply flawed," she suggests. "I suppose it is a good thing that it was you to whom I was actually... attracted," she pauses, her cheeks growing warm as she admits being drawn to this man. Not "this man". My fiancé. I am allowed to be attracted to my future husband. Aren't I? She gathers her wits and continues. "But, I was feeling so... ashamed."
"Oh, no, no, no," he soothes, reaching for her hand again. She allows it. "Do not be ashamed. This is completely my fault, and I intend to make it right. Please, berate yourself no longer, Guinevere," he begs, lifting her hand to his lips and lightly kissing her knuckles.
His lips are soft and warm on her skin, and he speaks her name like a prayer. Guinevere is dumbstruck, ready to forgive him but still wishing to know his other reasons.
"Until just now, I had no idea that you found me... attractive," he says. "I never would have guessed." He shakes his head in mild disbelief. "Your nobility is to be commended. Traveling to meet your husband with a strange man to whom you found yourself drawn, and you did not act on your feelings, did not even allow them to show... not everyone would have been as strong, as true."
"I am betrothed to you, Arthur. If we do not have honor, what do we have?" she asks.
He smiles, her words speaking to his heart. "We are nothing without honor. The Knights of Camelot value honor above all else. While I am king, I was first a knight, and still hold myself to this ideal." He gives her hand a gentle squeeze, then releases it and takes up his fork. "Would you like to know the reason why I wished to get to know you as you truly are?"
"I had assumed it was so you would see my true nature, nothing more," she answers, returning to her meal. The more she speaks with him, the more her mood improves.
"Not quite. Do you know of King Cenred and Queen Morgana?" he asks.
"Queen Morgana is your cousin, raised by your father as his ward," she answers. This is common knowledge.
"Yes, and Father married her off to Cenred, one of the few allies he did not alienate. He sent her off like a prize, without a thought for her happiness," Arthur explains. He looks straight into Guinevere's eyes. "Morgana is miserable."
"Oh, dear," Guinevere says. "Is he cruel to her? I must confess I do not know much about Cenred's nature."
"From what she tells me in her letters and the few times they've visited, he does not mistreat her. He isn't cruel; does not beat her. They simply... don't get on. It's very sad. They almost lead separate lives, even sleeping separately unless Cenred wishes to..." he trails off, looking away.
"Um, yes," she replies, slightly blushing.
"Right. And, he doesn't consult with her on matters of state. Doesn't consult with her on anything, in fact. He doesn't seem interested in any of her thoughts or feelings. It's almost as if… as if she is a ghost in his palace," he explains.
"Oh, dear, that must be awful," she says, her heart going out to the king's cousin.
He nods, his face sad. "If she attempts to voice an opinion or give counsel, he openly dismisses her. In fact, one of the members of his council has made his mark simply by repeating Morgana's words a moment or two after she had spoken. Cenred now thinks he's brilliant."
"How terrible," Guinevere says. She realizes she's learning a lot about Arthur and what kind of queen he is hoping she will be.
Arthur sighs. "She was always so exuberant. Like a bright light. The last time I saw Morgana, she was so... subdued. Cenred has snuffed out her light." He looks at his fiancée. "I do not want to snuff out your light, Guinevere."
"I don't want that either, Arthur," she answers, her heart heavy for Morgana.
"I want us to be happy. I see my cousin and how unhappy she is, how unhappy they are, and... I almost considered not entering into a political marriage at all. Hang tradition and marry for love."
"The secret dream of every Royal," she agrees, lightly chuckling.
He smiles. "Indeed."
"What changed your mind?" she asks.
"Your father. He spoke of you... expounding on your intellect and beauty. Your boundless kindness. Something about the way he spoke about you... it touched me. Part of me wouldn't believe such a person could exist," he admits.
What on earth did my father say about me? "Oh?" she asks.
"I asked him to give me the night to mull over his offer. I spent that time asking people in your kingdom about you. When their words did not contradict his, I agreed." He pauses, then shyly adds, "I'm glad I did."
His words make her feel warm again, only this time it is not the uncomfortable heat of humiliation. "I am, too," she replies. "I think."
He chuckles, understanding her reticence. "I have one more reason for concealing my identity during our journey," he says, hoping this last point will fully convince her.
"You do?" she asks, setting her fork down again. Her dinner is about two-thirds eaten, but she cannot eat any more.
"Your safety is very important to me," he says.
Once again, Guinevere's eyebrows knit in confusion. "As a king, a knight, a man of honor, I would think the safety of any woman would be important."
Arthur vigorously nods his agreement. "Indeed, it is. Even more so would be the well-being of my wife. It is not something I could entrust to anyone other than myself." She feels her face color under the king's intense, sincere gaze, and he continues. "If anything happened on the journey and I was not there to make sure you were unharmed, I would not have been able to live with myself."
She is somewhat taken aback by the heartfelt passion in which Arthur answers. Gathering her thoughts she asks, "How does hiding your identity protect my safety?"
"Well, you remember the bandits," he says, and she nods. "They did not know who I was. They knew you, but to them, I was merely a knight. Had they been able to identify me as something more, they may have brought reinforcements."
"You were very impressive," she says.
"Thank you," he answers. "It was only three men." Her eyebrows rise and he continues. "I do not wish to sound boastful, but I have felled twice as many."
"By yourself?" He nods. "In battle or on the training field?"
"Tournament," he answers.
"Goodness," she breathes.
"I am the king," he simply says. "I have to be the best for as long as I am physically able."
"You set a very high standard for yourself," she says.
"Do you not do the same for yourself?" he counters.
She tilts her head in silent concession to his point.
"And that, dear Guinevere, is why I personally came to deliver you to, um, me, but used the name of my First Knight," he concludes. "I simply would not entrust your safety to anyone else."
Guinevere is momentarily stunned by Arthur's last statement. She clears her throat, then asks, "So, there is a real Sir Leon?" Once she found out Leon was actually Arthur, she had assumed 'Leon' was simply a name he picked.
"Oh, yes," he answers. "You'll meet him tomorrow. You will meet all of your knights tomorrow."
My knights. I have knights. This is truly happening. She nods. "Thank you, Arthur," she says. "For taking the time to explain. For apologizing."
"You're welcome, Guinevere," he replies. "I... I never meant to cause you pain, and now that I know I have... I never wish to do so ever again." He kisses her hand again. "Can you forgive me?"
She smiles, looking directly at him. "I can, and I do," she answers.
"Oh, thank you," he says, beaming and kissing her hand once more. "You do not know how happy I am to hear you say that."
"I think I have some idea," she says. "It is written all over your face."
"Yes, I have been told that occasionally happens," he admits. "I need to work a little harder at schooling my features." His lips curl into a mischievous half-grin. "Perhaps you can teach me."
Guinevere laughs for the first time all day, and she is amazed at how good it feels. "Perhaps, another day."
"Yes, I believe we are both going to be busy for the next day or two," Arthur agrees. "May I walk you back to your chambers?"
"Yes," she answers. He stands and pulls her chair out. "May I ask...?"
"You may ask me anything at all, any time you like," he interjects.
"Where are my permanent quarters going to be? I know my room tonight is only temporary. Merlin said so."
"Oh. Um, well, I was hoping you would be amenable to sharing these rooms with me," he shyly answers, "but... there is an adjoining room through that door," he points, "that will be yours."
She looks around Arthur's chambers, really looking for the first time. They are in the central room. There are sleeping quarters to her left, and she can see a large bed dressed in rich reds and golds. Camelot colors, so different from Cameliard's silver and dark blue. To her right is the door Arthur indicated, which is closed. She thinks about asking to see it, but right now, a soft nightdress and an even softer pillow sound like a more attractive option. These rooms are really quite nice.
"You can redecorate if you wish," Arthur says. "I truly want you to be happy here, Guinevere."
"I do, too, Arthur," she says.
He smiles. "Come. I'm sure you must be tired," he says, offering his arm.
Without hesitation, she loops her hand into the crook of his elbow and allows him to lead her from the room.
True to his word, Merlin is waiting just outside the doors. He ducks inside to clean up the dinner dishes when they leave.
Outside her door, Arthur takes both her hands in his. "Thank you for listening and accepting my explanation, Guinevere. I was prepared to give you the option of refusing and returning to your father if you wished." He looks down at their hands. "Do you?"
She, too, looks at their joined hands, his large pink ones surrounding her smaller, tan ones. "No," she answers. "I do not wish to return to my father."
He exhales, and she realizes he was holding his breath waiting for her answer.
"Oh, good," he says, sounding relieved. He looks at her. "I have been remiss in one thing this evening," he says.
"You have?"
He nods. "I have not yet told you how very beautiful you are, Guinevere. I wanted to say it the moment I laid eyes on you. You took my breath away then, and you did so again tonight at dinner."
"Oh," she softly exclaims, touched. His words do not sound like flattery. "Thank you."
His eyes roam her upturned face for a moment, as though he is deciding what to do next. Will she let me kiss her? I should probably wait until the wedding. "Good night, Guinevere," he says. Then, he bends down and brushes his lips against her cheek in the barest caress of a kiss.
"Good night, Arthur," she whispers, staring up at him. The butterflies have returned.
He gives her one last smile, releases her hands, then turns and walks away, heading back towards his chambers.
Guinevere stands in the corridor a moment longer, watching him walk away. Just before he rounds the corner, he turns back and looks at her, catching her eye for just a second before he disappears.
"My lady?" Sefa quietly inquires, appearing beside her mistress.
Merlin must have sent her. "Oh. Yes, thank you, Sefa. I'd like to get ready for bed," Guinevere answers. Sefa opens the door and the princess walks inside, her mind whirring, still slightly confused, but... hopeful.
Perhaps this will work after all.