Thank you for your continued interest and support. I appreciate it.
I do not own Merlin or the characters, neither do I own Royally Screwed.
Two more chapters left.
ARTHUR
That night, after a lonesome evening spent drinking myself into oblivion, in a corner at The Goat, I didn't dream about my mother like I did the last time I was good and pissed.
I dreamt I was on a ship...a creaky, wooden pirate ship...with a stunning dark-haired figurehead, with perfect, pert breasts.
In the middle of a giant storm.
Being tossed left and right, until one mighty, surging wave, toppled the whole thing over, sending me reeling into the sea.
When I cracked my head on the hard, wooden floor, I realized I was not on a ship.
And the tossing wasn't a dream.
It was my little brother...tilting the couch I had passed out on and spilling my sorry ass onto the bloody floor.
When I was able to pry my eyes open, I saw him standing over me like an angel of morning-after doom, with Gwaine standing next to him.
"What the fucking fuck, Andrew?"
"I told you, you were wrong. I told you Gwen didn't do it."
Those words snapped me into full, immediate consciousness.
Andrew's eyes darted to Gwaine.
"Tell him."
Gwaine suddenly looked pale. And not a little bit guilty.
"Tell me what?" I rasped.
He cleared his throat.
"Yes…well, you see...I've begun a new business venture for Mc Allister's…"
When he didn't continue, I nudged,
"And?"
"Pies."
Maybe I was still dreaming after all.
"Pies?" I asked.
"Yes...fresh and flash frozen...they'll be deliverable to anyplace in the world. We're going to knock Marie Callenders' and Sara Lee on their ases. And you know how much I enjoyed the pies at Emily's when we were in the States. So…I purchased the recipes from Gwen's father. All of them."
My stomach must be still stuck in the dream.
It churned.
"How much?" I asked.
"Over six figures," Gwaine replied.
Slowly, I sat up, anger rising.
"And you didn't think this was something you should've told me?"
He rubbed the back of his neck.
"Mr. Taylor wanted it kept quiet. He's been cleaning himself up...doing the twelve steps and all that. He wanted to surprise Gwen when she came home, that the business was out of debt and she wouldn't have to run it all on her own anymore."
Gwaine squirmed as he added.
"And hell...I can never keep a secret from Morgana, so I thought it best if you didn't..."
His words trailed off as he looked me over.
"What did you do, Arthur?"
What did I do?
The realization of what I have done, landed like a moose kick to the balls.
I was on my feet in an instant. And with the awful words I threw at Guinevere ringing in my ears, I ran down the hall...shirt open and feet bare.
But the moment my hands touched the door handles...before I even I open the doors...I knew...I could feel it.
She wasn't here.
I stood in the middle of Guinevere's room...that's how I think of it now...not the 'white bedroom' or 'my mother's old room'. It was Guinevere's.
Now, it was Guinevere's empty room.
The bed was made, but vacant.
The white walls and furniture that looked so pristine and fair yesterday, now seemed gray and lifeless.
I checked the bathroom and the closet...I didn't know why...but, except for a few designer outfits encased in clear plastic, that I know aren't Guinevere's...they're just as bare as all the rest.
Any trace of her...her shampoos and trinkets and the little hair ties she was always leaving behind...has been wiped away.
Like she was never here at all.
I wandered back into the bedroom and something shiny glinting on the dresser caught my eye.
It was the snowflake necklace.
It was hers.
It was made for her.
I gave it to her to keep.
To have and to hold.
Even that was selfish of me, I guess. I liked the idea of her having something tangible, something she could touch, a way for her to remember me…after...
And she left it behind.
A message doesn't get more loud and clear than that.
A maid walked passed the open door in the hall and I barked at her.
"Get Christoph here. Now!"
I was still holding the necklace in the palm of my hand, when Andrew, Gwaine...and then Fernando walked in.
When?" I asked my butler.
"Miss Gwen left last night, he replied."
"Why wasn't I told?"
"You told her to go. I heard you tell her myself. The whole house heard you yell it."
I flinched.
"Just following orders." And his words dripped with sarcasm.
Not today, old man.
Christoph stepped into the room just then, his lips etched in that constant, self-important smirk. And I wanted to punch it off his face.
Why didn't I do that yesterday?
When he suggested that Guinevere would ever…
Fucking hell, I'm an idiot.
"Bring her back," I said.
"She has arrived in New York by now," Fernando said.
"Then bring her back from New York."
"She left, Arthur," Gwaine pointed out.
And Andrew began,
"You can't just..."
"Bring her back!" I shouted, loud enough to make the frames on the walls tremble.
"Oh for fuck's sake." Andrew gripped my shoulders. "You tell the men to bring her back and they will bring her back by any means necessary. And then we'll add 'international kidnapper' to your résumé. She's not a bone, Arthur...you can't order her to be fetched."
"I can do whatever I want," I hissed.
"Bloody hell!" Andrew said. "Is this what I sound like?"
Panic.
It rose like smoke up my throat, choking me, making my hands clench the pendant like a life preserver. Making me think wild thoughts and say idiotic things.
Because…what if Guinevere won't come back?
What will I do then?
Without her.
My voice turned to ash.
"She'll come back with them. They'll explain it to her. They'll tell her…that I made a mistake. That I'm sorry."
My little brother looked at me like I had lost my mind, and maybe I have.
Then Gwaine stepped forward, gripping my arm.
"Tell her yourself, man."
The downside of responsibility and duty, is that it gives you tunnel vision. You don't see the big picture or the options, because the options were never yours to have.
You see only the track that you're locked onto, the one that takes you through the tunnel.
But every once in a while, even the most dependable trains jump their track.
"Prince Arthur, you can't go in there..."
Charles rushed out from behind his desk, trying to get between me and the Queen's closed office door.
"Your Highness, please..."
I burst through the door.
The Japanese Emperor stood quickly and his security men went for their gunbelts, but he held out his hand to them.
I saw this all in the periphery, because my eyes were fastened onto the Queen's. And if looks could kill, Andrew would've just gotten a promotion.
"I'm canceling the press conference," I told my grandmother.
Without blinking, she turned smoothly to her guest and said,
"Please accept our sincere apologies for the interruption, Emperor Nakamura. There is no excuse for such rudeness."
The Emperor nodded.
"I have six children, Your Majesty. I understand all about interruptions."
He glanced my way on the last word, and reflexively, I lowered my chin and bowed...a sign of respect.
My grandmother looked passed my shoulder to the doorway.
"Charles, show Emperor Nakamura to the blue drawing room. I will join him momentarily."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Once my grandmother and I were alone, her indifferent façade dropped like a boulder catapulted over an enemy's wall.
"Have you lost your mind?" she asked.
"I'm canceling the press conference."
"Absolutely not!"
"I'm going to New York to see Guinevere. I've hurt her terribly."
"Out of the question," the Queen hissed, eyes glinting like the edge of a blade.
"I've done everything you've ever wanted! I've become everything you wanted me to be. And I've never asked you for anything! But I'm asking you for this."
Something cracked inside me, making my voice splinter.
"I love her. It can't end this way."
The Queen regarded me, silently, for a several moments, and when she spoke her voice was gentler, but still resolute.
"This is exactly how it needs to end. Do you think I'm a fool, Arthur? That I didn't know what you were thinking?"
I opened my mouth to reply, but she went on.
"You thought you could postpone the wedding for a time...and perhaps you could have. But the fact remains, the day will come when you will be a husband and a father. You will be a king. And what will Guinevere be then?"
"Mine," I growled. "She'll be mine."
And just like that, I saw her in my head...those smiling, plump lips, and the way her eyes danced when she looked at me.
I saw when she was happy...when I'd made her happy.
I think of the way her thick, dark lashes fanned out against her perfect caramel skin while she slept...peacefully, because she was sleeping in my arms.
And then I remember the feel of her soft touch and the sheer, miraculous contentment I felt, when I was just lying beside her...
"The word 'mistress' doesn't carry the same weight it once did, but it is still not a pretty thing to be, Arthur. And there are no secrets, not in this world, not anymore. You will have a purpose to fulfill...a destiny. You will have the admiration and devotion of a country. And Guinevere…will have its scorn. Possibly the derision of the whole world. You've seen it play out, time and again. The nannies who take up with their married movie-star employers, the young interns ensnared by powerful men...it's never the man who is shamed and ruined. It's always the woman...the other woman...who gets burned at the stake."
And I have no response. Because I didn't think that far.
The future didn't matter...all that mattered was having Guinevere...keeping her and being able to kiss her every morning. And tell her...show her...how precious she was to me every night.
My grandmother's brows drew together, as if she was aggrieved.
"Are you really so selfish, my boy? Is that the life you want for her?"
The life I want for her?
I want the world for Guinevere.
I want to show her every corner of it and explore it while holding her hand.
I want the stars for her...and the moon and the heavens...and everything in between.
And for a moment, I truly thought I could give them to her. I believed there was a way.
How stupid of me.
Morgana called me a fool. A double-damned idiot. And for once, I agree with her.
When I answered, my voice was hollow...a ravaged, empty imitation of my own.
"No."
"Then let her go. If you truly love her, let her hate you. It will be easier for her that way," the Queen said.
She placed her hand on my arm, squeezing with a strength that still surprised me.
"And for you," she added.
I rubbed my eyes, suddenly feeling so…tired.
"Charles has the list. I've narrowed it down to five. Look it over. They're wonderful women, Arthur. Any one of them will make you happy, if you just allow it."
I moved out of her office without another word, feeling dazed. But I paused in front of Charles' desk and he handed me The List.
One page, five names, five pretty, smiling thumb-size faces. All the same. All meaningless.
Swallowing hard, I passed it back to the Queen's secretary and said to him,
"Pick one."
His eyes jolted from me to the page and back again.
"Me?"
"Yes."
"Uh…which one should I pick, Your Grace?"
And I say the truest words I've ever spoken in my life.
"It doesn't matter."
Stay safe!