The Chronicles of Artie Pendragon, Girl-King of England Born

Chapter Six; Kay — A Game Of Troths

"You're getting what?!"

I nearly drop breakfast. The quail-eggs quiver, cowed... and don't even get me started on the milk.

"Well," says Artie, blinking at me through her bed-hair, "I thought it sounded pretty simple. Merlyn told me to get married."

I put the royal breakfast on the royal table and start spreading the royal butter on the royal toast, hands twitching. Inside my head, I count the number of furnaces we have on full blast in the kitchens, the number of guests we have for tonight, and the number of spitjacks who'll need whipping if we burn anything.

Seven, two hundred, all of them. I think I'm doing this just to stop myself from screaming.

Artie takes the wooden mug and slurps.

"So, marriage," I grind out. "Yeah, that sounds like a great idea. You know, marry the King to a girl, even though the King's actually a girl. Could her big dumb Majesty remind me just why this is necessary?"

"Well," says Artie, tapping a finger on her milk-moustache.

"No, don't do that. Merlyn does that. It's stupid. Stop saying well. Just don't. And clean your mouth!"

"Excuse me," says Artie, "but I'm the King. I can fashion any way I please."

"That's not how you use the word, Artie."

"Now it is," she retorts.

Then, after a pause:

"I think I'll make milk-mustaches mandatory."

She grins, then wipes her mouth with her sleeve. I consider jamming my elbow right on the royal head — then something hits me.

There's bags around her eyes. Her lips are paler than usual, despite the grin, and her shoulders are sagging. She's been awake for more than a while. And if there's anyone in the realm who sleeps like a brain-dead log, it's Arturia Pendragon, my stupid little sister.

She reaches for the quail-eggs, but I lift the tray just out of her reach and fix her with my best glare.

"Hey!" she says. "Quit it, you ninny."

She swipes again, so I take the tray, walk all the way to the other side of the bedroom, and put right on the writing desk. Then I turn around and fold my arms.

"Alright, Artie. Out with it."

She looks at me, ducks her head, looks at the wall, looks at me again, and then finally stops squirming. All the air goes out of her. Even her dumb bouncy tuft loses its spring... and trust me, I've tried to kill that thing. It's pretty much immortal.

"Merlyn says that if I don't get married, the people might get the wrong idea. He says I should do it. For stability.

"Y'know," she adds in a small voice.

She's not lying. Artie couldn't twist the facts if she was facing them in an arm-wrestle for eternal life. But somehow, I know that's not all there is to it, that Merlyn has more things up his poofy sleeves, and that Artie — as usual — is going to get the sharp end of the pointy stick. I'll need to tease it out of her.

"You can't marry a woman, Artie. It'd be a bigger lie than all the other ones you've stepped in. What, is Merlyn going to steal some sheik's son from Araby and make everyone think he's a harem girl?"

"I think I'll manage," she says, with a pathetic ripple of false cheer.

"No you won't! " I snap. "You don't have the brains or the guts or the heart to do it. At least think of the poor girl. Look, I can lie, and Merlyn can make it a huge magic lie, and you can live the lie all you want. But don't trap an innocent girl in something she can't escape. It's bloody unnatural. You'll drive her insane! Who did you have in mind?"

She shrinks into the covers, bunches her knees up, purses her lips, and says nothing. Anger scalds my neck like a coif of steam.

"No, no, no!" I shout. "This is stupid! Everyone else in the kingdom might let you get away with this, but I sure as hell won't! Look, Artie, I know you didn't get the memo before Badon, but even if you were marrying a man, you can't have an heir! You're too young!"

"Not forever," she says limply, but with mounting anger in her emerald eyes.

"Artie," I groan, raising my eyes to heaven, "you haven't grown an inch in two years, ever since you pulled that stupid sword from that stupid stone, and you've been eating and drinking better than you ever have. You'd better start praying that it won't be forever!"

"I don't have to do anything you say, Kay," she retorts. "Why don't you just leave?"

"Oh, I see! No son, no husband, and a fake wife too! What type of stability is that supposed to bring? Have you lost your wits? Did Merlyn slip some laudanum in that brain of yours? Is this Uther working some gorramed curse from the grave or—"

"Enough!" She sits ramrod-straight, eyes afire, throwing the covers off herself and jabbing her finger at me like a naked sword. The breath rushes out from my lungs. My legs give way and I fall back against the wall, sitting silent, stunned and shaking mad.

"Before I call the guards, seneschal," says Artie in a small steely voice, "and have them arrest you for treason, remove yourself from my quarters. Now."

My little sister stares at me like a stranger. I stand up, take the tray, shove it back on her table as hard as I can, and stumble towards the door, feeling sick to my stomach. A single quail's egg bounces off the bed and onto the carpet, glistening like a wet grey pearl.

How did she do that? Become so much like a King, in so short a time? When did she...

"You would do well, Sir Kay, to remember your place. You are not Sir Ector, and even then, Sir Ector is not my father. He is my subject, as are you. I am... I'm the son of the Pendragon."

Uther. Of course. Uther and Merlyn. They planned all of this. They stole my baby sister's life before she was old enough to walk, made the future throne her crypt and cradle. She doesn't mean it. I can hear the anguish in her voice. She doesn't know what to do, that's all. She can't be Artie and the King at the same time. She has to choose one, but she can't.

"I am your Majesty's most humble servant."

I don't look at her. If I do I might break down. I clench my fists into white lumps and walk away without shutting the door, grateful that the King banished all the guards from her personal corridor, furious at Artie for removing the only people with a decent chance of protecting her. I can't kill. I'm just a seneschal. The kitchen-boy.

If I could poison Merlyn, I would, but he'd probably vanish the food. I'll just have to do the next best thing and stop this marriage. Not for the kingdom. The kingdom can go hang.

I'm doing this for Artie.