Hey there, Merlin fans.
Thank you for your continued support and your patience.
You guys won't know it, but I have done a few stories featuring my favourite couple...one of which is almost completed, but somehow, they just don't measure up, so I've deleted them...except for the one mentioned, which is based off a book.
That one, was started way back in late November of last year and every time I think about deleting it, I don't.
My heart tells me I can twist it and shape it to suit my couple. I have yet to try.
The book was so boring and so repetitive, it turned me off.
Anyway, in keeping with my lock down madness, I have brought something new, and a little different, but I hope you will give it a try. It is based of a book called Royal Dad, by Leanne Banks. Thank you.
Arthur Pendragon couldn't sleep.
His mind was crowded with thoughts of his life before now. About his late wife and the void, she'd left behind.
His wife had passed away a few years ago, leaving him to parent his son by himself.
With a dull pang, he remembered fragile Isabella. She had been a conscientious wife and loving mother.
Although she had been chosen for him, or perhaps, because, she had been chosen for him, Arthur had never felt more than a gentle fondness and protectiveness for his late wife.
His son had suffered the most from her death.
He was so young and hardly knew what it felt like, to be cradled in a loving mother's bosom, as he suckled her breast.
Even now, Arthur's advisors, had a list of requirements, for the type of woman he should marry. But, he had his own.
He was a few years older now and not as inclined to accept his advisors' choice, as the final word for him.
Whoever he married, would have love his son, as if he were her own child. That was the deal breaker.
If he were to place an order for a wife, he would say he preferred a woman with silky, long, black hair and a body with well-proportioned curves.
He preferred a woman with a quiet voice and a soft laugh and, most importantly, a biddable nature.
Leaning against his balcony rail, he looked at the private courtyard, shimmering in moonlight. It was beautiful and he was tempted to go out there, if only for a few minutes.
He moved his hand, and the moonlight reflected the gold ring on his finger, that bore the royal crest of the House of Pendragon.
The ring was merely a symbol of a truth, that had been with him since the womb.
He was Prince Arthur William Pendragon, heir to the throne of Wales.
His father had passed away years ago, and Arthur still missed him, to this day. And although his mother, Queen Igraine Catherine Du Bois, had given birth to one other child, she had always been more ruler, than mother.
He knew he was envied for his wealth and power.
He knew men dreamed of being in his position, of having the final say on any matter in his country.
But, Arthur, however, had experienced the flip side of power, and he was humbled, by the scope of his responsibility.
For all his power, he couldn't stop the devastation, a hurricane had wreak on Wales several years ago.
Though he held the second-highest position in his country, he couldn't eliminate overnight, long-standing social prejudice, or ignorance. He couldn't solve all his country's problems in one day.
He might be the wealthiest man in Wales, and he might be the highest-ranking male in his country, and he might have been trained from an early age to hold himself apart, but he was still just a man.
Early in the morning, Prince Arthur walked through the hallway, towards his office.
His mind was divided between the myriad tasks and decisions, waiting to greet him and the remnants of his thoughts, from the night before.
He needed a wife.
The assignment was long overdue.
He would need to marry soon. He had put it off, as long as possible.
He knew the requirements for the position...discretion, grace, understanding and respect for his position. And according to his advisors, a woman who would provide a politically beneficial association, would be a plus.
A quiet woman of breeding and grace, he thought. A woman who would bring peace and tranquility, to the Royal House of Pendragon.
He continued down the hall, and the click of his shoes on the gleaming marble floor, did nothing to diminish the volume of loud voices, he could suddenly hear, in the distance.
"This way, Mademoiselle," a man said in a loud, overly enunciated voice. "I will lead you to your quarters."
"Excuse me," a woman nearly shouted. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"
The male voice, was clearly that of Francis, Prince Arthur's son's assistant. And the woman?
He took a detour and rounded the corner.
"Mademoiselle Guinevere, do you require medication?" Francis asked in exasperation.
"I might," she replied. "I feel like I'm only hearing every other word you're saying."
Arthur rounded another corner and caught sight of Francis and a young woman, with a mane of curly, wild, dark hair.
She was dressed in jeans and a T shirt, advertising an American baseball team.
Neither garment gave any indication, of the shape of her body. Not that he was interested.
This woman wouldn't know the meaning of quiet, if it banged her on the head.
Francis glanced up and met Arthur's gaze. And Arthur watched, as panic, sliced through the man's eyes.
Francis immediately gave a quick bow.
"Your Highness." Distracted by the curious, but bleary, brown-eyed gaze of the woman, Arthur gave an absent nod.
"Who is our guest?"
"Prince Arthur William Pendragon, may I present, Mademoiselle Guinevere James. She is here from the United States, to tutor Prince Andrew."
Arthur felt an immediate twinge in his chest.
His son was dyslexic, and learning had become such a chore for him, he avoided all books.
Intervention was necessary, so Arthur had arranged, to import a highly recommended specialist.
"Welcome to Wales, Mademoiselle Guinevere. We're pleased you're here to help Andrew," the prince said.
"Thank you," Gwen, as she is affectionately called, shouted back to him. "I'm sorry, but I couldn't hear everything. I didn't catch your name."
Arthur shot a quick glance at Francis, who looked slightly ill.
"You may call him, Your Highness," Francis said, enunciating so precisely, he nearly spat. Gwen blinked and gave a vague nod.
"Nice to meet you, Your Highness," she said, again too loudly. Francis winced. The prince cleared his throat.
"Does she have a hearing problem?" he asked in a low voice.
"It's temporary, Your Highness. Apparently, her ears were stopped up during the long flight." For some reason, relief flooded Arthur.
"Very well. Show her to her quarters, before you have to explain her to the guards."
"I'm trying," Francis muttered under his breath, then added, "Your Highness."
The prince left for his office and felt a twist of humor, as the sound of the woman's loud voice, echoed down the hallway.
Poor Francis.
Eight hours later, Gwen awoke to a raging headache.
Placing her hands on either side of her face, to minimize the pain, she was certain she would feel upon moving, she carefully slid from her bed, snatched the headache medicine, from her cosmetic bag, in the adjoining bathroom, and wrestled with the container.
After she had freed two pills, she tossed them into her mouth and gulped water directly from the faucet.
She was definitely going to have a discussion, with her supervisor, Katy Wilson, when she got near a phone.
Burned out from her teaching job, at an inner-city public school, in Washington, D.C., Gwen had desperately needed a break.
And Katy had gotten wind, of a secret cushy assignment, in Europe, so she put Gwen's name in the hat.
Gwen had been chosen, but she'd been given very little information, about her pupil, or the job.
"Well, the good thing is, I'll be living in a palace," she said to herself and dipped her head down, for another gulp of water.
"And, I'll be teaching a seven-year-old prince. There's no way he can't be spoiled," she muttered. She splashed her face and wiped it with the hand towel.
"I'll also have to deal with a smug, know-it-all pipsqueak, by the name of Francis...and Prince Arthur, for heaven's sake."
A tall, blonde, handsome prince, who was so stiff, he probably had a steel pipe for a backbone.
In the short time she'd met Francis and His Highness, she'd gotten the gist, that these people were very big on appearances and decorum.
She was not.
She took a deep breath and counted to ten.
She could deal with attitude.
Heaven knows, she'd dealt with attitude from most of the kids she'd taught.
But she had a tough time dealing with anyone, who put on airs.
If there was one thing she didn't like, it was smugness and superiority. Okay, they were two things, but they were related.
"I may not be the right girl for this job," she mused aloud.
She brushed her teeth and tried not to look at her reflection in the mirror. After a trip halfway around the world, she looked darn frightening.
A knock sounded at her bedroom door, and she eyed it, wishing for a peephole.
"Who's there?" she asked. A brief silence followed, and Gwen could almost feel the exasperation, simmering from the other side of the door.
"Francis," the irritating man said.
She opened the door and saw Francis, with a tray of tea and sandwiches. Her irritation faded slightly. Maybe he wasn't that pompous, after all.
"Please come in," she said. Relief flooded his face, as he entered her room and set the tray down.
"Your ears are better…I hope?"
"Yes, they are. Thank you for the antihistamine and the food. I was starving."
"Not unusual for such a long flight. Your sleep patterns should adjust, over the next few days. If you need a sleeping pill, let me know. In the meantime, I will brief you on your duties."
Gwen felt the scratchy irritation return.
She'd never responded well, to an autocratic delivery of orders.
"I think I understand my duties. I am to tutor Prince Andrew, because he has dyslexia and he's become so discouraged, he no longer tries to learn."
She reached for a sandwich and took a bite.
Francis tossed her a suspicious glance.
"How did you know of his discouragement?"
"Because, I work with these kids every day," she said, and mentally added,
'Because I've been through the same thing.'
"These children bust their butts to keep up, but when they keep failing, they lose heart and hope. It's my job to give a little of that back." She paused.
"It must have been tough, for the family to come to grips, with the fact that Prince Andrew wasn't perfect," she finished.
She took another bite of the sandwich and watched Francis stiffened.
"Let me remind you, that you are to discuss this with no one. You've signed a privacy agreement. The prince's disability, is a very delicate matter."
Gwen waved aside his concern.
"Well, it shouldn't be. Einstein had a learning disability, too, and he was smarter than anyone walking around this palace."
Francis inhaled, his mouth hanging opened, in barely controlled outrage.
'Good thing there aren't any flies around, or he would have swallowed one,' Gwen thought.
"You are not to discuss the prince's disability, with anyone, except, Prince Arthur or me."
"I won't. I promise," she assured him. "But I have to tell you, I'm not sure I'm the right girl for this job. I didn't know I would be working with royalty, and I don't have a high tolerance for a lot of unnecessary, prissy protocol. Just in case you can't tell, I'm not a prissy girl."
"That's quite clear," he said in a dry tone, as he glanced at her T-shirt and jeans. Gwen brushed aside the pinch of insult she felt.
"It takes a lot of creativity, to get a learning disabled kid, up and running, and that's where I keep my focus. I don't have time for unnecessary protocol. My whole goal is to help Prince Andrew find his joy of learning again, get him confident and re-teach him how to read. I'll do whatever it takes, to make that happen," she said, and silently added,
'Even though this kid might be so spoiled, I can smell him from the other side of the palace.'
Francis gave her a look of guarded respect.
"After you have eaten and freshened up, I will introduce you to Prince Andrew."
Truce, Gwen thought.
For now.
I hope it was worth your time. An update for Love and Happiness will be out soon. Thank you. Stay safe and stay blessed.