Charles sat alone in his room, watching the sun set through the high windows. He could feel the strong radiations of his sister's mind somewhere around the garden. The soft heart of his wife sent waves of love to him from inside their shared room. He did not dare going further in their heads. He felt lonely, but he would rather have them away from his gloomy mood.

.

They all agreed on the quest. It took time and many arguments, but all the best Knights and Kings of the Kingdom, those deemed worthy of the Round Table, had seen some reward in the prospect. Money, glory, peace... Charles refused to dwell further on his companions' sins and graces. He was not innocent, either. He had lied. Actually, he had been lying since he was three. Hiding his power. Hiding from himself.

He feared his power. It made him look at a world he despised, all flaws and imperfections, when he only wished to have faith in humanity. Faith in a world that would accept his Gift and that of his sister. And many others he knew for sure now that they were not alone. Shaw, the Lady of the Lake. And the White Knight.

.

Just when he thought of the man, he appeared at the door.

"May I come in, Your Grace ?" he asked.

"Of course. Take a seat."

The White Knight walked to him he had something under his arm.

"What is this ?" Charles pointed at the wooden board and the black box.

The White Knight set them on the table next to Charles and sat in front of him. "Do you know how to play chess ?"

The game had been introduced recently to his Kingdom and was played in many courts already. Moira, fond of strategy, had taught him the basis.

"I do," Charles answered. He picked up the box and emptied the pieces on the board. He chose black, leaving the white to his Knight. "But are you not afraid of me cheating with my..." He waved his fingers next to his temple.

"I trust you," the White Knight replied.

The honesty of his statement rendered Charles speechless.

.

"I have met with several people of my kind. Of our kind," the Knight said, arranging the pieces on the board. "The first I met, of course, was my mother, who is not my mother."

The revelation startled Charles. "Are you related to Shaw then ?"

"No. They both took care of me after a terrible human killed my real parents because I was a Gifted." He moved a pawn. "I want revenge, and for that I need the Holy Grail." He crossed his arms and waited for Charles' move. "I will follow you until we find it. Or until I die."

Charles felt the anger coming in waves from the White Knight. It numbed his mind, drowning it a little more with each ripple. "Revenge will not bring your parents back."

"It will not, that is true, but it will keep other Gifted from losing their parents too."

The man had a point, but there was something in his stance that scared Charles. "Do you mean to use the Grail to hurt humans ?"

The Knight froze, considering his answer. Then he spoke. "They do not hesitate to kill us. To enslave us. Why should we be considerate ?"

Charles' stomach churned at the lack of empathy shown by the Knight. "Because you would be no better than them ! How can you expect equality and respect if you scare and murder them ? That cannot be." Charles moved a pawn on the chess board. "The Holy Grail will serve as a way to reconciliate humans and Gifted," he added in a firm voice.

A frown appeared on the White Knight's brow, but he spoke no more. Charles could still feel the rage in his Knight's heart, and he knew he had not convinced him. He could only hope he would simply obey.

.

They played chess in silence until the sun had disappeared behind the hills.

When Charles joined his wife in their bed, he lay down thinking for a long time. Moira was beautiful, smart, gentle. The best Queen he could have hoped for. And yet having her naked beside him did nothing to him. He wanted to protect her, to hold her – mostly to get comfort instead of giving it – but he did not feel the love singers sang about. But this evening, when he had played and talked with the White Knight, something had awoken in him. His heart had fluttered. His palms had sweated. And since then, his cock had been stiff and leaking. It bothered him under the covers.

He turned toward his wife and spooned her, his hard cock rubbing against her buttocks. It felt good. She woke up and turned around, smiling.

"Let me take care of that, dear Charles," she whispered, wrapping her fingers around his shaft. It scared him a bit, but he was too far gone for it to lower his desire. Her hand moved up and down and he started to moan.

.

After a few caresses, she sat on him and sighed as his cock entered her. He looked at her as she rode him like a horse. He looked at her small and firm breast bouncing lightly, at the strong muscles rippling in her thighs, under her smooth pale skin. He did not feel romantic love for Moira he did not feel desire for her, but he could admire her beauty and her skills in bed. He did not know where she learned such a trick, but right now, he felt too good to care. He soon helped her, moving in rhythm with her, his hands on her hips. It took him only a couple of minutes to come hard inside her. He spilled himself loudly, eyes closed, the perfect face of the White Knight against the dark screen of his eyelids.

As soon as he had emptied himself, she lay down by his side, still smiling. She kissed his cheek tenderly. "I love you, Charles," she whispered in his ear.

.

Those tender words heightened his feeling of guilt. He could not reciprocate them, when she deserved them and more. Instead, her attention had conjured the figure of someone else. Of a man.

He fell asleep crying.

Raven had begun to keep mostly to her room, and that was where Moira found her, sitting on the windowsill, lost in thought as she looked at the surrounding woods. Moira knocked on the open door to let her know she was there. Raven turned towards her but did not say a word.

"Dear sister by human law and before God," Moira started, "I need to talk to you."

Raven nodded and showed her the bed. Moira thanked her with a curtsey and sat on the thick coverlet. "What is bothering you, your Grace ?"

"I... I did what you said. I made love to him..." A deep blush darkening her cheeks, she added : "Like a woman of easy virtue. You promised me he would love me more if I showed him my feelings for him." Tears welled up in her eyes. "Afterwards, I heard him cry."

Moira's distress did nothing to Raven, but she feigned sympathy. "I am sorry."

Hiding her tangled fingers inside her long sleeves, Moira mustered up all the courage she could find to reveal her biggest fear. "I think he loves someone else."

.

Inside, Raven was almost laughing. Only sweet and pure Moira did not know about Charles' feelings for his new companion. Maybe she just tried to deny it as much as she could to avoid being hurt. Ignorance was a bliss, Raven had learned years ago, and Moira would soon experience the same pain she had felt when she had discovered she had a brother her mother loved more than she had ever loved her.

Sometimes she felt guilt freezing her core, her very bones, a low grumble in her stomach. In Moira, she saw the little girl she once was, the one life had cheated. But she had to hurt her to get revenge on her brother. Moira's feelings were collateral damage. She chased away the regrets that threatened to drown her in sorrow.

Unbeknownst to Charles, Raven and Moira had been slowly bonding. Knowing well what happened in the bedroom of married couples – she had played this game so many times, using her Gift to hide in plain sight and spy on others – she had ill advised Moira, thinking that might, in one way or another, ruin her brother's marriage. She had been right.

.

She comforted Moira as well as she could and let her go when her tears were dried.

She had to prepare for the next part of her plan.

For a week now, the White Knight had met King Charles for an evening game of chess in his room. Sometimes he won, sometimes he lost, but every time they played was a pleasure. He knew what he felt must be hidden and denied there was no place for love in his quest for revenge. Unfortunately, the argument between his mind and his heart was nowhere near its end. Before their meeting, he would motivate himself to ignore the painful pang in his chest when Charles' beautiful eyes were on him. But once in the King's room, he could not follow his own smart advice.

.

Today, he was early : the room was empty when he came in. He sat at the table and placed the chess pieces on the board. He did not have long to wait.

"Dear friend, you are already here !" Charles took both Erik's hands in his, in a powerful grip, squeezing them strongly. "You cannot imagine the extent of the happiness these evenings together bring to me. Do they fill you with joy as well ?"

Erik, confused, could only nod. They always avoided touching, even when they played. As if it was their last protection, as if the world would burst into flames if their skins brushed against each other. And now, he could feel Charles' heat on his fingers, on his palm. It felt like the world was burning, actually. His world, and his heart. Did he only imagine the caress of Charles' thumb on his joints ? It was barely there. A butterfly's wing. And yet it brought goosebumps on his forearms.

When Charles finally let Erik's hands go, they felt cold. "Shall we play ?" he asked, knowing the answer too well.

.

They sat in front of each other, the black and white chess board between them. Charles seemed suddenly too far away. Was his smile brighter than usual ? His eyes warmer ? It may well be only the wish of his heart, but Erik was not so sure.

"Tell me more about your infanthood, dear friend." Charles' request took Erik by surprise. They had become intimate, but not to the extent of sharing secrets yet. However Erik trusted him, and started to talk about the cottage in the woods, about his training. About his loneliness too. Soon, the game was forgotten.

.

They moved from the table in the middle of the room to the more comfortable chairs in front of the fireplace which Charles' valet had lit when night had come. It was the only light in the room the flames projected shadows on Charles' face, his soft features moved and changed constantly. Those shadows mesmerized Erik, who spoke less and less, too fascinated to talk, until they both fell silent.

Erik started when Charles opened his mouth and whispered : "I like you." There was warmth in his voice, and admiration, and passion. It could not be just a figment of Erik's imagination. He looked at Charles, trying to decipher his expression. Charles was holding his hand out to him, reaching for him, but Erik dared not reciprocate. "Do you like me ?"

.

Erik was about to say something – anything, an excuse, an apology – but a loud gasp came from the hallway and interrupted him. Charles did not react to the sound – maybe Erik had imagined it – and waited for his answer. What could he say ? He looked at the fire, cheeks warm. Was it the flames, or was he burning with embarassement ? He decided not to dwell too much on this. He stood up suddenly.

"Excuse me." Without another word, he left the room. He walked briskly to his room, avoiding maids and valets. He did not want for them to see his shameful blush. Once his door closed, he whispered to no one : "Yes, I like you." He buried his face in the cup of his hands and sighed heavily.

In the King's room, Charles' skin rippled like a tormented sea, deep blue like the bottom of the ocean. Alone and merry, Raven laughed.

Back to her blond-hair-pink-cheeks form the next day, Raven was eating her breakfast alone in the long hall – it was fairly late in the morning and everyone had gone to their duties, but she had nothing to do – when Moira rushed in. Her puffy eyes and disheveled hair spoke volumes : Raven's plan had come together nicely. She played her part and stood up at once. "Dear sister, what happened ?"

"Oh Raven, I am the most unhappy creature in the Kingdom." Moira fell on her knees in front of Raven and cried in her lap.

Raven put a hesitant hand on her head, patting lightly, like her mother had done once. Neither care nor empathy had warmed her mother's palm, and Raven's was even colder. "Pray tell me what put you in such sorrow."

Moira looked up at her with her wet eyes, cheeks drenched in tears. "My dear husband is in love with his Knight. I saw him last night." She pulled on her long hair and her delicate velvet dress. "Look, look !" Almost hysterical, she grabbed her own breast with both hands. "How could I possibly compete ?"

"Poor sister," Raven said. She held out her hands, waiting for Moira to take them. She kissed her fingers with feigned deference. "I am afraid you cannot. There is only one thing you can and should do."

Hope sparkling in her eyes, Moira asked : "What is it ? I beg you to tell me now, or I should die at once."

"You must preserve yourself. You ought to go back to your father, under the pretense that you miss him. Away from your husband, you may be able to find peace in your mind."

Moira stood up, thoughtful. She went back and forth. "But Charles needs me. How could I abandon him ?" She frowned. "But it is not me he needs." She stopped in front of Raven. "I will do as you say."

Being privy to Moira's thought process was sweet as a candy to Raven. Doubt, torment, resignation. "I will wait for you to come back, dear sister, as I will miss you very much." She kissed Moira's forehead. "Now go and tell my brother of your plan."

Moira nodded. "I shall." She left the long hall running.

.

Once alone, Raven shrugged and ate another spoon of porridge. It lacked honey it tasted bitter and salty on her tongue. Like tears and betrayal.

Charles, sitting at the Round Table, was reading a heavy codex when Moira entered the room. The serious look on her face made him shiver. His wife was always so open and happy that such an expression aged her immensely. "Sweet Moira, what brings you here ?"

He saw the shadow of sadness and despair in her eyes before she answered. "I am leaving for Cameliard and my father's castle this afternoon, Charles." It seemed already too much for her, and she looked down at her feet, waiting for his reaction.

.

Surprise and fear fought for his heart. Had she discovered his secret – his secrets, to be true – and was leaving him ? Surely he was a terrible husband, but he had hoped to be a good friend. Because he loved her, her departure would leave an empty space beside him. One that, hopefully, the White Knight would fill. It was a thought he should not entertain at that moment. "Will you be away for long ?"

He must have said something right. She smiled at him. "I do not know yet."

"I will miss you, my love. My best Knights will accompany you, for your safety."

"Will the White Knight be among them ?"

Charles wondered why she would bring him in the conversation. "I will ask him if he wants to go." He stood up and walked to her. He kissed her on the lips, trying to convey all the affection he had for her.

When they broke the kiss, she curtsied briskly and left the room.

.

She was not gone for a minute when the White Knight knocked on the door. "May I come in ?"

Charles barely fought the happiness his Knight brought to him nowadays. Such a delicious and satisfying feeling was so seldom in Westchester that he did not dare chase it away. His love was his comfort in this dire place where everyone plotted for their own benefit, forgetting about their holy mission. He, as the King, had not forgotten, and the mere presence of this beautiful and deadly creature – the White Knight – motivated him every day. Why would he deny it at this moment, when his wife before God was leaving him. "Of course, my friend."

The Knight nodded and entered the room, staying at a respectable distance from his sovereign. His attitude surprised Charles greatly, but he said nothing. He observed him from afar. The way his eyes shifted when they fell on him inadvertently. The shield of his crossed arms. The brief looks at the door as if he wanted nothing more than leave, when he had been the one who asked to come in.

"What brings you to my door ?" Charles asked.

In a low rumble, the Knight answered : "I have a favor to ask."

"Please, ask."

"I have stayed long enough now." He sounded like he was about to flee. "I want to commit to the quest you assigned us. I shall leave tomorrow, if you allow me."

.

Despair wrapped Charles in its awful stench, filling his nose, his eyes, his head. His heart. Was everybody going to leave him ? Like Antor and Aenor had given him to Shaw. Like his real mother and father had rather die than meet him. Like MacTaggert had left for his far away castle. Charles felt he was cursed : he would never know long and stable relationships, it seemed.

But he could not deny this legitimate request. The quest for the Holy Grail came before his own happiness. A king must forget himself for the benefit of his kingdom. "I will miss your company, dear friend, but you must do what you must. You have my blessing."

The White Knight bowed respectfully. "I thank you, Your Grace. I will find the Grail for the good of our brothers and sisters. I swear to you." In one swift motion, he turned around and disappeared in the hallway. Charles was left feeling more alone than he had ever felt before.

But he had to endure, as was expected from a King.

.

He dried the tears that threatened to roll down his cheeks with the back of his hand, cleared his throat, and decided to go for a walk. He could not stay near the Round Table : it was a symbol of equality, loyalty and companionship and all those things seemed to elude him.

He closed the codex and left the room.