I've published the book! Arthur's Witch: The Priestess is now available on Kindle and Smashwords, and you can download the sample for free, so it's gotta be worth a look! The blurb is below.
Morgan le Fay is a woman shrouded in infamy. The original wicked witch, she is responsible for bringing the golden age of Arthur to a catastrophic end. Though evil guile, ruthless ambition and petty jealousy, she stood against the light of Britain's first Christian King, her own brother. She watched an entire kingdom burn. A subhuman monster who consorted with demons and became the Devil's mistress.
Or a woman shrouded in mystery. The original fairy godmother, she is responsible for creating the golden age of Arthur from the ground to the ramparts of Camelot. Though passion, purity of spirit and selflessness, she stood against the religious perversion which invaded her homeland and corrupted her King, her own brother. She protected an entire kingdom as a mother would a child. A High Priestess whose name and legend have been besmirched and besmeared by lesser men.
Her own story. Now told.
A/N: Enjoy the chapter :)
Chapter Eleven - Departure
That evening, over dinner, Diana explained everything to a flabbergasted Clark and Lois. It had quickly become clear that Clark shared all aspects of his occupation with his wife, since neither of them uttered a sound of surprise when Diana revealed Bruce's 'secret service'. Neither of them attempted to talk her out of it, which only slightly surprised her. Lois knew better than to try once Diana determined on something, and Clark would hardly state it was unsafe if he himself was involved.
It had occurred to Diana that her sex, which in most other circumstances might be considered a drawback, could actually be an advantage. Women were weak, women were hysterical and emotional, women did not have the strong mind and stomach needed for this kind of work. So why would anyone suspect a woman? Why would a woman be involved in the hard-edged, masculine world of espionage? Her foes would be more likely to underestimate her, and from now onwards, Diana decided, she would make certain they did. She would become—in small groups—quiet, withdrawn, unintelligent, dull and quite spiritless. In large groups—vapid, shrill, cold and contemptuous of others. Until she no longer needed to be, and could just be Diana.
Like Bruce, Lois and Clark wanted to be assured that she had considered every angle before she committed herself to this, and it was making Diana slightly impatient.
Lois picked up on that, too. "We've only your best interests at heart, Diana."
"I know, and I apologise. It's just… I feel I may do something, actually be of use for the first time since my father died. And I want to rush for the opportunity with very little thought given to hesitation."
"I've never known you to be impatient," Clark said mildly.
His wife snorted. "Then you have not known Diana long enough, my dear."
Diana smiled ruefully. "It is but too true, I am afraid. But am I to be censured for it in this case, Lois? It may not directly aid my sisters, but to be sure, it is worth more than anything else I hitherto accomplished."
"True enough. Very well—this is your course; what needs to be done now?"
"I have only one more question, Mr Kent: is he an honourable man? I am not being deceived, or taken in in any way? Is he a true gentleman?"
"Yes," Clark said, without hesitation. "He is an absolute gentleman. And I know he holds his honour as the guiding principle of his life."
Diana nodded, satisfied. "Good. Then I will give my answer to Mr Wayne, and presumably then can begin. I've little idea of what I am to learn first, or even in general. What does a spy require in order to be a spy?" she asked, with a little laugh. "Excepting discretion and intelligence, naturally."
Clark shrugged. "For my work, that is all that's needed. But it could be you will need a different set of skills. How is it you intend to defend your family?"
"In any way I must—either with clever tricks or my bare hands."
The carriage came at four to take Diana to Wayne Manor, where Bruce awaited her answer. As before, Alfred let her in and took her into the study. Tea was already waiting, Bruce standing to welcome her. They exchanged the customary greetings and then Diana settled herself into a chair.
"My decision has not changed, Mr Wayne. Nor has my resolve abandoned me."
He nodded. "Very well." He poured out, and handed her a cup and saucer. "In that case, there are preparations to be made. Your belongings for one, and you must choose what furnishings you might want in your apartments. No expense must be spared."
She raised an eyebrow. "Mr Wayne, I agreed to people assuming I was your mistress; I do not wish you to treat me as such."
"I do not propose to treat you as my mistress, Miss Prince, and perhaps I worded my earlier warning poorly. If society assumes you to be my mistress, it must be seen to be that way. The illusion will protect both of us, but it needs to be perfect. Rumours will spread of the fine furnishings, the expensive clothes—and they will spread among our enemies, as well as our allies."
Diana sighed. "And this is absolutely necessary?"
"Yes. Otherwise it will—or may—appear suspicious to anyone paying very close attention. Our mutual connection in Hector will ensure that."
"Then it must be done. And in order to do it-"
He stood with a smile and offered his arm. "Miss Prince, may I show you to your rooms?"
Even Diana had to smile at that, and she took his arm. He led her through the huge house, up another flight of stairs. His own rooms, he explained, were at the far end of the house, far from hers, which she appreciated.
"I will need you to choose several feminine items I can place in my own chambers, though there is no great hurry for them."
"Why?" Diana asked curiously.
"It may sometimes—allow me to correct myself. It will sometimes be necessary to hold a ball, or at least an evening assembly or dinners now and then. It is unlikely anyone would dare risk discovery by sneaking around the manor, but-"
"-but if someone does go snooping, the illusion needs to be intact throughout the house."
"Precisely. Here are your apartments."
There were as many rooms in her apartments as there were in the whole of Dashwood Cottage, and Diana had no idea how she would begin to fill them. They were all large, with tall window, a highly polished floor and utterly bare of everything else. There were no curtains, no wallpaper, no tables, chairs or items of furniture at all.
"This will take some work, I know," Bruce said. "Take Mrs Kent with you when you go shopping; charge everything to me. Spare no expense."
"To what extent does that hold?"
He smirked slightly. "Spare no expense, Miss Prince."
He moved to the bedroom, which alongside the bathroom was the only chamber which had anything in it—in this case a bed."
"Do the proportions meet with your approval?" Bruce asked.
"I am a little overwhelmed. This is more than I have ever given any thought to, and to be told I must furnish them…"
"Would you rather I choose?"
"Are you confident in what kind of things would meet with the expectations of your mistress?"
He shrugged. "I would imagine so. The furnishings at least."
"Then I will choose the clothes. I suppose they will need to be as far from my own taste as possible."
"If your taste does not run to the ostentatious, then yes."
Diana sighed. "Rest assured, Mr Wayne, it does not."
"I am glad to hear it."
They came away from the rooms which were to be hers in relative silence; Bruce did not ask her if she approved, and Diana did not talk about the things she was dreading doing—too busy thinking about it. Most women would enjoy being told they could expect everything of the finest, but for Diana it felt like another burden. To prevent herself being melancholy, she asked about the training she was to receive.
"What will you teach me first, Mr Wayne?"
"I need to assess your existing skills before I know what you need to learn."
"I've told you what I can do."
"There amy be discrepancies in your technique."
"Oh might there be?" Diana asked archly.
"Yes. One cannot view oneself through an objective lens."
"I don't suffer from either boastfulness or false modesty, Mr Wayne."
"Modesty is not always false."
"That can be true, I suppose. When would you like to start?"
"This afternoon. Alfred has prepared supper under my presumption you will be staying until then; I hope you don't mind."
"Not at all."
"I thought we would try riding first. There are suitable clothes laid out for you."
Once Diana was changed (into an outfit almost identical to the one Mrs Queen had lent her—but precisely her size), Bruce took her out to the stables, across a cobbled courtyard. There were five or six stalls with the top halves of the doors open, and horses were peering out. They were all extremely handsome beasts, Diana thought, admiringly. She felt a sharp pang for her own horse, taken from her like everything else had been.
A loud and piercing whinny broke through her brooding, and Diana gasped as she saw the animal that had made the noise. She would recognise that grey coat and those intelligent, fine-lashed brown eyes anywhere.
"Perseus!"
The lower half of the stall door quivered as Perseus kicked at it, impatient to get to his mistress. Diana fairly ran across the cobbles to him. Her horse received her with as much joy as she did him, nuzzling into her hands and neck.
After she had spent a moment or two in exultation, she turned to look in wonder at Bruce. "How?"
He approached slowly. "I pulled a few strings," he said, the Americanism rolling easily from his tongue. "Figured it was probably better that he come somewhere he would be cared for, rather than pressed into service for the military."
Diana swallowed. "I was imagining even worse fates for him, Mr Wayne. Such as ending up on the slab of a boucherie."
"Then I am glad to have alleviated that fear, at least."
"Thank you. Once again I am hopelessly in your debt," Diana said lowly, her voice earnest and emotional.
He pressed her hand briefly. "Think nothing of it, Miss Prince, please. Now, I believe you mentioned being a competent rider? You would certainly need to be more than competent to master him properly. Perseus, was it?"
"Yes. Donna's was Andromeda, and Papa spoke of buying Cassandra a horse before-"
When she cut off, Mr Wayne filled the gap in the conversation easily. "Quite the Greek connection. Because of your mother?"
"Yes. She was Greek herself, and we both—Donna and I—grew up on tales of heroes and gods, monsters and great adventures… The Iliad and the Odyssey were my bedtime stories when I was a girl."
"Excellent food for the mind, I would have thought."
Diana nodded. "And Mother was the most wonderful story-teller. She would speak of these places, these battles, as though she had been there herself. At least, that is how a fond memory has embellished a child's imagination."
Bruce smiled warmly, and though it indeed warmed her, Diana felt the impropriety of such an extended look between them. She cleared her throat. "So, where do you keep your tack?"
It was time for her first real test; Bruce had seen her ride before, but the placid mare the Queens had loaned her was nothing compared to her own stallion. She found Perseus fierier than usual, more inclined to take it into his head to gallop all over the place, jump over everything in his path and rear when he wasn't doing that. But Diana was equal to him, and quickly reestablished her command over him.
Bruce himself had a purely black gelding, not as powerful as Perseus, but not as tempestuous either. He shouted commands to her, often changing his mind in the blink of an eye and making it difficult to keep up. She managed it though, and three hours later, when her legs and backside were sore, and she was sweating, colour high in her cheeks, she felt she had acquitted herself.
"Satisfied?" she asked.
Bruce nodded, also out of breath. "For now."
The day afterwards, Diana's clothes arrived from Gloucestershire, along with Etta. Feeling that she could not dismiss the family servant who had known her since she was a little girl, Diana spoke to Lois about her.
"I know I've no right to ask anything more of you, my dear friend, but I must beg one more indulgence of you," she said over tea.
"Name it."
"Will you employ Etta here? I cannot take her with me to Wayne Manor; aside from the fact she knows me too well to be deceived by the character I must play, I doubt she would consent to my destruction of my family's honour. She would see it as me betraying my parents' memories. Cassandra will probably see it in the same light."
Lois nodded. "Of course I will. Shall you put it to her now?"
Diana went down to the kitchen, where Etta was found speaking to the Kent's butler quietly, both of them with their heads quite close together, a rare smile on Etta's face. "Etta? May I speak to you for a moment, in the parlour?"
Her maidservant blushed, but nodded and stepped away from the butler. "Of course, miss."
When they were seated together in the servants' sitting room, Diana began. "Etta, in a week or so, I am leaving this house, but I am not returning to Gloucestershire. And where I am going, I cannot take you with me."
Etta's lip trembled. "I'm- I'm to be dismissed, Miss Prince?"
"From my service only—if you are willing, Mrs Kent is more than happy to take you on as a lady's maid. Are you willing?"
Etta looked very confused. "Well, I… I know she is a very kind mistress to the staff here, miss, but I don't understand. Have I displeased in some way?"
"Not at all. It is simply that I do not have a choice. If I did, I would keep you with me always. I cannot, so I am trying to make the best provision I can for you."
"And I am grateful for that, Miss Prince. If I must leave you, then I would happily serve Mrs Kent here. If you are certain you will not need me wherever it is you must go."
"It is impossible," Diana said firmly.
"Then very well, miss. I will be sorry to be parted from all you girls. And I wish you very long health and happiness."
The chance would be a fine thing, Diana thought.
When she rejoined Lois, they were mutually satisfied with Etta's answer, and Lois summoned the Kent's butler, Mr Trevor, to inform him there would be an addition to his staff. He was curious, of course, and knew that Etta had formally been Diana's servant, but he made no comment other than a bow and a, "Yes, madam, very good. Will there be anything else?"
"Thank you, Trevor, no."
He bowed to them both and left the room. Diana sighed deeply. "Well, that is another piece of my life done away with. What should I shuck next?"
"You've yet to write to Cassandra."
"Ah, of course. The respect and admiration my youngest sister has for me must also be shed."
"Will you take my council?"
"Of course."
"Say nothing to Cassandra—yet. Tell her of Donna's elopement, by all means, but simply tell her to direct all letters to yourself here, and we will pass them onto you. When school ends for the summer, tell all then. But you need not cause both you and her grief by pouring out everything now."
"I cannot lie to my sister, Lois. It is bad enough lying to the rest of the world."
"Then do not lie. Tell her that there is more, but that the time is not yet right. Tell her she will hear rumours—for she will—but that you will explain it to her when you see her. Tell her that she must trust you as she always has."
By the end of that week, Diana had dispatched all the relevant messages, ordered only the bare essentials be brought down from Gloucestershire, and was ready to leave the Kents. She and Bruce Wayne had been exchanging regular correspondence, and he was expecting her later today. Waiting for her at Wayne Manor would be a new life. A new identity. She had been crafting carefuly, and was now sure who this new Diana Prince would be—tedious, silly, dull, insipid. The only thing that would be irremovable would be her beauty, and that was what she would use as a shield. She would match it to fine fabrics, elegant, artful manners, conceit and disdain for those around her. She would treat strangers with the barest civility and endear herself only to equally (though truly) cold, elegant people.
There would be a few exceptions to the rule, she hoped. Enough to keep her from losing her sanity altogether. Bruce would be one, of course, along with Lois and Clark, Mr and Mrs Queen. Cassie, when it could all be explained to her. Diana had no doubt that she was capable for understanding—only of her willingness to do so.
The last of her trunks were being loaded into the wagon now, to complete the short journey to Wayne Manor. All that would be left then would be for Diana herself. Her new clothes had been taken directly there already—Lois had taken her shopping over the past few days, to all the most fashionable and sophisticated shops, in which Diana had perused over silks, golden thread, perfumes, jewels and beads, so much fabricated beauty it had made her head spin. At one point, in McCabe fashions, she had found herself standing before a looking glass, staring out on an utter stranger. The woman stood arrogantly straight, her hair elaborately curled and held up with a colourful headdress. Her chin and nose were firmly in the air, her blue eyes half-lidded, indolent. Her mouth was set in a sneer of civility. Her dress was heavy, low-cut in the neckline, over-trimmed with lace on the hem, gold peeking out at every opportunity. Exactly the sort of woman, Diana thought, who could be a rich man's mistress.
There was a knock on the door of her bedroom, and Lois pushed open the door. "The carriage is here, Diana."
Diana picked up her bonnet and coat, slipping both on. When she went down to the front door, she was determined not to blush when she saw the large silver 'W' on the side of the barouche that awaited her. She knew that the pretense started now. She would not look around to see the glances of passers-by. She was grateful, though, when Clark handed her in to the carriage, and even more grateful for the easy smile and assurance that they would see her again soon. She thanked him, and then the door was shut, and Diana was driven into a new life.
A/N: Review please!