Quest - Book 2 of Queen's Honor - YA + Adult Fantasy Romance and Adventure (8 page)

“He will find out anyway.
 
Elibel is on her way to inform him.”

“No, she won’t. I can assure you she will keep your secret.
Best to leave it be.”

I wanted to ask how she could be so sure, but I supposed her
Wooden Wisdoms board saw into the future as well as seeing the present.

“I could take leave and return to Camelaird. My father will
protect me from any outrage I will undergo on the part of my betrayal to Arthur."

"Perhaps," said Morgaine. "But your knight
will not fare as well. Even touching you would be a slight to Arthur's pride.
If you don't marry my brother and use your position to sway his command,
Lancelot will be tried for treason and put to death for his offense."

"Arthur would not be so cruel."

"Wouldn't he?"

The question hung between us like a dangling noose. The
pressure in my chest weighed down on me like a thousand bricks collapsing on
top of me.

"Do not underestimate my brother, Guinevere. Your crown
may have been wrought by noble birth, but Arthur's was forged by the blood of
battle."

I couldn’t think. Couldn’t swallow. Couldn’t breathe. I
would not allow my actions to be the death of Lancelot.

Morgaine smiled. “So once again, we understand one another.”

I fought to nod my head though my fear paralyzed every
muscle in my body.

“Good. You will return to your rooms for your long-overdue fitting.
I will escort you to the chapel in the morning.”

A swirl of blackness blurred Morgaine’s form, and then she
vanished. I glanced from side to side. The hallway had returned to a state of
normalcy; light washed through the windows, yet Morgaine’s voice remained,
slithering through the corridor like the hiss of a snake.

“And this time, Sister, I hope your will is stronger than
before—for your lover’s sake.”

*
*
*

I returned to my rooms to find Rhosyn, Crystin, Aerona and
the dressmaker waiting for me. Arthur had forgotten nothing when ordering the
furnishing of my chambers. The room was adorned with goose-down pillows, fur-lined
bedclothes, gold enameled furniture, and silver and gold embroidered drapery.
Tapestries depicting maidens and festivities lined the walls, warming the cold stone
construction of the chamber. Fur rugs scattered the floors assuring footfalls
usually fell upon a soft spot. My bed, a wood carved monstrosity with four
pillars holding up an enormous canopy, crowded the far nook. Adjoining rooms
spread from my sleeping chamber—used for sitting, weaving, or receiving guests.
Arthur's crest, the cross and the dragon, appeared on almost
everything—tapestries, pillows, coverings and carved into furniture. My harp sat
against one wall, propped against my boxes and trunks, which remained unpacked.

“My Lady,” Aerona warned, “the day grows late, and still you
have not been fitted.”

Rhosyn scowled at me and plopped herself in a chair while
the dressmaker rushed me to a platform placed in the center of the room.
Crystin and Aerona pulled the heavy satin and velvet gown over me after
stripping me to my underclothes like one of their childhood straw dolls.

My wedding gown must have cost Arthur a fortune. The white
and gold velvet and satin were expertly threaded with pure gold threads.
Diamonds, pearls and rubies were
 
strung
on fine lines of gold and weaved into the fabric to merge with intricate
embroidery. Among the threaded vines and flowers, Arthur’s symbol weaved
throughout the design, disguised by the fine craftsmanship of a deft hand.
There was no way this dress had been made within the last few days. It would
have taken a team of embroiderers weeks, if not months, and I wondered how long
Arthur had been planning this arrangement.

Once the massive folds of fabric draped my body, I thought
I’d sink clean through the floors and into the dungeon with the weight of it.

“Tsk,” said the dressmaker, “this will not do.”

“Have you pulled the lacings tight enough?” asked Aerona as
the women, minus Rhosyn, who still scowled in the corner, inspected me.

“Yes, Lady Aerona. However, the gown is simply too large.”

“That’s because it was made for a woman, not a twig,” said
Rhosyn, smiling wickedly.

“Rhosyn!” scolded Crystin. “Why must you be so cross? Ignore
her My Lady; she thinks highly of herself and gets in a mood now and again.”

Aerona and Crystin pulled at the fabric as the dressmaker
stuck me with so many pins, I started to resemble a porcupine when a knock came
at the door.

“Allow me,” Rhosyn said as she sashayed across the rooms,
disappearing around the corner. I could hear her answer the door, and the subsequent
chatter which was too low for me to discern, but Rhosyn’s tone changed from
caustic to pleasant.

When she appeared again, she announced, “Sir Lancelot is
here.”

“Don’t let him in!” I couldn’t face him. Not now and
especially not like this—adorned in a gown meant for marrying another man.

“But he has your falcon.”

“Well, then, fetch Aethelwine for me.”

“I dare say, I cannot!”

“He won’t bite. Just bring him in and set him on his perch.”

The blush leeched out of Rhosyn's cheeks. She shook her
head.

“I can see who will be responsible for his feedings,” I said
as I dismounted the platform. “He likes mice.”

"Mice?" squeaked Rhosyn.

"Worms if you prefer." I smiled, feeling evil for
my sneak attack at Rhosyn, but her unfriendly manner had finally worn on my
nerves—or perhaps my nerves had already been frayed with Morgaine’s final
threat toward Lancelot, and Rhosyn suffered the consequences. "He likes
snakes, too."

Rhosyn scrambled backwards, clearing my path to the door.
Aerona and Crystin giggled.

“Calm yourself, Rhosyn. The lady jests,” said Aerona.

“Serves you right,” said Crystin, still laughing. “Jesu
guide you to adopt a gentler tongue.”

“She had better be jesting,” replied Rhosyn. “My father is
just as powerful as hers.”

“Hush,” scolded Aerona. “You are not that high. Nor are you
the lady Arthur has chosen to be his queen, regardless of your attempts.”

So that’s why Rhosyn dislikes me. I didn’t have time to
dwell on the matter since my legs were too busy wobbling as I approached the
half-cracked door—either from the weight of the gown or the trepidation in my
heart, or both.

I knew what I must do.

I peered around the corner of the door leaving just enough
room to take Aethelwine from Lancelot’s arm. When I caught sight of Lancelot’s chiseled
features, my heart trembled.

“Your falcon, My Lady,” he said. His dark eyes shone. His
lips turned slightly upwards on each end, suggesting a smile he could not
contain.

Aethelwine climbed onto my hand and smoothed his beak back
and forth against my skin, greeting me.

Lancelot waited, expectant. The anticipation in his features
caused my chest to seize up.

“You should go,” I said, keeping my tone low so the ladies
could not overhear us.

Lancelot took my lead and whispered back, “Have you mended
the rift with your cousin?”

“I mean…” I swallowed hard, struggling to force my words
out. My body trembled as I fought down the sadness that pushed its way to the
surface. “You should go away from here. Get on Clover and let him lead you somewhere—to
someone you can love without restraint.”

“What’s happened?” His eyes shifted, searching mine. They
simmered with concern.
 

I pressed myself against the backside of the door, wishing I
could slip through it and into his arms, but knew the barrier needed to remain.
“Nothing. You just need to forget about me. That's all.”

“Why?” Lancelot’s gaze hardened. “Has someone threatened
you? Are you in trouble?”

“No.” My entire body shook with tremors. I struggled to keep
my chin and lips from quivering. “I just changed my mind. It was a foolish notion,
you and I.”

“I see.” The muscles in his jaw line feathered, as if he
ground his teeth together.

“Just leave here and find happiness without me.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t think I could find happiness in service to a
queen?”

“Not the kind you deserve.”

 
“I see.” He said
again, nodding his head. Then his gaze left me, and I felt as if my head had
been severed from my heart. He turned and strode away, and I closed the door on
the only man I had ever loved.

After my dress had been fitted, the ladies left and night
fell upon Camelot. I sat in my rooms, tucked beneath the embroidered coverlet, goose-down
blanket and furs without resting. My mind spun in so many directions;
exhaustion should have led me into sleep, but it didn’t. My heart shattered at
the thought of rejecting Lancelot and my mind kept playing, over and over, the
cruel words I had uttered to him, and I wondered if it had been enough to drive
him away.

When sleep refused me, I donned my slippers and overcoat and
headed for Elibel’s rooms. I knocked when I arrived, but when no one answered,
I pushed the door open, snuck in and closed the door behind me.

“Cousin?” I whispered, searching for Elibel in her bed. Only
messy covers and an empty mattress greeted me.

I sat, and waited. I pulled the triquetra from my pocket and
fingered the circular ends, around and around, wishing for answers to
impossible questions—of Lancelot, of Arthur, of Elibel.

Nothing came. The moon crossed the sky, tipping under the
peak of the window as if the sun pushed her away, and I dozed off.

I stood on a human-sized board of Wooden Wisdoms, staring at
my feet. The board spun as I struggled to stay upon my mark. My head dizzied as
the board whirled faster and faster, plunging me to the ground. Scrambling to
get upright, I clawed at the board, hefting myself to my knees, but the game
quickened again, flattening me against its circular surface.

Lancelot appeared. His broad hand stretched toward me. I
tried to grab a hold of his hand, but I slipped further and further away from
him. Elibel screamed in the distance and I realized the board had her in its
grips as well. Rhosyn, Crystin and Aerona giggled as they stood at their
positions. Arthur, dressed in gold, grinned at all the commotion, clapping his
hands like a boy at a Midsummer festival. As I returned to seek Lancelot, his
armor tinged with black. The darkness swam over him, engulfing him. My own
dress flooded with darkness, too. I stretched my arms out before me; my veins
trailed up from my heart, filling with blackness. The murk spread over my skin,
turning me into an onyx stone. I screamed until my mother's voice silenced me.

"Sometimes you must see what is false before you can
know what is true."

Her words startled me awake. The sun peered over the
horizon, lightening Elibel’s room. Still, my cousin had not returned. I
scrambled up and left to go back to my own chamber when I spotted Elibel,
tiptoeing away from another chamber door.

The door she exited was a massive, double door with a crest
I couldn’t quite make from where I stood burned into the wood. Her hair was disheveled
and the top of her nightdress was unbuttoned, revealing ample cleavage. Her
chest and cheeks were flushed to a rosy-red color. She snuck down the hall, making
as little noise as she could.

“Elibel?”

Her head shot up. She spotted me. Her eyes widened.

“Elibel, what are you doing?” The ornate door, her guilt-struck
look and untidy state snapped together to make sense—she had just snuck out of
Arthur’s chambers.

She shook her head and stammered, “I… I…”

For once in her life, my cousin was speechless. My stomach
clenched at the implication. She had spent the night with Arthur—the night
before our union.

Tears broke from the corners of my cousin’s eyes. “I did not
inform on you, Guin. I promise you that.”

“I know,” I said.

She kept shaking her head back and forth, “But I fear I have
done much worse.” The tears streamed, making rivers over her cheeks. Her lips
twisted into an ugly formation, but no more words came.

Then my cousin ran from me, down the corridor, and into her
room. I heard the click of a lock and the murmur of sobs as I returned to my
chambers to prepare for my wedding.

*
*
*

Morgaine
escorted me to the chapel
as she had promised—or threatened. Either way, the next morning, as the sun
glared over the horizon, I found myself trudging through the crowded streets of
Camelot, and into the chapel, weighed down with the most extravagant gown in
the history of queens.

An entourage of knights escorted us. I could not find the
courage to see if Lancelot was among them, or if he had left me. I kept my head
forward while my fingers wrapped tightly around the triquetra. All the citizens
of Camelot and the neighboring villages pressed in for a view as we made the
procession.
 
Arthur’s entrance, on his
black war stallion dressed in armor to match his own clothing, was no less
magnificent. Arthur also coordinated with me as he donned white and gold
velvets and satins laced with even more gold and jewels than my gown.

As I entered through the arched doorway of the chapel, I released
the triquetra into a nearby trash heap, hoping that with it, I released the
blackness of my own heart. Father would be so ashamed of me. He was right about
me. My blood—the blood of the old ones, the dark ones, the tainted ones—had brought
ruin to everyone I loved. I was glad he wasn’t here to see what a mess I had
made of my situation.