The Camelot Betrayal (Camelot Rising 2)

But she already knew Mordred would win that, too.

To Guinevere’s surprise, they had been riding for only an hour or two when a man on horseback appeared on the trail, riding to meet them. Her heart knew his shape before her eyes could make out the details. Arthur.

She spurred her horse forward to him. “What is it?”

“I wanted to see how things were here, and— Guinevere, what happened to your sleeves?” He reached out and took the burned and ragged ends between his fingers.

“There were wolves.” Guinevere gave a condensed version of what had happened. And just as with Lancelot, she left out Mordred entirely.

She could imagine exactly what would happen. Arthur would feel compelled to ride after Mordred. To confront him. And one of them would get hurt, or worse, killed. The brutal simplicity of swords as a solution. Mordred was not a threat right now, at least not to Guinevere. He was probably still a threat to Arthur, but their eastern border was secure, the wolves were dead, and whatever—whoever—that attack had been, it was thwarted.

Arthur tapped his fingers against the hilt of his sword, staring back at where Guinevere and Lancelot had come from, unaware of the missing parts of the story. “So no one can come over the mountain.”

“Not if they mean harm. To me, specifically, but anyone seeking to attack Camelot would, by extension, be trying to harm me. I think it is broad enough.” She hoped it was. It had not kept Mordred out.

“You are a wonder.” Arthur considered her with wide eyes. Normally Guinevere would love to feel so seen by him, but right now, covered in the ashes of stolen life, leaving behind a death trap, she wanted to be invisible. To disappear. “And next time we will send you with more men. You should never have been alone.”

Lancelot was riding behind them. Guinevere was certain she overheard Arthur equating Guinevere with only Lancelot to Guinevere being alone. “No, that would have been worse. I could not have fought the wolves with witnesses. Lancelot and I managed everything. We are a perfect team.”

Arthur frowned, but said nothing. They rode back toward Camelot. By the time they reached the far edge of the lake, it was nearing dusk. Guinevere nudged her horse to go faster, but Arthur clicked his tongue, slowing it again.

“We will miss curfew!” Guinevere reminded him. No one was allowed in the streets after full dark. It was the best way to keep down crime and mischief.

Arthur laughed. “We are the king and queen.”

Guinevere raised an eyebrow. “So we are above the law?”

At this, Arthur looked sheepish. “Well, no. But it does make enforcing the law against ourselves a little more flexible. Who is going to put us in a holding chamber for being in the streets too late?”

She could not imagine any person in Camelot demanding the king spend the night in a cell for being out past curfew. When they reached the ferry, she was tempted to stay and let Arthur bring her things for their trip rather than add yet another lake crossing to an already overwhelming day. But she needed to change her dress and her boots, and wipe away the soot and ash. She wished she could wipe them from her memory, as well.

No. Never that. She would not wish away any of her memories. Not after having so many taken.

She wrapped herself in her cloak to hide her missing sleeves and let Arthur wrap his arms around her to hide her from the lake as they crossed. On the other side, Arthur stopped to instruct the ferryman to wait at the dock so he could transport their traveling group back across the lake. Guinevere had no desire to stay on the boat for the conversation. She had only just stepped free of the dock when a vision in pink rushed toward her.

“There you are!” Guinevach stood before her, smiling, her braided golden hair wound around her head like a crown, the way Guinevere so often wore hers. “Your maid—she is very rude—told me you were sick. But Anna, my lady’s maid, saw you leave the castle this morning. I have been waiting all day! You must— Guinevere, what happened to your dress?”

Guinevere had tensed against attack as soon as she saw Guinevach, but this day alone she had created a magical barrier against their enemies, destroyed seven creatures that would have killed her, and faced the man who had broken her heart. What was Guinevach to any of that? Threat or not, changeling or real, Guinevach was a girl. Guinevere was a queen.

Arthur was right. They were not above the law; they were the law. Even if Guinevach stood on the dock and screamed that Guinevere was not really Guinevere, who would believe her? Who would challenge their beloved king when he took Guinevere’s side?

If Guinevach was here as a plot against Guinevere, it was a weak plot indeed. And if her only threat was showing up where she was not wanted and where she might ruin things inadvertently, best for them all that she return to where she belonged.

Getting rid of Guinevach was the least cruel option. The longer she stayed, the worse it would be for everyone. Guinevere was not her sister and never would be. There was no place in Camelot for Guinevach, no matter who she really was.

Guinevere squared her shoulders. “I do not have the luxury of time right now. Tomorrow you will return to Cameliard and I will visit you when I can.” A perfect solution. Guinevach sent home where she would be safe if she really was Guinevach, and where she could not go if she was not.

“Who are you?” Guinevach hissed.

Guinevere startled at this admission. Guinevach did not truly know her! But before she could say anything, the other girl’s eyes filled with tears and she fled up the hill to the castle.

For a day filled with victories, Guinevere felt anything but victorious.

Arthur sent instructions to Sir Gawain. He would oversee Guinevach’s packing and escort her and her party to the borders of the kingdom in the morning. Guinevere would never have to worry about her again. Although Guinevere suspected that would not stop her from wondering about who Guinevach really was and what she had hoped to accomplish.

When they arrived back at the stables, ready to begin their journey in spite of the late hour, Arthur stopped short, surpr

ised. “Lancelot,” he said.