The Camelot Betrayal (Camelot Rising 2)

Guinevere let her head hang heavy, her mind a jumbled mess of Hild’s scream, the dragon’s sorrow and confusion, and Mordred’s inexplicable kindness.

“Your safety is all that matters,” Lancelot said firmly, brooking no argument. “If we hurry, we can meet Arthur and his party on the road before they reach the estate.”

Guinevere’s stomach dropped. With all the terrible truths she needed to tell—and the ones she already knew she would not—for the first time, she wanted to see anyone but Arthur.

Guinevere and Lancelot rode for an hour before joining a relieved Sir Tristan and a frantic Brangien and Isolde. Guinevere slid to the ground too quickly, nearly falling.

“You said two leagues to the west!” Brangien’s face was red with anger. “We were supposed to wait two leagues to the west. That is what you meant, is it not?”

“It is. You did exactly what I asked you to.” Guinevere was exhausted in body and spirit. The price she had paid for the confusion knots had mostly worn off, but it did not change the pain in her shoulder, the lingering unease over Mordred’s actions, and her sadness at leaving Hild behind with men who would never listen to her.

“Why did you talk about the dragon, though?”

Guinevere closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. The dragon was better off without her. Surely it knew that now. “In case they could understand some of my words. They would focus more on the dragon than on the detail of waiting two leagues to the west.”

“How did you get away?” Isolde asked. There was something gentle but knowing in the way she watched Guinevere. Isolde saw all the pain Guinevere was not discussing. Guinevere did not like being so seen, so understood. Not right now. It reminded her of Mordred, which was the last thing she wanted.

“I started a fire. It is turning into my signature. Come, we should be on the move.” Guinevere mounted her own horse and urged it forward without waiting.

They rode quickly, only stopping near evening to change Guinevere’s smoke-scented clothing and fix her hai

r. There was nothing to be done about her arm, but Brangien used nicer cloth that matched Guinevere’s dress to redo the wrapping.

When they hit a road, Sir Tristan ranged out to get their bearings. He surprised them by returning with more men. Guinevere’s heart sank when she recognized Arthur riding alongside him. She was not ready. Arthur’s broad smile froze as he looked closer at her. Her neck was covered, but she could not hide her arm or the strain of what she had been through.

“Guinevere.” He dismounted and held his arms up to help her. She did not want to get off her horse and lose that barrier preventing them from speaking too closely. But she slid down and let him half catch her and set her on her feet. He embraced her, careful of her arm, and whispered in her ear, “What happened?”

“Too much.” Guinevere pulled back, smiling. She raised her voice so everyone around them could overhear. “We had good fortune. We were going to wait for Dindrane’s party, but Brangien’s cousin, Isolde, was traveling to Camelot. We crossed paths. She will join my service as a lady’s maid. We decided not to look for the other travelers. I missed you.”

“What happened to your arm, my queen?” asked the earnest young guard who had been so confused about Yvain and Yvain the Bastard’s knightly lineage.

“I fell from my horse. It is harder to ride in skirts than you would think.”

He frowned thoughtfully. “I think it would be very hard.”

Guinevere laughed. “Then it is exactly as hard to ride in skirts as you think.”

Arthur took her good arm, angling them toward the trees and privacy. “We can make camp here. No reason to push on today.”

The earnest guard spoke. “But Aron scouted and said we are only an hour away and the wedding party is already there. They must have left early, too.” Realizing he had just contradicted the king, he bowed his head. “Whatever my king thinks is best, though.”

“We should push on,” Guinevere said. “I would like to sleep in a bed tonight.” She wanted more time to collect herself. To decide what to tell, and how to tell it.

Arthur glanced toward the solitude of the trees, clearly torn and wanting answers now instead of waiting. But he was too kind to deny Guinevere’s request. Besides, it would draw attention and perhaps more scrutiny to her story if Arthur seemed worried. “Very well,” he said, lifting Guinevere to his own horse and then climbing on behind her, putting one arm around her waist to steady her. He was so solid, so real behind her. She let her head lean back and rest on him, surprised by how much it relieved the tension in her back and neck.

“I missed you, too,” he said, his breath soft on her neck.

She should tell him the truth. All of it.

* * *

As soon as Guinevere dismounted inside the heavy wooden gates of Dindrane’s family estate, before she could even get a proper look around, Dindrane was at her side.

Dindrane’s anger was delivered with a smile, her hand possessively gripping Guinevere’s good arm. “I wish you had told me you were going to leave early,” Dindrane said, each emphasis accompanied by an almost painful squeeze. Guinevere was certain Dindrane did not realize she was doing it, but she also could not hold it against her friend. Without Guinevere there, Dindrane had been forced to ride for days with her vicious sister-in-law, Blanchefleur. That was not a happy start to a celebration.

“I am sorry. Truly. To make it up to you, I want you to wear my jewels.” Guinevere embraced Dindrane and kissed her cheek. It was a shockingly intimate display of affection by a queen, and Guinevere knew everyone there would remark on it. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “And if anyone here is cruel to you, find me immediately and I will sing your praises until the roof falls down on all their heads.”

“Thank you,” Dindrane whispered back, then straightened, nothing on her face revealing the vulnerability Guinevere had heard in those two words. “Oh, Father, hello.” Dindrane waved to a baffled-looking older man. Even though he had known they were coming, he seemed unable to reconcile his daughter standing arm in arm with a queen.