The Guinevere Deception (Camelot Rising 1)

It looked like…a rock. The woman who had taken it hurried away. Guinevere took a step to follow. There was something familiar about her.

Mordred shifted, blocking her view. By the time she glanced around him, the woman was lost to the crowed.

“Am I being taken advantage of?” Mordred asked. “If I can afford to pay it, and they can use the extra coin, why should I not agree

to their prices?” He waved to a hat merchant, who returned the gesture with affection.

“Brangien,” Guinevere asked, keeping her voice low, “is there something special about…rocks? Some value?”

“Rocks?” Brangien frowned. “What kind of rocks?”

“Just…rocks. Any reason to sell or trade them?”

“Cobblestones, perhaps. A farmer might trade them as wall material, I suppose. I cannot think of any other value.”

“Mordred!” a voice shouted through the din. Mordred closed his eyes, his face twisting in disdain. Then his smile slipped back into place, but it was no longer a genuine smile. It was an eel, twisting and sliding and straining.

“Sir Ector. Sir Kay.” Mordred bowed to two men. The first was older, in his forties. He was shaped like a gourd, with four twigs stuck in for arms and legs and a head balanced on top. He blew a gust of air through a tremendous mustache. Guinevere could smell the ale from this distance.

The second was a younger man, probably in his twenties. He had a long face and a long nose, thin lips, small and squinting eyes. He was a younger version of the first man. His belly had only just begun to expand and his arms and legs still seemed in proportion, but Guinevere could see his future. Father and son.

“So you must be our Art’s new bride.” Sir Ector looked her up and down as though she were in a stall and he were debating whether she was worth the price asked. “Small, you are. Nice hair. Nice teeth. From the south?”

Guinevere did not know how to respond. She nodded dumbly, not wanting to talk and show him more of her teeth lest he find something he did not approve of. The rocks worried at her, but she could not very well go chasing after a woman in the crowd. Besides, it could have been something else. An apple. A hard, gray apple. That seemed likely. What threat was a woman with a rock, though? Guinevere was here to protect Arthur from magic. Not from stones.

“Queen Guinevere,” Mordred said, annoyance making his voice thin and tight. “May I present you to Sir Ector and Sir Kay, knights of Camelot.”

“And father of the king!” Sir Ector said, puffing his chest out so it almost matched his belly.

She knew who they were, of course. Merlin had taken Arthur when he was a baby. And, when he realized he could not raise a king, he had given the young boy Arthur to a knight to be trained in the things he would need to know.

But…this knight? Merlin was a mystery, certainly, but nothing he had ever done had made less sense to her than the man he had delivered the future king to.

“Sorry we were not at the wedding,” Sir Kay said, smiling. He was missing several teeth. She did not think they would grow back, but she refused to ask. “We were crusading. And the marriage was such a hasty affair! We got word too late.”

“Crusading,” Mordred repeated, his tone dry.

“Yes, crusading. We heard of a lord to the southeast, holding maidens captive. So we went to investigate.”

“And?”

Sir Ector shrugged, his leather armor creaking. It was cracked and worn. Several stains looked less like blood and more like wine. “It turned out he has a lot of daughters. Many, many daughters. He tried to convince us to take a few with us. But who has time for women?”

“Who indeed,” Brangien muttered.

“Do you live in Camelot?” Guinevere asked, knowing as queen she should be able to make conversation with Arthur’s adoptive father and brother, but at a loss for topics.

“No, not for us.” Sir Kay eyed a stand of ale appraisingly. “We are traveling knights. Always have been.”

“Mercenaries,” Mordred said.

“Mercenaries hire themselves to kings and tyrants. We provide our services to the lowly. To the needy.”

Mordred leaned close so only Guinevere heard his words. “To those so desperate they cannot afford better.”

“Come.” Sir Ector clapped her on the shoulder. Though his arms were spindly, his hands were huge and the blow was unintentionally jarring. “Sit with us. I want to get to know Art’s wife.”

“I thought she would be taller.” Sir Kay signaled to the ale merchant that they would be purchasing.