“I do,” Britt said, forcing her voice to be strong and unwavering.
The Archbishop’s face was transformed into its usual smile. “Then by the will of God and the ready agreement of man, I crown you King Arthur, King over all of Britain. Behold, your King!”
The outdoor crowds’ roaring and celebrating made the indoor enthusiasm tame, but many of the knights and lords seemed resigned, if not content, with the Britt as their King.
Britt idly wondered how different the ceremony would have gone if they knew she was a woman.
“My King.”
Britt fixed her gaze on the speaker, a knight who was perhaps Britt’s age—in his early twenties or so—who had pushed his way to the front of the cathedral to kneel.
“Too long have we delayed you from your crown. I beg for your grace and pardon on all of us, that you would forgive us for our transgression.”
“What is your name, knight?” Britt asked.
“Sir Bedivere, my King.”
Britt glanced to Merlin. The young sorcerer narrowed his eyes as he inspected the knight. When he met Britt’s gaze he nodded almost imperceptibly.
Britt rolled her shoulders back and stood tall. “Rise Sir Bedivere,” she ordered.
The knight rocked to his feet, his posture straight as he faced her with unwavering courage.
Britt stared at him for a moment before she smiled. “Of course I will pardon you,” she said as she looked across the cathedral, still smiling. “I offer my pardon to all who would join me in my new reign. Let the past remain behind us. Our future is bright, and I wish for all of you to stand with me, not only as subjects but as brothers in justice,” Britt said. When she finished her speech her smile widened—all of the speech lessons with Merlin were finally paying off.
Her smile faltered, though, in the stark silence that clouded the cathedral. Men stared at her with wide eyes, Britt saw more than one jaw drop open, and near the back of the room someone dropped a helm or a piece of armor judging by the magnificent clang.
Britt looked to Merlin, who was smiling like a devious cat that had eaten not just one bird, but a flock of them. Sir Kay stood next to him, and he appeared to be glaring at the crowd of men while his father wiped tears from his eyes.
A knight near the front of the crowd mutter, “Saints behold us, he is for certain of faerie blood.”
There was a great feast held in Britt’s honor that night. When Britt first ate in her coma-induced dreams she was prepared to eat stew for every meal. She was pleasantly shocked at the great variety and delicious food she had a chance to consume, but the feast overshadowed all of it.
There was pheasant, venison, geese, chicken, and (Britt was none too thrilled over) rabbit. It wasn’t all meat, thankfully. There were also tarts and friend oranges, spiced wine that was served with toast, and fruits and nuts.
Britt sipped the wines and ales slowly. Her tolerance level of alcohol had gone up considerably since the start of her dream, but she was certain Merlin would not tolerate a toasted King.
Speaking of the wizard, Merlin had been Britt’s shadow since the crowning ceremony, but to make her look the king part rather than outright boss her around as he had for the past few months he was relatively closed mouthed and kept his advice to muttered statements.
Britt suspected the feast was trying for the bossy man, and she wasn’t surprised when he shoved a piece of thick parchment at her from underneath the table. Britt took a discreet glance at the paper and recognized her own handwriting—if she wanted to be able to read anything she had to write it, the writing style of the Merlin and the knights was nearly unrecognizable as English.
It was a list Merlin had beaten into her brain: the names of his selected knights and the titles and jobs he wanted her to give them.
Britt nodded to Merlin, who stood up and approached the minstrel that was wandering about, plucking an ancient version of a harp and singing about hard to pronounce places and people.
The minstrel stopped singing after Merlin spoke to him. The wizard nodded in thanks before cracking his ‘walking stick’ on the ground. “We have feasted and celebrated the crowning of our new king. The time has come for King Arthur to bestow great boons, fiefs, titles, and positions on those whom he would.”
Most of the banquet attendees murmured to each other in excitement as they turned their attention to Britt, but from her advantageous position at the head of the room Britt saw King Lot and his three crony kings stand.
“We,” King Lot said, his eyes cold and piercing. “Will refuse any gifts this beardless boy offers us.”
“What did you say?” Sir Ector roared, leaping to his feet.
“Is there a reason why he is so obsessed with my lack of a beard?” Britt sighed.
“This boy king you’ve found comes from low or unknown birth,” King Urien, one of Lot’s lackeys, sneered.