“Not at all,” Britt corrected.
Ywain looked unconvinced and shuffled around the stake he was tied to until his back was to Britt.
Britt conversed frequently with Ywain over her three day deadline. She gradually pulled and nudged a few details out of the young man, like the fact that his sister had a wonderful singing voice, and he had a beautiful hunting hawk. Britt learned to bring water and basic provisions as Ywain was given undesirable food, if any. Suspicious that her men might be mistreating the young prisoner, Britt even visited Ywain during her nightly pacing.
“Have you come to kill me in my sleep?” Ywain said, spotting Britt’s shape among the tents.
“Hardly,” Britt chuckled as she slipped out of her hiding spot and approached the prisoner. “I thought you would be asleep.”
Ywain looked sharply away from Britt, but not so fast Britt didn’t see the fear in his eyes. He was afraid to fall asleep.
Britt sighed and sat on the ground. “At Camelot my dog as well as my guards shadow me when I cannot sleep,” she said, gesturing over her shoulder where the armor of three knights’ gleamed in the moonlight. “Tonight you’ll have to pinch hit for Cavall.”
“I’ll what?” Ywain suspiciously asked.
“Ahh, you will be a substitute for my dog,” Britt said, pulling a wooden carving of Cavall that Sir Bodwain had given her. “He is a wonderful listener.”
Ywain grumbled under his breath, but he fell still when Britt started talking. “He is as big as a lion.”
“You’ve seen a lion?”
“I have. They’re beautiful cats, the size of a bear hunting dog or more. A male lion’s mane is beautiful. It flows around his head like, like a halo I suppose. Personally I think the females are prettier. No one values the beauty of a female animal enough. Everyone always says the male is more beautiful,” Britt complained. “Society should follow the example of the male seahorse—which carries its young in a pouch before they hatch. Or something like that. It’s been ages since I saw the Animal Planet special about them. What do you think?”
Britt waited for a response, but there was only silence.
“Ywain?” Britt asked, rolling into a standing position before tip toeing to the young man.
He was fast sleep.
Britt smiled and moved to leave the area, but Ywain snorted awake. “Arthur?”
Britt plopped down next to a fire some feet away from Ywain and returned to studying her carving of Cavall. “This society treats women like crap. That’s the first thing my knights will have to right. Under my rule a knight will have no right to hold a girl against her will.”
“I thought you were talking about lions.”
“We were, but then I was enraged by thinking about how no one admires the beauty of a female lion, which made me think about the girls of this age. How many of them are married against their will? I have no hope of forcing women’s rights—this time period doesn’t even have rights for the common man—but I will at least teach my men to treat women with respect!” Britt rattled as Ywain drifted off to sleep.
By the morning of the last day Britt had to convince Ywain she had no idea how she would persuade the prince to join her, and she told Merlin as much.
“What do you mean?” Merlin frowned. “You almost have him.”
“I don’t. I don’t have a clue what I’m doing. I feel more like his mother caring for him than I feel like a king winning a subject,” Britt sighed.
“Sometimes, Britt, the most difficult task in being a king is to know when your subject needs you to set the crown aside. He’s a young boy and he’s a dreamer. He’s not difficult to understand. Test him today, and I think you’ll be surprised with the results,” Merlin said.
“Test?” Britt asked, tilting her head as she thought.
“Yes. Test. Now go away, King Ban and King Bors are coming to discuss tactics and if they realize I’m not hiding you in the forest with them tomorrow they’re going to throw a fit.”
Britt thoughtfully left Merlin’s tent and approached Roen—who was tacked and waiting for her. Britt hefted herself onto his back, nodded to her babysitter of the day—Sir Bedivere—and headed off to Ywain.
“Stand up, Ywain.” Britt said, momentarily sliding off Roen. Ywain curiously did so, his eyes growing wide when Britt pulled a dagger. “Relax,” she chuckled, before cutting to the rope that connected him to the stake. “Come on,” she ordered, again mounting Roen—towing Ywain with by his rope.
They walked through the camp, garnering a couple dozen bows and murmured, “My Lord” s.
Ywain looked increasingly nervous as they left the camp altogether and rode into the forest. When they were perhaps a mile from camp, Britt finally stopped.
“Here we go. You’re free, Ywain,” Britt said, dismounting Roen before she cut the rope binding Ywain’s wrists.
“I’m what?” Ywain said, his jaw going slack.
“You’re free to go. You are no longer my prisoner.”