There was silence for a few moments. Britt shifted and glanced over her shoulder at her guards. They were still on alert, their eyes endlessly scanning their surroundings.
“So you’re really ruling, even though you’re a woman?” the Lady of the Lake said. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it dripped with disdain.
“I am. Most of them don’t know of it. But a few do,” Britt admitted.
“Merlin and his minions?”
“Yes.”
The Lady of the Lake frowned and inspected Britt from the top of her head to her shoes. “Rumor has it you want a court ruled by honor, justice, and chivalry?”
Britt wryly smiled. Young Ywain—a young man who had defected to Britt’s side even though he was the son of King Urien—was the only person she had told her plans to. Apparently he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “I do,” Britt said. “I can’t make laws or rules about women. I can’t give them rights, and I can’t feed all the poor. My lords and knights would rebel. But if I have a code of conduct and reward those who act in chivalry I think I will be successful.”
The Lady of the Lake lowered her snotty gaze long enough to stare at Britt. “You really mean to change Britain?”
“Yes.”
There was more silence again, and Britt considering trying to sneak off. The Lady of the Lake abruptly broke the silence, her words spilling over themselves like a frantic river. “A lady of great magic is traveling from the north. Her goal is Camelot. She means to ensnare you, and the men of your court. I do not believe you will fall for her magic. You have Excalibur after all, and she will not expect you to be a woman. There. You’ve had a warning, you’re a complete fool if you still fall for it.”
Britt blinked at the faerie lady before smiling. “I see. I didn’t think things would be peaceful quite yet. Thank you for the warning…”
“Nymue.”
“Nymue,” Britt said, carefully pronouncing the name.
The Lady of the Lake, Nymue, twitched her skirts again. “I’ll be going then. Wouldn’t want to stick around this place too long,” she scoffed, pushing some of her long, black hair over her shoulder.
“Safe travels home, Nymue,” Britt said.
“Of course, I’m not some sort of second rate nymph,” Nymue sniffed before adding, “Good luck.”
Britt glanced over her shoulder to spy out her guards. By the time she looked forward again Nymue was gone.
A week later Britt was throwing a pouch stuffed with dried beans for Cavall when a messenger threw open the doors to the throne room. “My Lord, I bear ill news!”
“W-what, what?” Sir Ector snorted, rocketing out of the chair he was dozing in.
“Come in and give your message to the King,” Merlin invited the messenger, never removing his intense blue eyes from the abacus he was using.
Britt swept down the stairs that led up to her throne, tossing the beanbag one last time before wiping her drool moistened hands on her tunic. “Pray do tell us, what terrible news do you have?” Britt asked as Cavall dutifully retrieved the beanbag, his nails clicking on the stone floor.
The man—a soldier—stumbled into the room, losing his balance twice before Sir Kay shut his logbook and steadied him.
“I bear news from King Leodegrance,” the messenger said, slumping on a bench Sir Ector pulled out for him.
“Well? Spit it out man!” Sir Ector boomed.
“Wait, our guest looks parched and hungry. Bring something for this man to quench his thirst and end his hunger,” Britt called to a young page hovering in the shadows of a wall.
“Working on your local tongue?” Merlin muttered to Britt.
“Am I over doing it?”
“A bit, unless you were aiming for the position of court bard or all around pansy.”
Britt winced as Cavall spit out the beanbag in her hand. “I’ll tone it down,” she said.
In no time the page returned with a tray of bread, fruit, dried meat, and a tankard of ale.
The soldier/messenger gulped down the ale, splashing it on himself before he shoved food in his mouth. “King Ryence has retreated from your great victory, and instead has hastened to plague King Leodegrance of Camelgrance,” he said around a mass of unchewed bread.
“You there, lad. Go summon King Ban and King Bors,” Merlin called to the young page.
The soldier took another swig of ale. “King Leodegrance does not know the exact count of soldiers King Ryence has with him, but he estimates over 10,000.”
“10,000? How did he muster that? He didn’t bring that many soldiers to our battle against him,” Britt frowned.
“We should have seen this coming. The kings of the failed plot might be through fighting Arthur, but it doesn’t mean their quest for power is over,” Sir Ector said.
Merlin moved a few beads on his abacus. “Indeed. I thought Ryence might try something, but I calculated that he would at least return home first to lick his wounds. Apparently he is a bigger fool than I imagined.”