“Should we summon Sir Bodwain? As Constable he should know of this,” Sir Kay said.
“Sir Bedivere too,” Britt said before gesturing to another page standing along the wall. The boy nodded and trotted off, almost running into King Ban and Bors when they swept through the entryway.
“Well there, what’s the trouble Arthur? What great, ruddy king has his nose out of joint now?” Bors boomed.
“Ryence,” Britt said.
“He’s taken 10,000 men and is marching against King Leodegrance,” Merlin said.
A frown marred King Ban’s handsome face. “The scoundrel,” he said as Bors whistled.
“I believe a joint force would be the best plan, if you are up to it?” Merlin asked the kings.
“Of course!” Bors snapped.
King Ban nodded. “I am not of mind to abandon King Leodegrance. You shall have my aid.”
“We should muster an army of 20,000. That will leave a fair amount of soldiers in Camelot to guard it,” Merlin said. “Arthur and I will—,”
A second soldier ran into the room, his chain mail jingling and swaying. His face was red with exertion. “Trouble, Your Highness!”
Merlin sighed and Sir Ector said, “What now?”
“Q-Queen M-m-Morgause, King Lot’s wife!” the soldier said, panting.
“Yes, what of her?” Britt asked.
“She’s here!”
“WHAT?” Merlin shouted.
Sir Bodwain and Sir Bedivere, who were entering the room at that exact moment, paused.
“What is wrong, Merlin?” Sir Bodwain asked, approaching the circle of knights and kings.
“What isn’t wrong?” Merlin muttered before abandoning his abacus on the table. “Morgause, the wife of that stupid dolt King Lot is here—,”
“With all f-four of her sons,” the soldier meekly added.
Merlin looked murderous and flexed his hands, as if in a desire to latch them around something. “Morgause and her brats are here, and King Ryence marches on King Leodegrance with over 10,000 soldiers. With Morgause’s arrival Arthur and I cannot ride off to defend King Leodegrance with King Ban and King Bors. You’ll have to go in Arthur’s stead, Sir Bodwain. Sir Bedivere will remain behind to act as constable and marshal.”
Sir Bedivere bowed his head in acceptance, but Sir Bodwain frowned. “I have no doubts of our victory against King Ryence. He is a coward and will likely retreat as soon as he gains wind of our march... but what will you do with Morgause, Merlin?”
Merlin rubbed his temple. “I do not know, yet. We will have to officially receive her of course. Arthur, ready yourself to meet with Morgause. King Ban, King Bors, I would like you to leave as swiftly as possible. The less information Morgause receives on you the better. You as well, Sir Bodwain.”
“There is wisdom in your words. Bors and I shall return to our rooms and set out to our men as soon as our horses are ready,” King Ban said.
King Bors nodded, and Sir Bodwain bowed before turning on his heels and retreating.
Britt climbed the stairs to her throne—an immense wooden chair smoothed with age and cushioned with three pillows at Britt’s request—brushing Cavall hair off her clothes as she climbed. “Cavall, sit,” she said, pointing to the fur rug nestled next to her throne. (Merlin had acquired it for Cavall when Britt complained that mastiff was getting stiff from sitting on the stone floor.)
When Merlin finished bossing around his minions he tarried near Britt’s stairs. “If only you would agree to wear armor. It would do wonders for your image. It will let you appear older, you won’t have to worry about looking like a 15-year-old.”
“No,” Britt said, seating herself on the throne after adjusting her cushions.
“I promise it won’t be uncomfortable. We have the best armor smiths,” Merlin coaxed.
“No,” Britt said, setting Cavall’s beanbag on his rug.
“Ingrate,” Merlin muttered before scuttling to his position at the left of Britt’s throne.
Britt refused to wear armor or chain mail, not because it was uncomfortable or too heavy but because she was afraid. When she was brought back through time her old life was essentially ripped from her. She lost her mother, her sister, her friends, her home… Britt didn’t want to remove all traces of her old life, but that was happening whether she wanted it to or not.
Before being summoned to Medieval England Britt was almost considered a master of Renaissance Mixed Martial Arts, and was the best swordsman of her practice hall. But since her arrival Britt had grown more tan thanks to the vast hours she spent outdoors, her hair—a dark blonde—bleached out in the sun so it was more golden.