Early Sunday morning Britt dosed in the comfort of her bed. As usual, the previous night gave her only snatches of sleep. Britt still enjoyed the luxury of sitting in her warm bed with no one pestering her, though. The room was quiet and smelled faintly of flowers—a new bunch were placed in her room every afternoon, a custom Britt had grown to love.
Britt was taking her time in bed to mull through the bits of Arthurian lore she remembered. “Gawain is here, now. If I can get him to stay that probably means Lancelot and Guinevere aren’t far behind.” Britt moaned. “I hate Lancelot and Guinevere. As soon as I find out who Lancelot is I’m going to slug him in the nose.”
As long as Britt remembered almost everyone portrayed the love between Lancelot and Guinevere as a beautiful but tragic thing. No one held them accountable for single handedly ruining Arthur’s life, and no one ever commented on what a sucky best friend Lancelot was, or what a faithless wife Guinevere was. Instead they focused on how much they loved each other but how Arthur tore them apart.
The only person who ever thought differently was one of the instructors at Britt’s first sword hall. Britt didn’t remember much about the man besides his dislike of Lancelot and his mustache as she was barely five when she first started her lessons. However, she did remember that her instructor was the first person to point out what a playboy Lancelot was.
Britt yawned. “Yeah, I don’t care about the legends. As soon as Lancelot comes prancing into Camelot I’m sending him prancing right out of here.”
Someone knocked on the door. “May I come in?”
Britt stretched in her bed. “Sure, Merlin,” she said.
Only Merlin and her guards ever woke her in the mornings, and her guards only shouted to her through the doors.
The door opened. “What are you doing? Did you not hear the first bell? You—.”
The door shut soundly.
Britt picked her head off her pillow. “Merlin?”
Merlin, once again standing out in the hallway, hissed through the door. “You’re still in bed.”
“Yeah, so?”
“It is indecent for you to allow a man into your bedchambers when you are still in bed!”
Britt peeled back a blanket and laughed. “What? Why? I’m fully clothed. It might be warm outside but it’s freezing in here so it’s not like I’m showing any skin.”
“Indecent!” Merlin repeated through the door.
Britt rolled her eyes and sat up. “What did you want?”
“Get up. We’re going to mass.”
“No, we’re not. You might be, but I’m not.”
“Oh yes you are, you little heathen.”
“It’s boring. The pastor only talks in Greek or Hebrew or whatever that language is.”
“He’s the archbishop, and he conducts the service in Latin.”
“Mmm, yeah that,” Britt said, falling back into her bed with a thump.
“Do not lie back down you unschooled foundling!”
“Too late,” Britt said. “If you want me to go to mass you’re going to have to drag me out of here. How indecent would that be?”
The door opened and Merlin stormed in. “Drag you, you say? Fine! You were complaining I never use my magic so I shall,” he said, staring at the wall and not Britt in her bed.
Merlin pointed a finger at Britt and said something that seemed to boom in the room. The next thing Britt knew she was drenched in icy water.
Britt launched out her bed, spitting like a cat—narrowly avoiding stepping on Cavall. “You jerk!”
“Get dressed, we’re going and that’s final,” Merlin said, already out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Britt squeezed water from her hair. “I’ll remember this!”
“See that you do.”
Britt was seated on her throne, absent mindedly petting Cavall as she stared at the ceiling when Sir Kay arrived.
“I was told you wanted to see me, My Lord?”
“Ah, perfect timing. Kay—sorry—Sir Kay, I need your help,” Britt said, heaving herself out of her throne. She picked up a few sheets of paper that were tucked against the side of her throne before trotting down the stairs. “I have decided I need a riding helmet.”
“A what?”
“A riding helmet. Where I come from people wear thick, padded helms that encircle the top half of the head to prevent injury when riding. You know, in case the horse throws you or something. I was willing to go prancing around without one when I thought this was all a dream, but I’ve grown increasingly apprehensive with the idea of riding without one.”
“Wouldn’t a normal helm suffice?” Kay asked.
“No, the insides of a riding helmet are more cushioned. Also the helmet rings across the forehead, then goes down behind the ears and encases the back of the head,” Britt said, tracing out the trail with her fingertip on her skull. “Nothing covers the eyes so the rider maintains optimum vision. A strap is fastened to the helmet and cinches at the chin to keep the helmet on the wearer.”
“I see. I could try talking to our armor smiths. I am sure we can come up with something for you, although it may take some time,” Sir Kay said.
“I drew up a couple of rough sketches to give you a better idea of what I’m looking for,” Britt said, handing Sir Kay the papers she held.