“Mother isn’t going to change my mind,” Gawain bluntly said. “Her arts don’t work on me.”
Britt laughed before she gave Gawain a hand up. “You are such fun. Thank you for seeking me out tonight, Gawain.”
Gawain offered Britt a steep bow. “Thank you, My Lord.”
“I have noticed that your banquet diet consists mostly of wine, and that you appear to hold your cup with the intension of crushing it,” Merlin said, awkwardly standing behind Britt as he whispered in her ear. His breath tickled her neck, and it felt uncomfortably intimate.
“That’s because if I keep a stranglehold on my cup I won’t be able to throttle a certain woman,” Britt said behind a smile. “Back up, will you?”
Once again Britt was a prisoner to her table on the dais, and once again it was Britt, Merlin, Morgause, and her children. Normally Britt would not mind the dinner so much. The past few had been quite passable as Britt was able to converse with Gawain, Agravain, Gareth, and Gaheris when Morgause was not fawning over her.
Tonight, however, the shape of the table had changed, and Britt found herself separated from Morgause’s sons. Merlin was next to her but he was a useless tablemate as usual.
Britt frowned when Merlin briefly rested his warm hands on her shoulders and gave her an encouraging squeeze before he left the dais.
Britt watched him go before she heaved a sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Tired, My Lord?” Morgause asked, placing a hand on Britt’s arm.
Britt held her irritation in check before she offered Morgause a brisk smile and shrugged her hand away by lifting her wine goblet into the air. “You seem to ask that question often.”
“The work of a king is very difficult,” Morgause said. “Men have it so hard. We women couldn’t possibly understand.” The queen’s voice unexpectedly hardened as she spoke.
Britt thought Morgause was almost boiling with anger, but she blinked and the queen was back to simpering smiles and crinkled eyes.
Britt considered Morgause as she drank her wine, but her thoughts were interrupted by a clutch of knights that trooped up the stairs.
Britt looked long enough to see that it was Sir Bedivere and two other lapdog knights that, for all practical purposes, belonged to Morgause. Britt sighed and studied her wine goblet with great intensity. Her thoughts returned to King Pellinore, and she wondered if he had started home yet, how he came to have such an expectation of power, and what was a questing beast?
In spite of herself she still heard pieces and bits of the conversation Morgause was having with the knights.
“A harper could not describe your beauty and fragile femininity, for he would lack the skill and the words to give you due credit.”
“I thank you, sir knight. You are generous in your praise.”
“….stand as an example for all women with your soft spoken words and the meekness of your temper.”
“Please, kind sirs. I hardly think I am meek—,”
“But you are, My Lady. It is such a pleasing trait to behold!”
“Your eyes are surely the fairest in the land, truly I do wish you were my lady.”
Britt snorted in her wine cup before she set it down and pushed food around her plate when she felt the rebuking gaze of the serving page some feet away. The young boy had taken an unfortunately interest in her calorie intake.
When Britt looked up again she found Sir Bedivere’s eyes on her. Even though he was speaking nonsense to Morgause—something about her hair being as black as a crow’s wing—his attention was distinctly on Britt. His entire body faced Morgause, and he was forced to uncomfortably roll his eyes to keep them trained on Britt.
Britt wondered why he adopting such a painful stance before she met his eyes and froze.
Sir Bedivere’s eyes were pleading. Although the muscles of his face were relaxed and open, his eyes were saturated with despair and screamed for help. It was almost as if he was a prisoner, bound and gagged, and was wordlessly pleading with Britt to set him free.
In a heartbeat the moment was gone. Morgause leaned across the table, drawing closer to Sir Bedivere and reclaiming his attention. The despair left his eyes, and he was once again reduced to a lovesick puppy.
The damage, though, was done. Sitting in her chair, looking out over the feasting hall, Britt realized all she had done was despair over the effect of Morgause’s enchantment on her. She felt antagonized because Morgause had reduced her knights to salivating dogs, making Britt look like a fool.
Never had Britt thought how the enchantment affected her men. It hadn’t even occurred to her that they didn’t want to be enslaved. She just assumed they were weak minded or fools for a pretty face. But Sir Bedivere’s silent plea… that wasn’t from a fool. That was a knight, asking his King to save him.
Britt abruptly stood, her chair loudly scraping on the dais.