Winter was finally relinquishing its hold on Camelot and the soft warmth of spring crept in, a welcome respite from the biting cold. Still, the mornings were chilly and my breath was a puff of white as I padded down the stone corridor. The castle was asleep, silent, save for the occasional echo of a distant footstep as I stopped at Bedivere's door.

“Bedivere,” I called as I knocked. “Bedivere, open up.”

No answer. 

I pushed the door open and entered. The room was dark, the curtains pulled closed.

“Bedivere,” I murmured, glancing at the figure buried under the covers, before turning my attention to the rest of the room.

I studied the candelabras on his bedside table and atop the dresser. 

No fire. 

I moved to the hearth, searching for any sign of life within the ash, wood chippings and charcoal pile.

No fire.

I exhaled. “Thank God.”

Reaching for the curtains, I gripped the heavy fabric and flung them apart. At once, the room filled with the pale light of the new day.

Finally, the lump on the bed squirmed, covers sliding aside to reveal the top of my brother’s head.

“Gwen?” He said, rubbing his eyes. “What—?” 

“Wake up,” I said, clapping my hands loudly.

He yawned and stretched lazily. “Any fire?”

“No.” I shot him a sharp look. “Thank God.” 

“Thank God,” he echoed.

Bedivere had a bad habit of sleepwalking. He would wander about the castle at night, popping up in unexpected places and at unpredictable times. As he’d remained unharmed, the entire household ignored him. 

Until he’d started lighting fires in his sleep. Candles, torches, hearth fires. Even when the fires were extinguished, he unwittingly relit them in his sleep. 

Last month, the predicament reached a peak. To my absolute shock and horror, I had awoken to the castle buzzing, lines of servants carrying buckets of water to put out a fire raging in Bedivere’s chambers.

Before the fire was quenched, it had consumed all of the curtains and would have certainly begun burning the bed―and Bedivere―if the smoke had not been noticed.

Since then, I had begun checking Bedivere’s chambers for fire every morning and night. Thankfully, there hadn’t been a repeat of the incident.

Sinking into the mattress next to him, I ran my fingers through his hair. “How are you?”

I watched as the vestiges of sleep disappeared from his deep brown eyes, replaced by careful consideration. “How are you, Gwen?”

A bitter smile tugged at the corners of my mouth and I looked away. “What do you expect?”

The sheets ruffled as he sat up and studied me more intently. “You don’t have to do this, you know?” His voice was low and serious.

I scoffed. “Don’t I? We need this marriage to secure the family and it’s not as if there are any other offers on the horizon.” My gaze drifted to the windows. “And with the mine and the envoy…we must tread carefully.”

Bedivere took my hand in his, squeezing gently. I squeezed back and rose from the bed. 

“I need to go. I have to head into town. Do you need anything?” I asked, disentangling our fingers.

He shook his head.

“Then, I’ll see you at breakfast.”

With a small wave, I left the room and hurried down the stairs. I slipped out of the great doors and began the trek through the castle gates and to the town. 

Unlike the sleepy castle, the streets of the borough of House Carmelide bustled with energy, despite the cold morning air.

Everywhere I looked, the city was coming to life, the early rays of the sun painting the cobblestone streets with a soft, golden light. 

Chimney smoke rose in lazy spirals from thatched rooftops and the scent of freshly baked goods wafted through the air, mingling with the earthy smell of the damp earth.

Merchants were setting up their stalls, their boisterous voices promising the finest goods from the most obscure corners of the earth. Horses clattered past, their hooves stamping through the narrow streets as they pulled carts laden with goods.

I loved this borough. 

It was a simple town with simple people. Yes, crime reared its ugly head now and then, but Carmelide was not like the king’s court where liars, backstabbers and thieves lurked around every corner. 

Here, one could live a modest life with modest ambitions.

Nevertheless, there was no escaping the machinations of the court of Camelot, even here in the outskirts of the kingdom. As the battle for succession heated up, lines were being drawn and all the noble houses gradually assumed their stations. 

There would be no war but the alliances and marriages and promised riches would rearrange the political scape of the kingdom as Morgause, Uther’s first daughter, and Agravain, the first son, went head-to-head for the highest position in the land.

Everyone knew that Uther wanted his daughter to succeed him but Agravain’s claim to the throne could not be denied. And so, the battle raged on.

I hated it, the intrigue and deceit surrounding Camelot’s nobility. I wished I could stay here forever, strolling through the city, reading and painting.

An impossible desire for the first and only daughter of House Carmelide.

I was going to be married. To the Earl of Leofric, a fervent supporter of Prince Agravain. With the marriage, I would be drawn into the battle as a proxy of House Carmelide, whether I wished it or not. 

Sighing, I increased my pace, eager to escape these thoughts.

The bookseller’s shop was located in an alleyway to the left of the main street and contained all sorts of goods from Camelot, from trinkets to ancient scrolls.

As I entered the small, dimly lit shop, the scent of old parchment and dust enveloped me. An elderly man, Ravik, had run this shop for as long as I could remember and I smiled at him as I approached the counter.

“Good morning, Lady Guinevere,” he said warmly, returning my smile. “The book you ordered has arrived.”

“I’m glad.”

He picked out a book from beneath the counter and handed it to me. The leather cover was worn with age but as I flipped through the pages, I found them crisp and white. It was an account of the border battles of Camelot. I had wanted to read it for a while. “Thank you.”

“This also came in,” he continued, sliding another book on the counter between us. “A comprehensive history of the kings of Camelot. Even more detailed than the one in your library. It was compiled by the master scribes in the King’s castle.”

I eyed the book and ran my fingers over the embossed title. “You keep tempting me with books, Ravik. Whenever I come for one, I leave with two.”

He smiled but said nothing as I fished out my purse, dropping three silver coins on the counter.

“Thank you, milady.” He gathered the coins up and began wrapping the books in a small cloth bag.

I accepted the bag and tucked it under my left arm with a nod. “I’ll send Isolde with the bag.”

“Thank you, milady,” he repeated with a small bow.

My return to the castle was much quicker. I had lingered enough. Castle Carmelide, my home and the birthright of my family, loomed ahead, its ancient stones weathered by time and history.

I entered through the servants’ quarters, steps echoing in the narrow corridor. As I passed the armoury, I caught sight of Lancelot, his back to me as he examined a sword. I wanted to call out to him but fought the urge and continued.

The castle was fully alive now, servants milling about as they prepared for the day’s tasks. At the base of the stairs, I considered walking up to my room to deposit the books but the climb was daunting.

“My lady.”

I spun around to see Isolde, my lady maid, balancing a basket on her hip. Isolde had been my mother’s maid until her death twelve winters ago. She’d served me ever since and had become a mother figure to me.

I sighed in relief. “Isolde, thank goodness.” I handed her the book bag. “Please take this up to my room. And when you can, return the bag to Ravik.”

Isolde nodded. “I will, my lady. Breakfast is ready.” She gestured towards the dining hall. “Lord Leodegrance is already present.”

“Already?” I cursed, lifting my skirts and hurrying to the dining hall. It was unusual for my Father to be up this early.

As I neared the hall, a whispered but fervent conversation trickled through the slightly ajar door. 

“Perhaps they want to conduct all their business today and leave for Camelot tomorrow,” my father was saying, his familiar voice laced with an unfamiliar frustration.

“They have been nothing but demanding since they arrived,” Lovell, the butler and my father’s trusted friend, replied. His voice was also filled with unease. “Tis disrespectful.”

My father sighed. “They think themselves above us, simply because they come from the court. But we need Uther’s approval. The mine could secure it, bring us the soldiers we need to keep the Saxons at bay.”

My heart clenched. The mine again.

Around the time Bedivere’s chambers caught on fire, my father had led a contingent of soldiers to the far end of the border to curtail Saxon raids. On their way back, they had stopped to rest in a cluster of caves near the border, only to discover a mine in the depths of the cave. 

Mining was under strict regulation by the Crown and most mines were in the northern mountainous area of the kingdom. It was immediately evident that this mine was illegal. 

After arresting its workers and stationing guards to watch the caves all day long, my father had reported the mine to the king and in response, Uther had dispatched an envoy to investigate the incident.

The discovery of the mine was a double-edged sword. It could bring us Uther’s favour―fervently sought, scarcely given―but it cast a shadow of politics over the family. At a time when political manoeuvring was at its highest.

I pushed the door open and as expected, the conversation ended as I stepped into the hall. The two men stared at me, trying to make out how much of their discourse I had heard.

Lowell recovered first. “Good day, my Lady.”

He bowed his head. “Please,” he said as he walked around the long table sitting in the middle of the hall. He pulled out a chair for me, opposite my father. “Have a seat.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, taking the offered seat. “Good morning, Father.”

My father, Lord and foremost personage in Carmelide, nodded. “Good morning, Guinevere. How was your night?”

“It was good.”

I didn't bother asking how his night was. The purplish tint under his eyes told me all I needed to know. 

I focused on the meal―bread, cheese, porridges and cakes―arrayed across the table. The door squeaked open as Bedivere joined us a moment later, settling next to me.

Without a word, we dished out our meals and began eating.

We were quite the trio. No one could deny the relationship. One of the few memories I had of my mother was her lighthearted complaints about our features.

“Your father's lineage is not to be denied, it seems,” she would say, laughing and running her hands through my hair.

Our hair was the same shade of deep brown, although Father's and Bedivere's curls were tighter than mine. Our skin resembled the gold of wheat; Father had the darkest skin due to his frequent rallies to the border.

Today, we were also alike in our silence, the atmosphere in the dining hall strained under the weight of unspoken concerns. 

“Spring is on its way,” Father said, abruptly, shattering the testy silence.

I nodded, keeping my eyes on the tablecloth as I spooned porridge up.

“Did you set any fires, Bedivere?”

“No, Father. I presume you would have had a noisier morning if I did.” I smiled at the tang in Bedivere's voice.

My father chuckled. “I suppose I would have.”

The air seemed to lighten after that but the light mood didn't last long. As the food on the table gradually disappeared, my father cleared his throat, the way he often did when he had something unpleasant to say.

“Guinevere, you know that the Earl Leofric will send his proposal later this week. Seeing as his gift was well-received.”

I nodded again, still unwilling to speak. His words conjured up the image of a chest full of gaudy dresses lying under my bed, a gesture of goodwill from my suitor. Isolde and I had pored over the dresses, trying to style them in fashionable ways to no avail. 

I had no way of forming an opinion of my husband-to-be. I had never seen him, never written him, never spoken with him. However, if his taste in fashion was anything to go by, I was done for.

I inhaled slowly, my only focus on keeping my breakfast down.

“You must be ready to accept his offer of marriage.” My father’s tone was uncharacteristically stern. 

I looked up from my empty bowl and met his eyes, unsurprised to see a warning shining in them. Lancelot.

“I understand.”

His gaze softened and I saw a quiet helplessness in them. The same helplessness churned in me. Yes, just like our identical eyes, hair and skin, we were all similarly chained by our birthright. 

He cleared his throat again. “Today will be a difficult day for us as a family and as nobles. For the first time since I ascended to Lord of this family and estate, we will welcome the King's envoy to Carmelide.

“I know you both understand today’s significance but that does not mean you should let up on your activities. Focus during your lessons.” He cast a warning glance at Bedivere. “Remain in the castle throughout the day. Stay out of sight when the envoy comes and only appear when summoned.” 

Instructions delivered, Father rose from the table and straightened his tunic. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something but thought better of it. “Finish up your breakfast and go.”

“Yes, father,” Bedivere and I said in unison.

After we finished our meal, we walked together to the library in silence, dispersing to our respective corners once we arrived. Soon after, we were joined by our tutors.

Hagne Glaphyra had been my governess since I was a child and she swooped into the room like a bat, her face set in the usual stern expression. 

She sat across from me at the round table, and I forced myself to focus as she piled stacks of books on the table without a greeting.

“Today, we will continue our study of the Druidic Ogham.” She laid a piece of parchment before me. “Translate these.”

Swallowing a sigh, I dipped my quill into the pot of ink and began scribbling.

Hagne tasked me for hours, only letting up when the sun was high in the sky and it was past time for the midday meal. I took the much-needed break, calling for Bedivere to join me. We sat around a small table on the stone balcony adjoining the library and studied the castle grounds below us. Munching on the apples and grapes arranged on a wooden platter, we spoke around our bites, discussing everything but the obvious.

“The Guild of Blacksmiths,” Bedivere declared, leaning forward on the table. His face was alight with rare passion as he spoke of his plans. “I know it is not an honourable path for people of our birth, but it is good work, Gwen.”

He paused, looking at me like he expected me to interject with an argument. When I remained silent, he continued.

“The Guild is revered, even amongst the aristocracy. They craft weapons, and armour―things that matter in these times. I want to be part of that.”

I studied my brother's face, taking in his fierce determination with pride. 

“But you're a noble, Bedivere.” I kept my voice soft, without reproach. “Father would never approve.”

He leaned back, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. “I'm sure I can get around Father's disapproval. When this debacle with the Saxons and the King is over.”

I smiled at him, feeling a soft fuzziness in my chest. Reaching out to ruffle his hair, I said, “I’ll talk to Father. See if I can bring him around.”

Bedivere straightened. “Truly?”

“Yes. But only after the issue with the mine is resolved,” I added. “He will not listen otherwise.”

Bedivere clasped my hand. “Thank you, Gwen. Father will listen to you. I know he will.”

I laughed. “He will.”

Indeed, there was no need for the both of us to live unhappy, unfulfilled lives. Only one of us had to suffer. Once my marriage to Leofric was completed and my family footing in Camelot’s politics secured, Bedivere would be free to pursue his aspirations.

Somewhere in the castle, a bell rang, and Bedivere rose, straightening his tunic as he did. “We should get ready.”

I smiled, downing the water in my goblet in one gulp, and rising as well. “Yes.”

The latter half of the day was filled with physical lessons. Sparring, horseback riding and archery. Typically, women were exempt from such activities. But with Carmelide on the border, and a frontline defence against the Saxons, my father thought it pertinent I learnt how to defend myself.

I headed back to my room and changed into something more suitable for the sparring fields. My green silk dress was exchanged for a fitted tunic and breeches, my hair tied back with a simple leather cord. Isolde helped with the switch, her hands deftly working the ties and laces with the ease of long practice. As she fastened the last strap of my boots, she said in a matter-of-fact tone, “I'll prepare the contraceptive brew for tonight.”

A flush rose to my cheeks and the gentle spring noon turned red hot.

“Isolde, I-”

She chuckled under her breath. “There is no need to explain, my lady.” She rose from her crouch. “I'll have it ready.”

I murmured a faint thanks, embarrassment pushing my heart into a frantic rhythm as I left my chambers. 

Did everyone in this castle know? 

Clambering down the stairs, I made my way to the sparring fields. 

The field was a circular clearing near the northern wall of the castle. It was bounded by the stables, the armoury and by an out-of-use watchtower.

There was a rack of weapons at one end of the field, near the armoury, and the entire space was littered with dummies and painted circular targets. 

With the Saxon threat, most of the soldiers who would be sparring in the space were at the border so the grounds were sparse, save for the injured soldiers working their way up to health and the recruits too green to send to the front. 

Lancelot was one of the few soldiers who had returned with my father from the border. He stood near the castle wall, striking a dummy with enough force to make its hay stuffing shiver and drop loose.

I picked up a wooden sword from the rack and crept close, planning on frightening him but Lancelot was like a cat. Once I was close enough, he paused and looked over his shoulder, right at me.

I watched in mild amusement as a wide smile bloomed on his face.

It’s no wonder everyone knows, I mused even as my lips curved in an answering grin.

For the first time since the day began, I felt the noise in my head quieten. The buzz of expectations, the weight of present and future obligations slowly fading away. 

“Lancelot,” I called, beckoning him over.

He was dressed in a sleeveless tunic, his bare arms deliciously exposed. His skin was tanned, shining with the beauty of a man who spent his life outside.

“My lady.” His voice sent shivers dancing down my spine and I swayed forward, itching to pull him to me and beg him to make me forget this day.

“I heard the bell so I came to spar.”

He bowed. “It’ll be an honour.”

Lancelot had initially been my tutor but my father had changed him without notice. Maybe he had noticed the affection blooming between us or maybe he'd felt Lancelot wasn't qualified enough. Not possible as Lancelot was one―if not―the best warrior in my father’s employ.

Father had, nevertheless, been too late. Lancelot and I had shared our first kiss weeks before then and the rest was history.

Now, with most of the soldiers, including my swordmaster, patrolling the border, we were back facing each other. The space between us was a decent, appropriate distance for a lady and her subject. The air, however, was charged like lightning had just struck, leaving behind glimmering bolts of attraction.

I swayed forward, wanting nothing more than to fall into him, run my fingers through his hair and―

“Shall we?” he asked, a playful glint in his eye. A glint that told me he knew exactly what I was thinking.

I cleared my throat. “Yes, let us.”

We began sparring, the sound of wooden swords clacking together filling the air. Lancelot’s movements were fluid, his strikes precise but never forceful. Like always, he was conscious of my skill level. As we circled each other, he slipped into the role of teacher, correcting my posture and movements with a patience that warmed my heart.

“You’ve improved, my lady.”

“Thank you. I have been practising since you left.”

He smiled and parted his lips, about to say something but his gaze wandered over my shoulder. “It appears our time is up, my lady.”

I followed his gaze to see the stable master arriving with two huge beasts.

“Same place?” Lancelot asked as I handed him my wooden sword, his tone casual but his gaze intense. 

My mind stuttered, tripping over my father’s warning. Lancelot and I had been meeting in secret for weeks now, our stolen moments a dangerous indulgence. However, the prospect of marriage loomed closer and with it, the inevitable end to whatever this was between us.

But I couldn’t refuse.

“Yes,” I whispered before I could stop myself. My hesitation hadn’t escaped Lancelot’s notice and I saw a flicker of concern in his eyes. 

He didn’t push, though. Instead, he nodded, the easy smile returning to his face. “I’ll wait for you.”

By the time I climbed up the old watchtower, the sun was nothing more than a smidge of light in the sky and my legs were shivering with exertion.

The watchtower was small, but it had become our haven, a place where we could forget the outside world, if only for a short while.

Lancelot was already there, leaning against the stone wall. The evening breeze brushed through his hair, pushing the dark brown locks onto his handsome face. Still, the beauty of his features could not hide the furrow of his brows or the tightness around his mouth. The concern my hesitation caused.

He turned to me as I climbed the final steps. It was almost humorous to see the tension in his shoulders dissipate as he reached out to grasp me. Without a word, he closed his lips around mine and I sighed into the kiss, feeling the world fade away.

Time felt insubstantial as his arms came up to encircle me and I leaned into his hold.

I don’t know how long we kissed, only that by the time my eyes fluttered open, we had sunken to the floor. I felt the warmth of his every exhale across my face and in the light of the dying sun, I was content to stare into his eyes.

“My lady,” he murmured against my lips. “Have I lost your favour?”

Oh, Lancelot.

I had never broached the subject of my marriage with Lancelot. I couldn’t fathom a way to bring it up. I didn't want him to hear it from some loudmouth townsfolk, still, I couldn’t discuss it. 

“No. Never,” I said, hoping the intensity of my emotions was manifest in my words. “You can never lose my favour.”

The way his body pressed against mine made my thoughts swim and heat pool between my legs. I wanted more. I would have taken more if not for the sound of a horn.

We broke apart, panting, regaining our breath before peering over the weathered rock lip of the watchtower.

In the distance, a small party of men on horseback, travelling in a diamond formation, rode for the castle. The man at the head of the group held a flagpole, and on it, the Pendragon family crest, a white dragon on a red field, snapped in the wind. I felt my stomach drop, dread creeping into my chest.

“They're here.” Try as I could, I could not force the tremble out of my voice.

Lancelot's arm tightened around me. “I'll stay at the castle until the day ends. If you need me, come to the armoury. I'll be there.”

I nodded, grateful for his solid strength. Allowing myself one more kiss and embrace, I whispered, “I have to go.”

“Remember, I’m here.”

We separated and as I dashed down the disintegrating stairs, I felt the stone shiver as the gates were pulled up, allowing the King’s men onto Castle Carmelide grounds.