"Welcome to Camelot, nephew," she murmured. "I trust you will be happy here."
"My lady," Mordred bowed low. As he rose, he kissed her slender hand. "I have seen so many interesting things already. Camelot is full of surprises. I have no doubt that I will enjoy my new home."
My blood ran cold as Mordred appraised my mother and she returned his stare.
She knew. I could see on her face that she knew who he was, but no one else would have guessed her anxiety. Her lovely face was as smooth as ever.
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"Please let me know if you require anything," she told him politely, before she curtsied quickly to Arthur and returned to my side. As the men talked over their breakfasts, she sank back down next to me.
"What a chilling man," she murmured into my ear. I nodded.
"He is as cold-hearted as they come," I agreed. "I can sense it." Guinevere’s eyes glazed over and I knew that she was remembering the last time we had been here.
Even though the Fates were currently imprisoned in Ogygia, they were still firmly in control here in Camelot…because our little skirmish on Calypso’s island had not yet happened. Their spells to bind our memories were still active. In my mortal body here, I could remember Heleyne’s memories- everything that had happened up until this point in time. Everything in the future was hidden to me.
Although, I was finding that my awakened goddess mind was somehow providing glimpses into the future here that I would not have had otherwise. The glimpses were random and limited, and were both welcome and frustrating.
I somehow knew that Mordred would be the downfall of Arthur, but I couldn’t remember exactly how. I could see on Guinevere’s face that she was the same.
"Don’t fret," I soothed her. "It will all work out."
She nodded.
"I know. I just wish I could remember more." She shook her head sadly.
"Perhaps it is for the best that we cannot," I suggested. "We must leave here without interfering. The Fates might not control us anymore, but I do not know what effects tampering with history would have. We should not take that chance."
"I agree," she replied dejectedly. "But I do not have to like it."
As she spoke, she gazed again at the knights good-naturedly bickering amongst each other as they ate. Arthur was sitting next to Mordred, dipping his bread crust into bacon grease as he chatted with the man who would eventually betray him.
"No," I agreed as I carefully stood and arranged my skirts. "You do not. And neither do I. Come. Let us take a walk or maybe even go for a ride."
That perked her up. She did enjoy horseback riding. She kindly thanked the servant who came to clear our plates and we made our way out of the crowded dining hall onto the manicured paths surrounding the castle.
As we strolled, I remembered what these grounds had looked like when Arthur had first assumed the crown. The castle had been crumbling, the grounds overgrown.
Within months of winning over the people, Arthur had completely restored the castle and had overhauled the castle grounds to turn them into the beautiful gardens that they were today.
He felt that taking such care of things would restore the will and the confidence of the people. And I had to agree. It had certainly accomplished that. Of course, having a group of strong, well-trained knights on his side hadn’t hurt, either.
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Pausing briefly, Guinevere bent to pick a dark red rose. She was partial to them and had requested many of them planted around the palace grounds. Pricking her finger on a thorn, she stuck it in her mouth and sucked on it.
"You know what they say," I reminded her wryly. "Every rose has a—"
"Shut it," she growled playfully. "I might need stitches."
I rolled my eyes. As I did, I thought I saw something move behind me. Turning, there was nothing there. There was only a striped tabby cat from the stables batting a pebble across the path. She chased the tiny stone into the brambles and disappeared.
"What?" Guinevere asked, concern wrinkling her forehead.
"Nothing," I answered. "I thought something was behind us, but it was only a cat."
"Silly girl," she grinned. "Let us ride."
I understood her need to get away from here just for a bit and try to forget what we were facing, so I nodded and we quickly continued to the stables. The old toothless groomsman, Reagan, greeted us. His wiry gray hair stuck out of in tufts beneath his felt hat, making him look slightly deranged. He was a gentle soul, though, and would never hurt a fly.
"Reagan, we wish to have a ride on this beautiful day," Guinevere announced, passing him to stand at the door of her mare’s stable. Her horse, Flower, tossed her head as Guinevere stroked her nose. "We shall need our horses saddled."
"Of course, my lady," he bowed quickly, abandoning a saddle that he was oiling in order to saddle our mounts. My own mare, Celine, was a soft buckskin who had just a little more spirit than the average woman would normally care for. I personally preferred it. A horse that was too docile was just plain boring.
We waited while he readied our mares, watching Arthur’s black charger paw at the floor in his stall and the barn cats hunt for mice, all the while enjoying the freshly-cut hay smell that surrounded us. The scent, combined with saddle oil, was distinctive to this stable and like scents often do, it triggered memories.
I had spent many stolen hours hidden in the hayloft above us with Lucan. The window upstairs swung open and flooded the loft with sunshine, all while providing a nice private alcove for a pair of lovers. My chest twinged as I remembered those carefree days. I briefly wondered if I would ever be carefree again, but Reagan interrupted my self-pitying thoughts.
"My ladies, your mounts are full of vim and vinegar today," he warned us as he handed us the reins. "They need a good, hard ride. Should I call for escorts?"
Guinevere shook her head. "We won’t go far," she assured him. "We just need some fresh air and a good run. We’ll be back shortly."
"My lady, are you certain? The King said never to allow you to leave without protection…" Reagan worried, but trailed off when he noticed Guinevere’s face. "I’m Courtney Cole 35
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sorry, my lady," he hastened to add. "I do not mean to second guess you. I will see you when you return."