The King’s Maiden (Camelot Court #1)

Prologue

I thought it was a joke.

Twenty-five thousand dollars to let some entitled, rich guy boss me around for a month?

Most days, I did that shit for free and called it being female. But rumor had it, a secret society on campus wanted to pay me for their privilege.

Sign. Me. Up.

“All you have to do is apply, Quinn,” my best friend explained. “Make it through a month with the guy who picks you, and you walk away with the prize money.”

From where I’d planted my head face down on the library table, I craned my neck to stare at her. Gia ignored the quirk of my eyebrow, or what she called my Resting Skeptic Face, and slid a scrap of paper toward me.

Bearing a QR code over our college’s insignia, it looked like every other flier scattered around D’Arthur University. Except, where most fliers had text with the name of an event or location for a party, this one contained no other information.

“Gia, for all you know, this is a virus. Or hacking software so some creepy guy on the Internet can get into your phone and steal all your nudes.”

“I’m not ashamed of my body.” She flipped her honey-blonde hair off her shoulder, trying to lift my mood. “And besides, a girl pulled it up after class and showed it to me. It’s legit, I swear.”

I eyed the dubious slip of paper again.

Two of my classmates had been gossiping about something like this. While they’d swapped plans for Spring Break, one asked about summer. I’d caught words like secret society and annual competition before tuning them out.

I needed a job when spring semester ended, not the fantasy plot line for a reality TV show.

Gia’s hazel eyes, and her eternal optimism, sparkled at me from across the table. “It’s called The Quest. Twenty-five thousand for the first thirty days and even more after that, if you keep going and win. Can you believe it?”

“I really can’t,” I deadpanned.

No, I knew all too well that life wasn’t a fairytale.

I’d learned that lesson as soon as my mom died picking up a cake for my twelfth birthday. The world didn’t run on sunshine and rainbows and good things didn’t happen to good people.

That old saying, “when life hands you lemons, make lemonade”? My dad had always loved it. Especially after Mom died, he pulled that bad boy out whenever he needed to turn his mood around.

Or, more often, mine.

And even though I thought it was ridiculous, he’d been fucking great at making lemonade.

But then, life took him from me, too.

Applying that optimistic lease on life by myself grew harder.

Under the constant barrage of lemons life seemed keen on handing me, where did one find the time to stop, squeeze out, and sweeten a batch?

I became more of a roll-with-the-punches-as-the-hits-keep-on-coming type of girl, instead.

While struggling to finish my dance program, battling asthma, and drowning in debt, I didn’t expect some Knight in Shining Armor, or his frat bros, to swoop in and save me.

So, I chalked the classroom chatter up to just that—idle gossip.

But Gia swore otherwise. “Now, I don’t know all the details, but there are a few challenges with different prizes. And the grand prize has, like, an obscene amount of cash tied to it. Allegedly, of course. No one knows for sure because the whole thing is locked up tighter than your dad’s life insurance policy.”

My eyebrows rose. “Impressive. But I thought that secret society thing was just a rumor?”

“Nope. It’s true. And get this…” Gia leaned across the table, grinning widely as she grabbed my hands. “They call themselves the Knights of Camelot Court.”

I shot her an exasperated look. “You’re totally fucking with me right now, aren’t you?”

To be fair, it made sense.

The school mascot at D’Arthur University was a Knight, and the aptly-named Camelot Court sat on the outskirts of our mountain town, Mosaic Falls. Separated from the rest of the school, the grounds were high-walled and ultra-private.

A by-product of snobbery, I’d always assumed.

But as a way to safeguard their delusional kingdom from the rest of the peasantly student body? A group of spoiled rich kids play-acting with a round table? And holding a medieval tournament?

I found all that hard to believe.

“Seriously, Gia. This sounds like a scam.”

“I swear, it’s not. Some of the guys are in one of my classes, and people really treat them like they’re campus royalty. They get away with murder, too. If they even show up for class.”

My eyes narrowed. “How the hell does that work?”

“Rich daddies.” Gia snorted. “They donate a ton of money to the school, so the dean won’t look too closely at what they do.”

“That sounds fair,” I muttered, dropping my head down again.

“Sounds like Corporate America. But the point is that these rich assholes have more money than they know what to do with, and every summer they hold The Quest.” She tapped the flier right by my cheek before pointing her finger at me. “The solution to all of your problems.”

As my best friend and roommate, Gia knew just how tight my cash flow got between semesters.

A vague competition put on by a secret society sounded like exactly the kind of romance novel storyline she’d buy into and try to sell me, too.

Normally, I humored her.

She liked her books the way she drank her coffee—steamy hot and dark as fuck. There was bound to be a crossover into her real life at some point. Plus, she was only trying to help me out.

But when said fantasy solution might end with my actual photo on a milk carton or my body strapped to a chair in a dark basement?

I had to draw the line.

I sat back up, swatting her hand away. “Yeah, a solution you’ve only given me vague details about. Like, I’d be stuck with some frat for a month. And I have to apply? That’s not the saving grace on a silver platter you seem to think it is, Gia.” I waved a hand over my general person. “I doubt I’m their type.”

“Their type?” Gia scoffed as she ticked attributes off on her fingers. “Female? Great tits? And a dancer’s ass? They’re twenty-one-year-old guys, Quinn Everly. You are exactly their type.”

She ignored my messy bun of brown hair and how I only applied mascara to one eye this morning. As if she hadn’t caught that the second I walked up to join her in the library.

“I meant the part where I’m broke and drowning in unpaid medical bills.” I gave her a pointed look before glancing down at my tits. “Aside from that, obviously, I see your point.”

She smirked, arching an eyebrow at me. “Well, they call themselves the Knights of Camelot Court, don’t they? I’m sure they get off on helping out damsels in distress like you.”

I threw my highlighter at her. “I am not a damsel in distress. The last thing I want is some guy swooping in, thinking he’s the answer to my problems. Not after what happened last time.”

Gia growled, her mama bear instincts resurfacing at the mention of my ex, but she quickly reined them in and refocused. “Look, from what I hear, it’s the daughters of the Camelot Society members, the frat’s alumni group or whatever, that get picked anyways. But they have to open up applications to all the students. So, what’s the harm in applying? At least you’ll have tried, right?”

“I guess…”

“That’s the spirit!” Gia brightened, earning a sharp shush from the librarian and ignoring it to stay on my case. “Plus, if you’re picked, I bet you get to party like it’s nineteen-oh-nine. Or whenever medieval times was?—”

“Twelve-oh-nine, then. But the legend is set around the fifth century. Roughly.” I put my hand out for my highlighter.

She held it just out of reach. “See. You’re perfect for this.”

“Yeah, and your take on all this seems way over-simplified, Gia. I still don’t buy it.”

“Alright, alright. Well, will you just think about it, at least?”

I promised her I would.

But, as usual, Gia had left out a few pertinent details.

She shared them the next day, confirming what I’d already guessed about The Quest.

Thirty days of being called a Maiden, fighting other girls for the favor of the King, and essentially belonging to one of the Knights?

That was exactly the kind of lemon life would throw at me.

It was preposterous. Antiquated. Barbaric. I hated to say it, but downright medieval.

I didn’t shout about it, but I considered myself a feminist. No way could I handle taking orders from some frat boy douche calling himself a Knight.

And an overlord of the douches calling himself King?

Spare me.

Plus, with my track record, I’d get picked by the one expecting me to call him My Lord.

Or worse, Master.

And I’d be punished for laughing in his face as soon as he ordered me to do it.

There was no way The Quest would work out in my favor. I’d made up my mind on it. I’d find another way out of the financial mess I’d gotten myself into.

Preferably, one that didn’t cost me my dignity.

That. Was. That.

But then, as my ill-fated luck would have it, I came face-to-face with the King.