CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
-GUIN-
The gown was the color of a very ripe plum, and, of course, I was beyond surprised when it was delivered to my room, courtesy of the king.
According to the servant who brought it, the king had an announcement to make, and all the court was meant to be present and dressed for the occasion.
This was the first time I found myself included in that echelon, and that was almost as perplexing as the appearance of the gown itself.
As for the gift from the king, it was made of heavy silk that pooled on the floor when I stood, embroidered at the cuffs and collar with silver thread that had been worked into the shape of waves.
Not only had the servant come to drop off the gown, but apparently she was also meant to dress my hair.
So, now I sat on my bed, not only surrounded by borrowed luxury but also wearing it as she pulled my hair back from my face in a style I’d never worn before, pinning it and braiding it with more of that silver thread.
I looked at myself in the small polished disk of metal that served as a mirror and didn’t recognize my reflection.
That was, I had come to understand, rather the point.
When my hair was finished and I was deemed presentable enough, the guards escorted me to the Great Hall, which I found was completely full.
This wasn’t the sparse, functional population of an ordinary morning with knights, stewards, and the occasional bored courtier.
Today the hall had been packed with every provincial governor with a residence in Camelot, every noble house with enough rank to demand a place near the dais.
Ladies wore their heaviest brocade and the men their finest wool and polished mail.
The banners of every house in Logres hung from the rafters, so many that the ceiling had become a tapestry of competing colors.
But there was no mirth in their expressions.
Instead, there was a definite absence of mirth, and in its place was fear and concern.
As far as I could tell, no one had been made aware of just what the king was planning, and owing to the recent news of the beast that lived within him, I couldn’t blame everyone for their suspicious glances and for the fact that they were clearly watching every word they said.
I walked into the hall, and heads turned as eyes moved over me and then moved to each other, a silent conversation conducted in raised brows and pressed lips. Clearly, they were as surprised to see the prisoner resplendent in velvet finery as the prisoner herself.
I kept my chin level. Merlin had taught me that much.
Arthur stood at the far end of the hall on the raised dais, flanked by Mordred on his left and an empty space on his right, where Lance usually stood, and I was suddenly beyond concerned for Lance all over again.
But that was something I couldn’t concentrate on at the moment because there was too much going on around me that didn’t make any sense.
Arthur was in his full king’s regalia, wearing his crown and his ermine-lined velvet cape.
The deep crimson and gold of Camelot’s colors made him look like something that had been hammered from a forge.
His beard was neat, and his expression seemed celebratory in another mystery that not only made little sense to me but to everyone else assembled in the room.
Arthur stood stock straight with his shoulders pulled back. Every line of him was arranged into the appearance of a man who understood that a king performing kingship was performing power itself.
I hadn’t yet seen Isolde, but I soon spotted her once I was halfway across the floor.
She was standing amidst her ladies along the right-hand wall.
And, as always, she was beautifully arrayed in pale blue silk, her dark red hair held up with pearls.
She appeared well-composed, but also wary.
I could only wonder what she thought about Arthur’s dragon, but by the expression she was wearing now, one might think she’d never been notified that a beast dwelled within the king.
Mordred watched me cross the floor with his usual expression, which was to say no expression at all. I’d learned to find his blankness more unsettling than any open hostility ever could have been. At least open hostility told you what direction the blow was coming from.
Arthur looked at me once as I entered the room, and then he looked away as if he was completely unimpressed with me.
I felt my eyes narrow of their own accord as one of the guards positioned me to the side of the dais.
That placement meant something, but I couldn’t decode what that something was before Arthur raised one hand and the hall went quiet.
“My lords and ladies,” he called out. “Knights of the Round Table, governors of the realm. I have called this assembly to announce a matter of consequence to the crown of Logres.”
His voice carried to every corner of the room without apparent effort.
I’d decided months ago, when I was Lioran, that this was a skill he’d been born with.
In the same way some men were born with a talent for music or mathematics, Arthur Pendragon had been born knowing how to command a room.
“The stability of the realm requires more than swords,” he continued. “It requires alliances. It requires the consolidation of power in ways that outlast any single reign. A king who does not build beyond himself builds nothing.”
It was diplomatic language, but it still didn’t solve the mystery of what we were all doing here, dressed in our finest. Regardless, he delivered this information in the formal cadence of a decree, not a conversation.
I kept my face still and watched the assembled court watch him as I wondered at the thoughts that must have been going through their heads.
Only a week or so prior, they’d learned he harbored a dragon that could damn the entire kingdom, and now this.
If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought he was in the process of losing his mind.
“Logres has long existed in a state of fragile balance between the mortal crown and the magical lineages that preceded it. That balance has—” There was a brief pause that was very calculated.
“—deteriorated. The forces gathering beyond our borders are not merely political any longer. They are elemental. And a crown that cannot meet elemental power with elemental power is a crown that falls.”
Whispers moved through the crowd like wind through grain as everyone tried to decipher what in hell he was talking about. I saw knights exchange glances, and I was suddenly aware of Galahad’s absence. I had no idea whether he was even still alive.
“Therefore,” Arthur continued, “I have determined that the crown must bind itself to one of the most significant lineages still remaining in Logres. Not as a concession, but as a strategy. The dragon does not negotiate from weakness. Neither do I.”
It was the first time he’d mentioned the dragon, and he did so in such a casual manner that, in and of itself, was shocking.
“And when I say the crown must bind itself,” Arthur continued, “I mean by way of marriage.”
And that was when my stomach dropped all the way to my toes, and I suddenly felt ill.
Because everything suddenly began to fall into place, piece by piece.
Now I understood why he’d demanded that everyone appear in their finest, and it was the same reason Isolde hadn’t returned to her home after the dragon reveal.
Because the king was announcing his engagement to her!
And that was shocking to say the least, especially considering she had to have known about the dragon?
Then did that mean she was undisturbed by this truth?
Or had Arthur somehow forced this engagement on her?
When I looked at her now, I saw a woman who was smiling at all who turned to look at her, even if that smile appeared a bit... hesitant.
Even though I’d known this moment was coming, even though the warnings had been there in every outing they’d spent together—every walk, every horse ride, and every smile—seeing the truth displayed so boldly in front of me still pained me in a way I couldn’t fully comprehend.
Arthur was my enemy and always had been.
What was more, I was fairly sure I hated him (sometimes that hate had a way of blending with my intense desire for him).
Even so, it made no sense that my stomach was currently performing somersaults.
You knew this was coming! I yelled at myself, even as I began to line up the facts and realized that, yes, this moment had been spelled out from the very moment Isolde had arrived in Camelot.
Not only that, but it made natural sense that Arthur would choose her.
Her lineage was old, recognized, legitimate, and documented in every record house in the kingdom.
But that was just her suitability on paper.
Whatever existed between them extended far beyond that.
What was more, I couldn’t find it within myself to dislike her.
She was entirely likable and she was a good woman.
My stomach did something complicated, and I pressed it flat. I would not allow myself to feel anything.
Then, in an attempt to school my wayward thoughts, I thought about what this meant for her: to be traded like property.
I’d watched enough of their interactions to know she felt something deeply for Arthur, and he obviously returned those feelings.
Yet, the way he’d framed their engagement had sounded so cold, so obtuse.
Furthermore, to have their engagement announced over her head like a verdict...
My sympathy for Isolde was genuine, and it sat poorly beside the other thing I didn’t want to even recognize: my own jealousy.
“The match I have chosen to take as my wife,” Arthur continued, “brings into the royal house a lineage that built the foundations of this kingdom long before any mortal king drew breath.”
He took a breath and nodded. “I announce my betrothal to Guinevere of Annwyn,” he continued, his lips breaking into a smile.
“Daughter of Merlin, who will be Queen of Logres.”
It was the second time that my stomach bottomed out, and this time I felt as if I might keel over and retch right here and now.
If Arthur had walked up to me and backhanded me across the face, I would not have been more blindsided.