Chapter Seven
“ I t is a surprise how quickly these nuptials have been planned,” Gawain commented from his place next to me as we watched Leodegrance’s servants decorate his great hall for what was amounting to the royal wedding of the ages.
The lad was busily tuning the strings of his lute which I swore was in his hands more often than the sword I had made him this past winter.
While Gawain was a commensurate swordsman, the wooden instrument would always be his first love—even as a maid fluttered her heavy gold lashes at the youth before hurrying away with a giggle and a sashay of her full hips.
“The king wants this done before we return to Camelot,” I reminded him, moving my knee so that the sword perched on it could be polished at a different angle.
In the five years since the loss of my right hand, simple tasks were still awkward at times and trying to polish a sword one-handed was one of the worst, but I wanted Excalibur to shine on Arthur’s hip when he took his marriage vows.
Whatever those vows may look like.
After Arthur left the clearing followed by Lancelot, Merlin had offered no more explanation for his explosive words other than: fate is fate.
He must have known how they sounded because after uttering them he shot us a sheepish smile before disappearing himself only to reappear a few days later looking decidedly less pallid than before.
My eyes found the wizard in question across the hall where he was listening to whatever Sir Lamorak was saying with disinterest. He seemed almost normal if not for the leg of a roasted pheasant that he was consuming at an alarming rate.
In fact, every single time I happened upon Merlin he was devouring some kind of food as if he could not get enough of it.
When Gawain had asked him about it the wizard had just muttered something about being stuck in a cave before wandering off. I supposed that after ten years without the comforts of the human world, I too would be craving such foods, so I did not hold it against his character even if it looked unmannered at times.
“It is sensible,” Gawain admitted as he twisted the nobs at the head of his lute before testing a few of the strings, his lips pulling into a smile when the correct note played for his well-trained ear. “Everyone is still here after all.”
Several of the tribal kings had changed their plans to head back to their territories after learning the wedding would take place with haste.
Every soul in the castle was eager to see the beautiful Princess Guinevere and handsome King Arthur wed, even if they were oblivious to the underlying portent of magic and fate that had brought her here in the first place.
For my part, I had yet to see the omega up close since that night in the forest. Despite Merlin’s words, I just could not bring myself to believe them.
The time for believing in having an omega of my own had long since passed, having been buried behind my forge at Castle Camelot right alongside my amputated hand.
Much of me had died the day a Saxon’s sword had made quick work of my hand, cutting it off at the wrist while it still gripped my blade, Guerin , tightly. The sword my own blacksmith father had made me was still attached to my hip, but I was no longer the warrior he had made it for.
No, there was no world in which an old alpha such as me would be offered an omega.
Let alone share one with my king.
Meanwhile even as Merlin’s words rang of the truth, I still struggled with the idea of sharing an omega with not one, but three other alphas. Alphas I considered my brothers in arms.
And my king. A fact I continued to remind myself of.
“Sir Bedivere?” Gawain’s voice cut through my internal reverie, making me jump and nearly slice the thumb of the hand that was polishing the sword on the edge of the gleaming blade.
“What?” I groused, shooting the younger man a glare. He knew better than to distract me when I was working. I only had so many fingers left to work with and I did not need to slice them off in a fit of distraction.
“I believe that if Excalibur shines any more we will be fraught with trying to find the difference between it and the sun,” he told me, nodding seriously at the gleaming blade.
I stopped the movement of my hand, examining the scrawling script that a blademaker who had lived long before I had etched into the metal.
To be even able to touch the blade of the king was a privilege in and of itself. Even the skills that my father had taught me before my becoming a knight paled in comparison with the faceless smithy who had crafted it.
“And I believe you are right,” I said with a stout nod, my ears catching the sound of approaching voices.
“Once you and Princess Guinevere marry at the shores of the lake, then you will lead the processional into the great hall,” Leodegrance’s castle steward, Lohegal, explained as he led Arthur and Leodegrance into the hall, gesturing at the pale wildflowers that adorned the tall stone columns.
“I see,” Arthur murmured, his gaze faraway as he stared up at them.
When he informed us that he would be going through with the marriage, my king’s expression had been odd. It was a mixture of reluctance and anticipation, making it hard to read how he was truly feeling about the nuptials and his future bride.
“And the feast will be roast pheasant,” the steward continued despite the king’s clear detachment from the topic at hand.
“Guinevere cannot abide by fish,” Leodegrance hurried to say, a happy smile on the older man’s face. “Her mother also could not stand to be in the same room as a trout and would run screaming whenever my mother insisted on having her favorite meal—eel and pickled cabbage.”
King Leodegrance had long been famous for his love for his first and only wife who, I had been told, died when Guinevere was but five years of age.
Prior to her appearance in our time, Leodegrance had just been an old bachelor, ready to let his brother Cador’s son, Erecus, inherit the throne of Carmeliad.
Now the kingdom would become a part of Camelot’s territory upon Leodegrance’s death, giving the entirety of the vast lakeland to Arthur.
When I was a lad, magic had been a thing of stories told ‘round the fire on a cold night. But as soon as Merlin, small and scrawny, had walked from the mists and introduced himself to Arthur all of those years ago it was like magic had returned to the land of Logres in droves.
The air buzzed with it on the night of the full moon and it had only grown since Merlin’s return. It was as if the land was welcoming him home.
Arthur’s gaze turned from the rafters of the great hall and found where we were sitting, then he jerked his head to the side in a silent request for us to join him.
“Come,” I told Gawain, gripping Excalibur in my hand as I crossed the busy hall to him, dodging the tray-laden servants until we reached the small group.
Holding out Excalibur , I waited for him to take it before giving him a swift bow that I felt Gawain mimic at my side.
“Looks good,” Arthur complimented gruffly as he examined the blade. After nearly fifteen years as king he was finally able to put on the mask in public. We had been practically raised together, but just like Sir Kay, his foster-brother, we were still his knights and he was still our lord and in public spaces such as this that was all we were. “Bedivere, Gawain, take a turn around the grounds with me.”
Leodegrance and his steward moved away to continue their plans, giving us as much privacy as we could manage in a castle that was not our own.
To my surprise, Lancelot was waiting outside for us, leaning against the wide stone doorway that led out into the expansive castle grounds. To no one’s surprise, he was still wearing his typically grave expression.
While I hadn’t seen much of the strange omega princess who had appeared out of thin air, I had seen even less than Arthur’s right hand. The man had made his presence scarce—most likely in an attempt to avoid his father’s machinations.
It was no secret that King Ban desired Arthur’s throne, even if the only path to it was through his young daughter.
“Look, Bedivere,” Gawain said, giving my sleeve a cheeky tug. “It seems as if this castle’s specter has finally come out—and during midday no less! We must shield him before the sun withers him away completely!”
Lancelot, as always, was not amused by Gawain’s antics.
“I called on him,” Arthur told us, giving Lancelot a nod before he started off on the gravel path that lined the grounds, stopping just before the dense forest.
On the south side of the grounds, the lake that Carmeliad shared with Camelot glittered in the sunlight. Lohegal had been right. The lake would be the perfect backdrop for Arthur’s nuptials. Bards would be writing songs about their wedding for years to come—the king of kings and his blushing bride—without any inkling of what had occurred behind it all, including the meddling of gods.
“The wedding will take place in two days,” Arthur finally began after we’d walked in silence for what seemed like forever. “We will return to Camelot the day after. I received a message from Kay and Andrivete this morning, the Saxons have been moving in the hills and I worry they will try to attack one of the villages in the glens surrounding Camelot.”
“They would be foolish to attempt that knowing you are not far,” I murmured, mostly to myself. News of Arthur’s bridal competition had already spread far and there would be no doubt that, by the end of the fortnight, all of Logres would know that he had taken a bride and who that bride was.
That made Princess Guinevere a target, a fact that made my long-dormant alpha instincts revolt in a protective horror.
“I can ride back to Camelot immediately,” Lancelot offered and it was clear that he was itching for a chance to leave the castle as quickly as possible, but Arthur shook his head before he could finish.
“No, I need you to remain here as the princess’ bodyguard.”
“Me?” Lancelot asked incredulously, glancing over at me as if I could step in between him and the command.
“Yes,” Arthur told him, though he looked reluctant to say it at all. “You and Bedivere.”
Surprise filled me with his words. “What protection could I provide the princess?”
“None,” Arthur said, pausing as I flinched away from the brutality of his honesty, “but only you can help prepare her for the role she must take. She needs an advisor—and if Merlin has his way she will need you more than that.”
“Are you just going to allow the wizard to rule your life, your majesty?” Lancelot asked incredulously, his dark brows drawing together with confusion as he dropped all pretenses of his dislike for his place in this situation.
Arthur leveled his icy gaze in the other alpha’s direction. “I have been having dreams again.”
That made us all pause.
All of us but Gawain.
“Dreams?” Gawain asked, being the only one not privy to this long-kept secret. “What sorts of dreams?”
Lancelot did not seem as if he was going to answer the younger knight’s question, leaving it to me as always to bridge the gap for him. “Our king sometimes has… prophetic dreams.”
“Like Merlin does?”
Arthur shook his head. “No, Merlin is shown what he knows by the gods. Mine are much more… jagged. I have only had these dreams a few times in my life.”
I still remembered the first time he’d woken up in a fright—a young king of ten and eight—he’d called for myself and Merlin and no one else and yet still refused to tell us what had shaken him so visibly.
The next month, the little hamlet that Sir Ector had retired to with his omega, Lady Anne, had been attacked by a rogue alpha.
Both had been brutally slain in what we could only surmise was a territorial dispute over Ector’s beloved wife. Both Arthur and Sir Kay had warned their parents that living so far out on their own was dangerous, but Ector had sworn that he could protect his wife as he’d done for the near twenty years that they had been bonded.
Only after that had occurred did Arthur tell us he had seen it in a cracked, misshapen dream. He couldn’t tell us much more than that he had seen a shadow killing his foster father and mother and that they bore the symbol of the Saxons who, up until that point, had been a distant threat from the mainland.
From there, I could count on the only hand I still possessed how many more of these dreams Arthur had been given and none of them had been good.
Such as the night before I lost my hand and nearly also lost my life. Arthur had dreamed of my death and tried to prevent it only for me to lose my hand and end my life as a knight instead.
Some would have argued that my life had ended that day regardless of Arthur’s interference.
In the five years since, I had busied myself with relearning how to forge weapons—to make myself useful in some way even if I was no longer a warrior like Lancelot or even Gawain.
“What happened in these dreams, Arthur?” I asked, my insides seeming to tighten with anticipation.
“You were in it with me,” he told me solemnly before turning to Gawain and Lancelot, “As were the both of you.”
Then the sound of feminine laughter filled the courtyard, interrupting Arthur before he could elaborate on his dream, and we saw Guinevere exit the castle doors surrounded by her maids.
It seemed as if the omega out of time had grown used to castle life as she chatted and giggled with the women around her until her brown-eyed gaze reached our group from across the grass.
Her laughter abruptly cut off as Arthur spoke again. “She was in it too.”
His words were soft, almost reverent as he watched Guinevere turn away and hurry back into the castle, her maids in a flurry around her so she wouldn’t trip on the skirts of her dress in her haste.
“That does not mean we were all in her bed,” Lancelot spat as if the very idea of it was distasteful.
One of Arthur’s golden-red brows lifted in surprise at the vehemence in Lancelot’s words. “In my dream, you were the most fervent in your courtship of Princess Guinevere—though by that point she wore the crown of Camelot across her brow.”
“Impossible,” Lancelot scoffed in reply, though I could see his eyes twitching to the empty space she’d just occupied. “A king does not share his queen, an alpha does not share his omega. It goes against the very nature of things.”
“Even if the gods decree it as so?” I asked, my voice loud enough to make the other three men jump.
Arthur slanted a glance over at me, trying to measure my expression and his lips turning into a frown when he failed. We had known each other for nearly two decades and the king still had trouble trying to pick apart my inner thoughts by just a mere glance.
“Then what say you about all of this, Bedivere?” he asked outright, finally giving in.
I thought about it for a moment, choosing my words carefully. “I think that there are forces at work bigger than any of us—even you, my king,” I finally told him honestly.
Gawain snorted and rolled his blue eyes. “You dance around the answer as if it has nothing to do with you.”
He was partly right. I did not think any of this had to do with me. The gods had made mistakes before—hells there were entire ballads about the folly of the gods in the heavens creating chaos for their subjects below just because they had grown weary of the monotony of immortal life.
Who was to say that the gods weren’t doing this out of some desire to see the kingdom in turmoil when their beloved king went against the grain of what was acceptable and created a pack as Merlin had called it.
I had no place in a pack such as that with three able-bodied alphas protecting an omega.
All I was good for at this juncture in my life was the wisdom I possessed after many years and my ability to polish a sword until it shone.
“And what of you, Gawain? Would you bed the king’s wife?” I snapped, irritated by the younger man’s inability to let me evade the question.
“Watch your tongue,” Arthur’s words were a warning, but he still looked to Gawain. “What would you do?”
Gawain’s face paled and he reached up to tug on one of the blond curls on his head, pulling it down before letting it spring back up as he contemplated his answer carefully.
“I took an oath to serve you, my king,” he said slowly. “And I would never do anything to break that oath… but may I ask you a question?”
Arthur nodded his head in acquiescence.
“Do you fancy her? The princess, I mean?”
Arthur blinked, clearly surprised by Gawain’s forthrightness which had always been, in my opinion, one of his best qualities.
“I hardly know her,” Arthur finally answered, his gaze far away. “But if my dream is to be believed, young Gawain, then soon enough we will all fancy the strange omega so far out of time.”
“I will not,” Lancelot said, the gravel under his boot crunching as he turned and walked away at a steady clip.
“Walking away from the king without permission is not advised,” I called out to him only for the alpha to throw up a hand in response.
“Then have me run laps until I collapse for all I care, Bedivere,” he called over his shoulder.
After a few beats Gawain, ever the one to dislike a long drawn out silence, finally spoke up again. “Heavens, why would the gods pick someone as stubborn as Lancelot to be a part of our pack?”
Arthur’s lips ghosted upwards at the younger alpha’s earnest statement before his stern expression was back once more. “We are not a pack yet, young pup.”
Gawain flinched and opened his mouth to apologize to Arthur who just held a staying hand up.
“Be at peace, I was not scolding you. I am only stating it because I have yet to wed my bride. Shall we get through the wedding first before deciding how this… ill-gotten pack is to be?”
With that Arthur left to go and complete preparations, leaving Gawain and myself still standing at the edge of the forest.
Gawain let out a long-held breath and pressed a hand to his chest. “I fear that all of this is going to send me to an early grave, Bedivere. My heart is already weary beyond measure and it has been but a few days!”
Despite Gawain being long past the time for such things, I reached up to give his hair an affectionate ruffle.
“All will be well, pup,” I told him despite my own uncertainties as we took the long path back to the castle. “Now let us head back so you can finish tuning that lute of yours. It sounded off earlier.”
Gawain’s blue eyes widened. There was nothing more terrifying to the young knight than an off-tune musical instrument. I had watched him face down an entire group of Saxon warriors without so much as breaking a nervous sweat, but just the thought of his lute being out of tune?
The man was quaking in his boots.
“It did not sound off!” the other alpha protested as he hurried to catch up with my longer strides.
“It did, I swear it did. You know my ma used to play the lute…” I told him as we walked together, me regaling him with tales of a time long past as I tried to get his mind off of what was fast becoming our very uncertain future.