Chapter Nineteen
“ C astle Camelot is in the distance!” one of my men called as the rest of us took up a chorus of cheers at the gleaming sight of our home in the late evening light.
I kicked Llamrei into a gallop, my soul burning with the need to return to my home and the omega that I could now feel on the edges of our shared bond.
The past few days had not gone to plan by any means of the word—the number of Saxons filling the countryside was concerning as were the burned out villages nearly every step of the way back to Camelot.
It almost looked as if they were creating a path right up to the walls of my castle and the village surrounding it and such things did not sit well in my chest.
They were sending a warning.
It was their twisted way of telling me that they could attack my kingdom and my people whenever they wished and spread their Saxon scourge throughout the rest of Logres whenever they so pleased.
Merlin, who still seemed as weak as a lamb, had supported my men as best as he could, but we were still returning with less men than we had left with weeks ago when I set out on what had seemed to be a fruitless journey to the quorum of kings.
As my horse drew closer to the village surrounding Camelot, I felt awareness tingle along the bond that I shared with Guinevere.
Mine, mine, mine, mine, my inner-alpha rumbled, awakening from the slumber that I had forced it into during the many skirmishes over the past few days.
The brute strength my inner alpha offered me was both a benefit and a detriment—benefit as it allowed me to raze through Saxons as easily as breathing, but also a detriment because the alpha rage that came with it often tunneled my vision and made me reckless.
If I was just a knight that would be of no consequence—it would actually make me a deadlier fighter—however I was not just a knight. I was a king and kings were meant to keep a level head, so the alpha rage was to be kept at bay.
That same logic was escaping me completely now, though, as I clicked my tongue and hurried Llamrei faster, spurred on by my need to see her again.
My surroundings became a blur after that and soon enough Llamrei was skidding to a stop in front of the drawbridge which was just barely starting to lower.
“The king is back!”
Those were the first words I heard as the crowd of people awaiting me in the courtyard began to cheer.
“Where are the rest of the men?” someone asked as I entered the courtyard where Kay was awaiting our arrival.
“I was wondering if those Saxons had finally taken you out,” Kay greeted me with an uproarious laugh as one of the squires who lived in the castle hurried to bring the mounting block to help me get down.
Normally, I would have completely refused to use such things, whether by foolish pride or to show that I was an able-bodied king, but at the moment every bit of my body felt as if it had been run over by wild horses and then lit on fire for good measure.
“Not this time, Brother,” I told him tiredly as my feet finally met the ground and my knees nearly gave out. “Though I am certain I have brought worse home with me than some mere Saxons from the battlefield.”
Kay’s grin dropped, his red brows drawing together in confusion, but before he was able to ask me what my words meant, a blur of an omega was throwing herself into my arms.
“You’re here!” Guinevere gasped, seemingly oblivious to my groan of pain as her arms wrapped around my middle.
Despite our last meeting ending in an argument, relief flowed through me like a river as I cradled the omega and inhaled her scent deeply. She smelled of sweet honeysuckle and like the mineral baths from inside of the castle it was clear she had run straight from one as her dark hair was still wet as she pressed her forehead into my chest.
I let myself remain still for a moment as the previously darkened bond seemed to snap back into place again just as strong as it had been the night I put it on her neck. Our shared relief was palpable, which cheered me as it meant that we had felt the same way during our few days apart.
“Your hair is wet,” I murmured, running a hand along the back of her head. “You will catch your death.”
“And you’re hurt, so I guess we’ll both just have to perish,” Guinevere shot back, looking up at me for the first time since she had flown into my arms. She must have also felt the ache of pain I was feeling through our shared bond.
There was an uncertainty in her features that told me that she did not know what to do or to think. We were husband and wife, but I could count on one hand the number of times we had been alone together.
Even still, my inner-alpha was content now that our omega was back in our arms and she seemed unharmed, for now that would be enough.
The sound of approaching horses filled my ears as the rest of my men caught up with me and the surrounding people in the courtyard, reminding me that I was not truly alone with Guinevere at this moment and I could not pull her into a kiss as I so desired to do.
“Neither of us will perish today, little queen,” I said as I released her from my arms and instead brought her to my side to greet the men and the impromptu guests they were bringing along with them. “I wish I could just take you inside and ravish you, but I am afraid we will be playing hosts to some… less than enthused guests that we found on our way here.”
Guinevere’s brown eyes shot to my face, confusion rippling down the bond as the rumble of hooves on wood echoed off of the high walls of the courtyard.
Merlin, leading the way, rode in on his mare, looking more haggard than he had this morning because he used what little magic he possessed to cover our trail from the Saxons.
“My king,” he greeted me as he slid off of his horse and nearly crumpled into the dirt, only his grip on the pommel of his saddle kept him upright as he turned to Guinevere. “My queen.”
“Did our guests make it safely into Camelot?” I asked, my voice laced with false-politeness.
Merlin grimaced visibly. “Yes, fortunately they are bringing up the rear.”
The wizard muttered something under his breath and I did not need to ask him to speak up to know what it was.
These guests had been making themselves far too comfortable over the past few days and I was quite at the end of my rope with them. I half-wished that we had just left their caravan to be attacked by Saxons the night our group had split off from Guinevere’s.
But then I would have a dead half-sister and nephew and my conscience could not bear that… no matter how irritating they were to travel with.
“I simply cannot abide being on this horse any longer,” Morgana’s shrill voice pierced the air as she led what looked like her own processional into the courtyard, flying her husband, King Lot’s, banners.
I did not like seeing so much green in the walls of my castle—King Lot was my least favorite of the tribal kings with his only redeeming characteristic being that he produced sons that were far more honorable and brave than he ever could be and now he was foisting his wife upon me while he went to his territory to gather reinforcements to protect said wife and son for their journey home.
Mordred, on the smaller horse next to his mother, was a sullen, dark haired boy of ten and four who looked as if he would have rather been anywhere else than being dragged around by his overbearing mother.
“Get me down,” Morgana snapped at one of my men as she wiggled her fingers demandingly. Once her feet were firmly on the ground she straightened her rumpled skirts and put the never-changing regal mask she was famed for on her pinched features. “Arthur, must you have ridden ahead like that? I thought we could enter together seeing as we are kin…”
She trailed off, her eyes moving from me to the omega tucked under my arm. “Ah, my new sister! I have longed to see you again and I feel so blessed to be able to see you so soon after your marriage.”
Guinevere stiffened her eyes flicking up to mine as indignation filled her end of the bond.
It did not take a scholar to understand the omega’s emotions, hells, I was feeling similarly.
And so did my people, it seemed, because Morgana’s flippant use of the word sister was ruffling their feathers as they turned to whisper to each other about the disrespect.
Morgana’s gaze moved over them and chilled, seeming to silence them in an instant as she returned her sights to my omega. “It also seems you have forgotten your footwear, how astonishingly darling of you.”
Her tone was sharp and there could be no mistaking the hostility within it.
When I was a much younger king I had relied on Morgana’s counsel as I was just grateful to meet someone who was related by blood to me. I had done so against not only Merlin’s advice, but also the advice of Sir Ector and Bedivere.
I was only a young king of ten and seven when I allowed for goods from a still-fledgling Camelot to be traded with Lothian for seedlings that would never sprout. That had been one of my hardest lessons to learn and it had also been one of the hardest winters we had ever experienced.
Morgana was kept at an arm’s length after that and it seemed she was now choosing to forget that, as my queen, Guinevere outranked her within the walls of my castle.
Even if she was not wearing shoes.
I glanced down at my omega’s feet which were, indeed, standing on the bare gravel, one adorably resting atop of the other as she glared at the woman despite her state of undress.
“Bare feet or no, Morgana,” I said, returning the favor of her disrespect, “Guinevere is still a queen on par with you—and the queen of my people.”
“Yeah!” Guinevere chimed in, her voice full of a blazing anger that vibrated down our shared bond. “So suck it!”
Overhead the previously golden evening began to darken as clouds gathered and rain began to fall overhead.
“Rain?” one of my people said as they held a hand out to catch the water coming from the sky. “But there was not a cloud in the sky all day!”
“Mama?” Another, much smaller voice asked, “What does ‘suck it’ mean?”
“I do not know, pet, perhaps it is common in Cameliard.”
“Are all of the people from there so strange?”
“Hush,” the woman chastised.
I hardly paid any attention to them, though, as I continued to stare my half-sister down.
Morgana’s pale cheeks flushed with anger as her purple eyes flashed with an unholy glow as she glared at my wife before frowning, seemingly perturbed as she finally gave in and slanted her head in a half-acknowledgement.
“Your majesty, it is a pleasure to meet you again, thank you for so graciously welcoming us into your home after our group was so brutally attacked by the savage Saxons.”
Guinevere snorted softly before inclining her head in return. “It is nice to see you again as well, though I hope you and your son are able to return to your home safely soon. I know you must feel much more comfortable there.”
I was surprised at Guinevere’s ability to trade barbs with Morgana who had been famous for her silver tongue long before she became the queen of Lothian.
The rain began to grow heavier and with it my exhaustion seemed to press into my shoulders, reminding me that I had hardly slept in the past few days and I was liable to drop if I did not return to my bedchambers and soon.
Slipping my arm down Guinevere’s back, I hugged her to me and lifted her off of her bare feet.
“Hey!” she squeaked, her hands gripping my shoulders as I turned on my heel, trying to ignore just how the motion was pulling at the wound on my side.
I ignored her protests and looked to my foster-brother, the only sibling I truly recognized. “Sir Kay, make sure our guests have a room in the eastern wing and that they are fed. I expect a report on the happenings from while I was away in the morning.”
“Yes, your majesty,” Kay called from behind me and I could hear the barely concealed laughter in his voice.
The eastern wing was the draftiest part of the castle that we still had yet to do any real work on. Morgana and her family would not be comfortable there and I hoped it would send the message that they were to leave as soon as possible.
While I spoke to Kay, Guinevere’s protests had gone quiet and she was holding herself completely still in my arms.
“You’re hurt. You shouldn’t be carrying me anywhere when you are hurt,” she told me, her voice tinged with a pout that made me have to turn my face away in order to smile in a way that she would not see. Though, it was doubtless that she would be able to feel my satisfaction through our bond.
“And you do not have any shoes on your feet, little queen,” I told her calmly. “It almost feels as if you wished for me to carry you back into my castle in my arms and make love to you until the moon was high in the sky.”
There was a flash of heat and longing down the bond but it was quickly replaced with concern and that familiar sense of indignation.
“You will be doing no such thing tonight. You look as if you’ve been run over by a bus and don’t think I can’t feel how much pain you’re in because you’re carrying me.”
“What is a bus?” I asked, curious as we passed by several people in the halls.
Andrivete, followed by what looked like half of her gaggle of children, appeared from around the corner, her typically neutral expression remaining the same in spite of the sight before her.
“Your majesty,” she said, dipping into a low curtsey that was awkwardly mimicked by her wily brood. “Welcome home, there is a warm dinner in your chambers for you and her majesty along with some hot water from the springs. If you would like, I will clear out the baths so that you may wash in peace.”
“No,” I told her firmly. “I will bathe in the morning and just wash with a cloth tonight. Please send Merlin to me as soon as he has recovered enough to walk.”
Andrivete nodded before hurrying past us, her children waving at me with bright grins as they followed behind her as ducklings would follow a mother duck.
“Aren’t you going to tell her you’re hurt?” Guinevere asked quietly as we continued our journey through the castle.
“I am not,” I answered with a shake of my head as the doors to my chambers finally came into blessed view.
There was a pause before Guinevere’s full lips formed an unhappy line. “Why?”
“Are you going to question me about every little thing tonight, Wife?”
My question came out in a low growl that would have sent half of my staff running out of sight, but instead Guinevere just rolled her eyes and scrunched her little nose at me.
“Yes I am. Is it not a wife’s right to question her husband?”
I could not argue with such logic and instead chose to tug on the ring of one of the doors and pull it open, grunting as my wound throbbed from the movement. “I chose not to tell her I am injured because it would send the entire castle into a frenzy and I frown deeply upon frenzies. As such, I keep healing supplies in my chambers so that I need not worry my people.”
“That’s stupid,” Guinevere told me bluntly as she began to squirm in my arms. “We’re in our chambers now, so you can put me down before you bust a stitch or something.”
“I have not stitched my wound closed yet, little queen,” I replied, watching her eyes widen as they shifted to where my tunic was covering the wound in my side.
“Take it off,” she demanded, pointing at my clothing.
I grinned. “Are you so eager to get me into your nest again?”
“Don’t be stupid, I need to make sure your wound isn’t infected. You might not know what gangrene is but I can assure you it’s nasty,” Guinevere scoffed, unamused by my attempt to ply her into my bed in the way that I had craved since our first night together.
Though I did not know what gangrene was, I was hesitant to lift my shirt as I did not wish to upset my omega by showing her my wound which had gone untreated for nearly two days now.
“Merlin will take care of me when he arrives,” I said in an attempt to placate her.
But Guinevere would not be dissuaded, as I knew almost instinctively that she would not be. “I don’t care if the Pope himself is coming to heal you, Arthur, I want to see your wound. Now take your tunic off before I have to wrestle it off of you.”
One thing I was quickly learning about marriage was when not to argue with my wife and this was such a time.
With a sigh, I began to pull the embroidered tunic over my head. “As you wish, little queen, but do not blame me for showing you such a grisly sight,” I told her with a sigh of surrender.
Guinevere scoffed. “Please, I used to be addicted to medical TV serials, nothing you show me can be as bad as that.”