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  A wild roar rose as citizens cheered, assembled in semi-circular stands around an arena. “Long live the Queen of Camelot!” came the answer to Arthur’s toast.

  Arthur stood and cheered along with the civilians, clanking my glass, and the cups of nearby knights. His smile spread his face. His azure eyes lit with merriment. He never looked so alarmingly beautiful.

  I noticed Elibel emerge from the crowd, making her way toward our stand. She wore one of the dresses I had purchased for her at the merchant’s booth upon our arrival to Camelot, along with the matching silver necklace and circlet set, inlaid with carnelian and pearls that I had gifted her. The lacing up both sides of her torso accentuated her womanly curves, and the peachy color of the gown heightened the healthy glow of her skin. She looked breathtaking—a fairy goddess from another realm.

  Arthur’s line of sight fell directly upon her as she swayed toward us. His smile froze. His eyes remained stunned as he viewed her, and I realized that must be what I looked like when I stared at Lancelot.

  My cousin kept her gaze on me, though. She gestured toward her gown, and then nodded toward me—a thank you for the presents. I bobbed my head back in acknowledgement, and a tentative smile spread her lips.

  A boom resounded in the center of the arena, jangling my bones with its loudness. The crowd screamed, then cheered as Merlin appeared out of a whirl of white and black smoke. All eyes fell to the attention of the old druid.

  “And so ends King Arthur’s valiant quest for knights.”

  The crowd roared again.

  Arthur raised his goblet, yelling, “Here, here!”

  “How shall this mission end? Will the hound be able to protect his white hind?” Merlin’s gaze sought me out in the stands and settled upon me. A quiver ran up my spine as his stare leveled me. “Or will the questers conquer all and bring back the fair prize, so they can be smote by the mighty King Arthur and his sword Excalibur, and join our chivalrous knights at the Round Table?”

  Cheers sounded again as the crowd banged their fists against the wooden benches beneath them, calling for the questers fates to be revealed.

  A raven circled overhead, and I assumed the creature was none other than Morgaine as I caught a glimpse of green flashing as the black bird circled. Merlin glanced upwards, his face sagging into a scowl. The raven sent him a present—droppings—which splattered on the bald spot on Merlin’s head. Merlin swatted at the raven and wiped his head with the sleeve of his robe. Morgaine glided to a pole and landed, watching like the rest of the onlookers.

  Commotion broke out in the far corner of the arena. Dogs yipped and howled, but the pack wore leashes, all tethered and under the control of one young quester who came forward, leading the dogs in an orderly fashion.

  A young man stood before Arthur. “My King,” he said, sweeping down into a low bow, “after pursuing the pack into the woodlands and across the meadows, I trapped the dogs and contained them before they could wreak havoc on a nearby flock of sheep.”

  “And what is your name,” asked Arthur.

  “Pellinor, sir.”

  “A valiant deed, well done! You are the first to join my knights!”

  The onlookers hooted, yelled and applauded until a second man crossed the arena and my heart sunk.

  Gawain strutted across the field carrying the white hound over his shoulder like a sack of chicken feed. He threw the beast onto the ground where it lay, lifeless. Wetness burned the corners of my eyes, but I held them in check. I was no longer a girl who would sob at injustice, but a queen who would seek the opportunities to right any wrongs.

  “I have slain the hound!” Proclaimed Gawain. The audience shouted their approval, and Arthur beamed at his young nephew.

  “Well done!” yelled Arthur. “You are the second knight to join my ranks, Gawain!”

  Morgaine cawed approval from her fence post and ruffled her wings.

  Merlin glanced up at me, and for a moment, I thought the druid sent me a warning—as if my fate might follow that of the hound and hind if I were not careful. I wondered for the first time if Morgaine’s assessment of the old druid was correct, or if more layers needed to be peeled away to see his truths.

  Then raucous laughter broke out, and I jerked my head toward the commotion to see what caused the outbreak. The third quester pulled his quarry into the arena. The hind.

  The peasant boy, Tor, had managed to harness the hind with a horse’s halter and dragged the deer into the center of the field. The deer, alive, well and unharmed, fought its captor with all its might; a tug-of-war ensued between the two—Tor pulling forward, the hind dragging Tor backward. Foot by foot, Tor won out and pulled the deer into the center of the arena.

  The crowd roared with laughter at the spectacle. Arthur clapped his hands and yelled, “Why haven’t you slain the beast, young Tor?”

  “For the Lady’s sake, My Lord,” he replied. Tor tipped his chin at me, and I smiled. The peasant boy had acted on my plea for the hind.

  Arthur laughed at the boy. “Kill it now, or I fear your heart is too weak to perform a knight’s deadly duties.”

  “I will not,” said Tor, raising his chin in defiance of Arthur’s command.

  “Then perhaps weaving would be a better occupation for your sensitivities.”

  His knights laughed with him. The crowd joined in until everyone howled.

  “I will not slay the hind,” said Tor, raising his voice over the tumult, “because my Queen desires fair treatment of the creature.”

  “Fair treatment?” echoed Arthur. “For a beast?” His laughter spilled over and, once again, everyone joined in at the boy’s expense.

  The normal rush of anger at the situation did not come. Instead, my sight sharpened as if my entire field of vision cleared. Every detail sprang to life—the tightness in Arthur’s jaw as he laughed, the way his eyes switched side to side to gauge the crowd’s reaction, the expectant look in the faces of the citizens as they watched Arthur, like dogs waiting for their master’s next command. And I understood. Arthur sought to be seen as powerful. Killing the hind showed his prowess. The crowd needed the security of following a leader. And the boy, Tor, stood defying them all in order to follow the truth of his heart. I admired his bravery.

  I stood with a steady grace, and my words flowed out of me—clear and confident. “The boy shows more courage to keep the hind alive, than to slay her.”

  Arthur turned toward me. He started to reply, but my steady stance and calm tone halted him. He examined me with a new curiosity.

  “It is true, My Lord.” Elibel’s voice rang from behind me, and I smiled at the fortitude of her tone. “It would be simple to kill the deer, since her protector has already been slain. Tor shows great courage to face the crowd’s laughter and your disapproval in order to honor his new Queen.”

  Elibel slipped her hand into mine, and we stood together, facing Arthur. I added, “I proclaim the greatest courage of all is to show mercy to those in need.”

  Arthur’s gaze shot back and forth between Elibel and me. He chose his words with an uncharacteristic thoughtfulness. “My Queen is wise,” he proclaimed. “For true courage is in one’s ability to extend mercy to their adversaries. From this day forward, Queen Guinevere will act as our moral guide toward chivalry.”

  Silence washed the arena. Then suddenly, an outburst of applause shot through the crowd.

  I raised my hand to silence them, and said, “Tor, you have shown outstanding valor in your pursuit of this quest. You have faced great adversity to go against the masses in order to stay true to your heart. I proclaim your right to the position of third knight to join the ranks of the Round Table.”

  An overwhelming roar of approval rang through Camelot. The peasant boy nodded toward me, his eyes glistening with appreciation. Arthur watched the reaction of the crowd, then conceded, nodding his head.

  Elibel leaned in and whispered into my ear. “Spoken like a true queen.”

  I smiled at her words, but s
he continued in a rush, “Guin,” she pleaded. “Please forgive me. What I have done is unspeakable.”

  “Hush, Cousin.” I pulled her close to my side. “There’s no need for forgiveness.”

  “But you don’t know the extent of my betrayal.”

  “If you feel for Arthur anywhere near the way I feel for Lancelot, then I recognize that your actions were born of love. I understand.”

  She trembled next to me, trying to hold back her emotions. “I don’t deserve you.”

  “Actually, from the look of both our behaviors, we absolutely deserve one another.”

  “You know I love you, don’t you?” she said.

  “You’d better,” I replied.

  She sniffed, then giggled.

  I leveled my voice. “I may have his hand, Cousin, but you hold his heart,” I assured her.

  She let out a startled intake of breath, then considered my words. “Once again, our lots hold us prisoners. What will we do?” she asked.

  “We will figure it out together this time,” I said, and she squeezed my hand a bit tighter.

  “Which means, no storming off and ignoring me.”

  “You can hog tie me if you wish.”

  She leaned in and wrapped her arm around my waist, tipping her head onto my shoulder, and not a single bit of hesitation existed in her touch.

  During our conversation, Arthur had called forth his inductees and knighted each with a tap to their shoulders by Excalibur.

  “Now,” he said, turning to face me, “Who will swear their oaths to my Queen and join the ranks of the newly formed Queen’s Honor Guard?”

  His words took me by surprise, and my mouth swung open until I managed to close it before a fly made its home inside.

  Arthur stared intently at me, and said, “My wedding gift to you.”

  So, this is what Elibel sees in Arthur—a childlike, unbridled generosity, regardless of the circumstances. All of Arthur’s exterior qualities remained—both his beauty and charisma, and his less likable qualities of self-interest and sarcasm—but I realized my anger toward his petty behaviors had blocked me from looking deeper. I needed to know the reasons he formed his behaviors in the first place. There was so much more for me to see.

  I nodded my acceptance.

  “I!” yelled Tor, enthusiastically. He strode forward and centered himself before the stands.

  I proceeded to the front of the platform to stand over him. Another yelled, and then another, and before I knew it, eight men stood in front of me.

  “And who,” I asked, “will lead my Honor Guard?”

  Before he moved, I knew; I felt him—his warmth, his strength, his calm presence. Lancelot strode forward and knelt before me. He bowed his head low.

  “I will, My Queen,” he said. The richness of his tone flowed over me like a blanket.

  I accepted his proposal with a nod and sweep of my gaze.

  "I will protect you by my sword and blood. No harm will ever come to you while I live. I swear on my honor, Queen Guinevere. I will love you, and only you, always, as Queen's first knight."

  As his oath washed over me, I knew I would love him without match, from this day forward. My first act as Queen of Camelot was receiving the rest of the oaths from my Honor Guard and allowing Lancelot to choose his own kind of happiness.

  The second was freeing the white hind.

  After climbing down the stairs and onto the field, I strode with Elibel by my side, and my knights flanking me, to the hind, who stood against impossible odds, tied in the center of the arena.

  I loosened her halter and removed it from her head. She stilled at my arrival allowing me to whisper to her as I released her. “I could not do it for Elibel, alas, not for myself either. Even Lancelot has chosen to be bound. But for you, my purehearted friend, run free.”

  Continuance

  Like my mother had said, so long ago, sometimes you can see into the Otherworld, sometimes into the hearts of men, but more importantly you must learn to see into the corners of your own heart. I knew in those corners dwelt a deep and burning love for Lancelot. And yet, I knew my duty—my honor—remained. I was Queen of Camelot, and an entire country relied on my servitude. I understood now that the two opposing desires could exist together—both were my truths—but now the question became, how could I reconcile the demands of both my duty and my heart?

  - Guinevere, Queen of Camelot

  The 11th day of November in the year of our Lord 536

  Written from the abbey at Amesbury

  Sneak Peek of The Light Keepers

  If you enjoyed Quest, perhaps you’ll enjoy the ShadowLight Saga, also by Mande Matthews. Enter the saga with a short prequel, entitled, The LightKeepers, available in its entirety on Amazon for free. Here’s a couple chapters to get you started.

  The LightKeepers, Chapter 1

  Astrid carefully placed her boots over the frozen ground, hoping her footfalls would not be detected as she slunk along the edge of the creek bed. Early morning left a coating of hoarfrost on the branches that stuck up from the banks of the ice covered waters. The young woman slid around the dormant bushes so as not to disturb the delicate patterns of frost, while she hunted for enough cover to execute an ambush. Balin would come for her soon, and she needed to be prepared.

  "I can see your boot marks in the snow!"

  The thunder of Balin's voice startled Astrid. Even though she realized her mother's warrior hunted her, she did not expect him so soon. Her skin quivered underneath the layers of her mantle and tunic. She tensed, stopping in her tracks, holding herself still.

  "The snow betrays your path! You are easy prey to track, even in this morning's mist!"

  Astrid maneuvered closer to the creekside underbrush, seeking the concealment of the nearby thicket. Once positioned with adequate shelter, she crouched. She had hoped to reach higher ground for her standoff. Instead, she huddled a few paces down from the level of the field, spying over the edge of the bank into the wintry landscape above, searching for movement.

  The predawn light washed the starkness of the land in a lavender hue. A blanket of mist obscured long patches of ground, settling across a meadow that extended toward her makeshift home. Vapor clung in the dip of the creek bed, providing more camouflage. Astrid hoped it would be enough to gain the advantage lost by the inferior placement in her surroundings.

  Balin's bulk appeared out of the mist, a giant of a man with a battle sword drawn and ready. The sheer mass of him was enough to cow even a war hardened soldier. As tall as Astrid stood for a woman, she was, nevertheless, an ill match—in both size and experience—against her mother's chosen guardian.

  "A wise decision." Balin's voice boomed in the stillness. "The brush of the creek bed keeps snow off the earth. You can hide your passing."

  He knows where I am. A rush of blood shot into Astrid's limbs. She reached for her sword, feeling the cold, hard iron press against her palm. With a singular movement, she released the blade from its cover.

  "I can hear the ring of your metal!" Balin pointed his massive sword in her direction, gripping the hilt with both hands; he rumbled across the ground toward her like a landslide of boulders.

  I have betrayed my position.

  Astrid scrambled up the bank, flattening herself against the snow laden earth, hoping the whiteness of her hair and skin would blend with the mist and hide her from the warrior's sight. She slithered on her belly away from the oncoming earthquake of Balin, making a wide circle around him. She sprang to her feet and crept to his backside, training the tip of her blade at the back of his neck.

  Balin jerked around and smiled, splitting the muff of hair that covered his lower face. "Your stealth is superior, but I out reach you. How will you manage when my blade beats yours in length and heft? You should have taken your lead while you had one. Every fighter knows one hesitation can be fatal. Have you just committed that deadly mistake?"

  The man's constant jabber rattled her. Astrid knew it was meant to, but
she did not share the same advantage. Silence was her only option. Silent from birth, her voice had never once sounded—not even a hum, a sigh of happiness, or a cry for help. The words she spoke remained locked in her own mind. Those thoughts fired up from her depths and fueled her fury toward Balin.

  She pressed forward, into the warrior's guard, forcing him to step backward in order to meet her blow.

  This is for the time you hunted me down, dragged me home, and stole my only chance at friendship.

  Astrid struck at the warrior, remembering the young villager who had wandered into a remote meadow near their encampment. The girl had befriended her and invited her back to her family’s farm on the far side of the valley. When her mother and Balin found Astrid, the brute threw her over his shoulder like a sack of grain and carried her off. They dismantled their home after her indiscretion with the outsider and moved yet again, deeper into the Scandian wilderness and away from the prying eyes of strangers.

  Balin blocked her blow, and Astrid thrust again.

  How could the companionship of one little girl have caused us harm?

  The clang of iron against iron spoiled the morning's quietude as the two jabbed and lunged.

  Do you know what it's like? Being so alone?

  "I sense anger in your swing." Balin said with a laugh.

  Of course, you don't. You have my mother. You follow her like a dog.

  "Anger prolongs your fight, but you cannot outlast one with my superior strength."

  As if to prove his point, Balin's next strike sent a tremor through Astrid's body. Her muscles gelled inside her skin as she struggled to meet his blow. She pushed back, but could not match him. Instead, she released, rolling to one side as the warrior's sword sliced into the snow. She continued to spin into a crouch, using the force of the momentum to thwack the blunt side of her sword against the back of Balin's knees. The warrior buckled and crashed downward, catching himself with his free hand. He scooped a mound of snow into his fist.