Prologue:

In the days of Camelot, Magic was an entity no one really understood—even those who employed it or studied it. It was either worshipped or it was condemned and the line between the two was thin and easily severed. And history had a way of shielding the world from these uncertainties. The books state that there was simply Merlin and Morgan le Fay. In truth, there was a lot more to the gruesome and captivating tales of sorcery and death.

There were hundreds of Magicians—some trivial and some dangerous—but all of them lived…all of them existed. Most were neither good nor bad—sometimes it was impossible to be one or the other. Magic is the meeting of two powers—the light and dark. It is the morally grey area of all things. Nature, itself, is a form of Magic; but, though it is necessary, a simple rainstorm can kill hundreds. The two basic Magics are the same. Dark Magic is either protective or destructive. Light Magic is either healing or disintegrating. So, to say that all Magic is condemnable would be the greatest truth of all. But there are those who seek only the destructive end of the Magics. These people are the true evil. And with this true evil come heroes to vanquish it.

This is where the true story of Camelot really begins—with the heroes that were hidden beneath the guise of a perfect Camelot—where Arthur is the only one who matters; where Lancelot is the only Knight given praise; where battles are simple. These true heroes were ordinary people that did extraordinary things—some may have been royalty or even fine gentleman, but they were not invincible or even remotely well-known. They were the ones in the background.

This tale is a retelling of their lives…not Arthur’s, or Guinevere’s, or Lancelot’s. This is a retelling of the battles that were grouped together as part of the battle with Morgan le Fay—the hidden turmoil no one knew of. This is the true story of Camelot.

Chapter One:

The light from the stained glass windows in the solarium nearly blinded Guinevere as she glided into the room, her shoes not even making a scraping sound as they slid across the dark marble of the floor. The day was bright and new—the scent of spring was in the air—but she knew this would not last. There was yet another threat to her husband’s crown—a man that worked for Morgan le Fay herself. He was known only as Kerberos. No one knew of his origins or of his family name. And that frightened them.

They also knew that he had a son, Samael, and that son had a wife, Hecate; and the two of them had one daughter, Lilith. The idea of this many supporters of Morgan le Fay was frightening enough, but there was even more. They all possessed the ability of sorcery. Together, they surpassed Merlin and the Lady of the Lake in all of her godly glory; they were vengeful and power-hungry.

All of this put Arthur and his family at risk. He did not have a son as of yet—so there was no definite heir if Arthur was to fall. They only had a foster-daughter—Terrwyn—who had come to them from a Saxon runaway—a woman so haggard and sickly that she had not survived the birth of her daughter. Her only words to the King and Queen were that she wanted them to have her daughter. Maybe her precious babe—being of Saxon origin and being raised by the English King and Queen—would help bring peace to the country.

Guinevere had agreed at once—she had loved the young babe almost immediately. Her husband was not as easily convinced. He believed that the child should be sent to a convent to be raised by the nuns there. She would still be under his protection, he had reasoned, but it would not put the burden on the two of them to raise her. Guinevere had then threatened to also enter the convent. It was not unheard of for the Ladies with husbands that mistreated them. And Arthur knew that if his wife entered the convent, he would lose thousands of supporters—people who thought him cruel to his beautiful, genteel, and noble wife. Suffice to say, he had agreed, grudgingly.

Soon, though, Arthur was just as in love with Terrwyn as Guinevere was. She was an adorable child—dark chocolate hair and dark ocean-blue eyes. She was also an adventurous child—due to Arthur’s influence in her life. She rode horses, she hunted; she even got into the occasional fight with the servant boys. She despised wearing stuffy, formal wear and often was seen in a pair of tattered trousers she had stolen from one of the stable boys.

But soon Terrwyn grew—she grew into a brave and fine young woman—dark chocolate hair curly and always pinned back, dark ocean-blue eyes just a little darker from maturity, and a begrudging acceptance of formal wear. She was 18 years old. And, still, Arthur and Guinevere loved her as if she was still the infant that had ensnared their hearts so many years ago.

Guinevere found Terrwyn asleep in one of the solarium chaises, a book open on her lap and her right hand on her brow, blocking the sun from her face. Guinevere approached her and removed the book, tucking it under her own arm before she touched her daughter’s arm. Terrwyn jolted awake immediately, her arms flailing. She was instantly on the attack, her eyes darting around the room for danger before they finally saw Guinevere. Almost immediately, they softened and Terrwyn smiled warmly.

“Good morning, Mother,” she spoke, her voice a soothing tenor.

Guinevere smiled in return. “Good morning, darling one. How long have you been awake?” she felt her daughter’s forehead for warmth. Terrwyn never was up this early. She nearly always missed breakfast unless something was bothering her.

“I never went to sleep,” Terrwyn admitted, her face flushing. “I went out hunting with Gawain and Gareth.” Her eyes were cloudy with a need for sleep. “They said they’d found the den of the bears that keep terrorizing our horses. I went out to help them take the beasts down.”

Guinevere sighed deeply, shaking her head. “If your father hears of this, you will never be able to see your dear Gawain or young Gareth again. Do you realize the disaster that could have befallen you? There is evil on the Southern border, darling one. And they could have come for you. You are the heir to Camelot. You may not be completely legitimate, but Merlin has deemed you worthy and will follow you—obey you. The Knights will as well. The entire Kingdom loves you deeply, Terrwyn. If you were to be taken or worse…killed…it would not just be me and you father that would mourn—everyone would be solemn.”

Terrwyn’s eyes hardened. “I would not be taken so easily. I can defend myself. I am not weak. I am as strong as Gareth.”

“But not as strong as Gawain?”

“Of course not—Gawain is a superior Knight—like Kai or Lancelot.” She sniffed indignantly. “I will probably never be as strong as they are.”

“But Gawain is only two years your elder, my dear.”

“And Gareth is three years my…junior. Oh, Mother. I am a downright weakling! I only surpass those beneath me!”

“You are not weak,” Guinevere persisted, taking her daughter’s chin in her hand. “There is not shame in being weaker than men who have tested the elements and beat them back—men who have had training far superior to your simple lessons in archery and sword craft.” She kissed her daughter’s head. “And you would be taken—you would fall. Gawain and Gareth would fall as well. This evil is of a Magic you could never master. This Magic surpasses even Merlin’s capabilities. You would fall.” At this, Guinevere turned towards the window, releasing her daughter. “Have you seen your father this morning, Terrwyn?”

Terrwyn rose from the chaise, coming to stand next to her mother. “I have not left this room since we returned at dawn.”

Guinevere took her daughter’s hand and sighed. “I must leave you now, child. I have desperate need of your father’s company. We have received news he must hear immediately.” Then she was gone—out of the solarium and into the winding corridors of Camelot.

Terrwyn sighed as she watched her mother depart as her heart clenched painfully and tears cascaded from her eyes. Why had they taken her hunting when they knew of the evil—when they knew they all could have been killed? Her heart thudded painfully in her chest. Had they wanted her dead?

She sat back down on the chaise and put her elbows on her knees, her head resting on her open palms as she sobbed. Things were no longer bright at Camelot. There was an evil—the first of its kind—and for some reason it was after Terrwyn. And through her sobbing, Terrwyn’s resolve strengthened. She had to fight back.

First, she’d discover Gawain and Gareth’s motives. Second, she’d leave the city. She was a threat. If they were after her, she would make them look harder. She would not have her father and mother in danger because of her.

But questions nagged at her mind, threatening to overcome her. Was she strong enough? Could she stand alone against a monster of possession? One who had an army at his disposal? Could she stand against an evil she had never seen nor met before?

And because of these questions, Terrwyn dissolved into chest-heaving sobs of despair. She was alone. For the first time in her life, she was on her own. There was no mother or father to help her. And, for the first time since she had met him, Gawain was a threat as well.

The Knight Gawain was half-asleep as Lancelot approached him, his chain-mail scraping against the hilt of his massive broadsword on his hip. He was almost completely asleep when Lancelot finally reached him.

…

And he was startled awake when Lancelot whacked him upside the head with the back of his hand. He yowled in pain, flailing his arms at his attacker. Lancelot merely chuckled. “Gawain, Arthur wishes to see you.”

Gawain nodded dumbly, rubbing the back of his head. “You could have just tapped me. You didn’t have to hit me.”

“You need to stop being such a sapling, boy. I barely touched you. I swear, Gawain…are you twenty years or eight?” Then he chuckled again before turning away and exiting the dining hall.

It was then that Gawain looked down and cursed.

…

He had fallen asleep in his breakfast.

…

By the time Gawain cleaned himself up and made his way to the throne room, Arthur had already started his meeting. Gareth was already there, his tanned arms shaking from nervousness as Arthur spoke. Gawain moved silently through the room until he stood next to his younger brother, equally as nervous.

Arthur was in a dark green—the color that was predominant in the royal wardrobes during spring. His pale skin and dark hair was complimented by the color—his angry expression was not. “What in the seven hells were the two of you doing exactly? You went on some wild hunting expedition in the middle of the night—in the Southern woods! I warned you two of the danger.” His fists clenched, turning his knuckles white. “And, to top it all off, you took a woman with you.”

Gawain’s eyes widened and his posture wavered. Gareth cursed under his breath and crossed himself, looking at Arthur with fear in his eyes. He had found out. After all these years of hidden hunts and secret trips in the night, Arthur had discovered their third party member. To Arthur, women were practically sacred. They were not to come to harm if a Knight had knowledge of their danger. This applied, especially, to his daughter.

“Who was she?” Arthur asked, angrily, rising from the throne to approach the two of them. “And if you lie, I will know. I have known the two of you since your childhood. You grew up with my daughter like her brothers. I know you almost as well as I know her. So tell me, Gareth,” he looked at the younger brother with an icy expression on his normally composed. He would only act this way around Gawain, Gareth and Lancelot. He had known them since their childhood. His politeness ebbed away with anger when he knew you well.

Gareth stuttered out a reply: “I don’t know, Sir.”

Arthur barked out a laugh. “You were always a horrid liar, Gareth. But, fine, I shall excuse that waste of breath response, if only because Gawain never lies.” He turned to the elder brother. “Gawain? Who was she?”

Gawain was disgruntled that Arthur had pointed out one of his faults. He never lied. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. Just like he couldn’t bring himself to be separated from women—he befriended them often; he trained them. He thought women to be incredibly strong creatures—probably due to his sister’s defiant suicide when he had lived at Orkney and from being raised by a Lady such as Guinevere.

He steeled his shoulders as Arthur faced him, already expecting his anger at the answer. “It was Lady Terrwyn, my liege. She is an excellent—”

Arthur cut him off. “Hunter—yes, I know. I trained her myself, Gawain.” His expression was unreadable as he made his way back to his throne. “This was idiocy on both of your parts, Gawain—you and my daughter’s. I am certain Gareth did not send for my daughter. He would never choose a woman for a hunting party.” His eyes closed briefly and he sighed. “I know you and my daughter value your unbreakable friendship, Gawain, but this could have been a disaster. You know what’s in that forest.”

“It would not have gotten past me.”

Arthur smiled. “You are very confident in your abilities, Gawain. I have to admit that much. Usually, I would praise you for it. Today, I condemn you. This evil is not human, Gawain. It is sorcery. And not of Merlin’s specialty—it is much darker. It would consume you, given the chance. You would become a slave to it. And I would not be surprised if it compelled you—ordered you, even—to slaughter Terrwyn yourself.”

A shudder rocked his body and his head drooped. “I had not though of this, my liege. This will never happen again.”

Arthur nodded, his anger gone and his calmness and compassion overpowering him once again. “I know, Gawain. And I also know that if you had known this originally, this wouldn’t have happened at all. Thus, I do not blame you.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Gawain walked forward and knelt before the throne. Gareth followed behind, kneeling behind and to the right of his brother, as was respectful. “I, Gawain, Knight of Camelot, swear to never take the Lady Terrwyn from Camelot without permission from my Lord, King Arthur, or my Lady, Queen Guinevere.”

Gareth repeated it and then Arthur placed a hand on their heads—first on Gawain, then Gareth—and said the words: “Peace be with you, Knights. You are forgiven of your crime. Let it never be spoken of again.”

Then the two brothers exited the throne, their heads bowed, ashamed of themselves. But Gawain was feeling the brunt of the embarrassment and guilt. He had risked the life of one of his greatest friends—and the future Queen of Camelot. Terrwyn could have been killed—by him! He shook his head, feeling the tears of fear and guilt prick at his eyes. He had to talk to Terrwyn.

He nearly jogged up the stairs to royal wing, but it was not fast enough. He had a desperate need to talk to his friend. He had to apologize. He had to lift the guilt that had encased his heart.

He halted before the door to the solarium, where he knew Terrwyn to be. She was always here. She loved books and she loved to watch the different types of weather flash and change through the many windows in the solarium. He took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

Immediately he saw her. She was lounging in a chaise before the biggest window—the one with the balcony. She was massaging her wrist. She had fallen on it last night and had bruised it beneath her thumb. He approached warily, suddenly very nervous, “Terrwyn?”

“You can enter, Gawain.”

Her tone sent shivers down his spine.

“Are you incredibly angry with me? For the hunting trip? I never meant any harm in it. If I had known…” he called out to her, his hands shaking.

“You wouldn’t have taken me. I know that, Gawain. I just can’t help wondering if that’s really the truth. And before you interrupt me, I know you cannot lie. I realize this fully. I grew up with you. I know you. But I also know that this evil possesses people. How can I know if you’re the real Gawain of Orkney?”

Gawain’s eyes filled with tears. “I am Gawain.”

“Come here,” she whispered. But he heard her as plain as he would a trumpet blast. Left foot, right foot—he made his way to where she sat. Her eyes were closed and her cheeks were coated in the remnants of her own tears. “Prove to me that you’re my Gawain…please. I need to know…” she breathed, her lips puckering slightly from trying to hold back more tears. She never cried in front of anyone but him.

Gawain got down on his knees and grabbed her hand. “I am Gawain of Orkney—son of Ban and Morgause—the only man who has ever seen you cry. Not even your father has witnessed this tragedy. I am Gawain of Orkney—the man who picks you magnolias and lilies on your birthday and then has the cook make roasted quail—your favorite. I am Gawain of Orkney—the man who committed a terrible grievance by taking my best friend into the woods where she could have been kidnapped or worse…killed. I am Gawain of Orkney—the man who begs your forgiveness.”

Her eyes drifted open as more tears poured down her cheeks. “Gawain…” she whispered and then threw her arms around him. “I was so scared…I thought I was going to be alone…”

“You have your mother and father,” he whispered as he held her. But she shook her head, rubbing tears on the fine cloth of his tunic. “Why do you disagree? Have they given you the impression that they no longer care for you? If they have…”

She shook her head again. “No, Gawain…it is not that. It’s just…I have to leave. I cannot stay here any longer. The evil…it’s after me.”

“No, Terrwyn, it’s not. It’s after Camelot.”

“But I’m the weak link! Don’t you see? If they capture me, mother and father would give up their lives and Camelot to have me back safely. But it would be a worthless sacrifice because the evil won’t let me go. If this monster wants Camelot…he needs me.”

“Why? You are of no importance! You’re not an advisor!”

“But I’m the only heir!” she wailed, ripping herself from his arms. “The country will not obey him if they do not see a Pendrgaon heir at Camelot. In order for him to take control, he has to have me! Either as daughter or wife…it does not matter. If I am there, the country will obey. And so will the Knights. You know this better than anyone, Gawain. The Knights swore allegiance to all Pendragons—current and later—not just to my father and mother. The Knights will have to follow me, serve me, and any who I bow to. It is your obligation.”

Gawain dropped his head. “Yes.”

“So do you see now? I must leave. I must make it harder for him to find me! He’ll be distracted looking for me. So much so, that father will have time to mobilize his army. As of now, the attackers at the Southern border are taxing his troops.”

“I know. We lost three of our best Knights last week.”

She sighed, touching his face. “It’s all right to say their names, Gawain. You lost two of your brothers and a good friend.”

He smiled, forlorn. “You are perceptive as always, my friend.”

She kissed his cheek. “You cannot hide anything from me. We have been through more together than any two people I have ever met. We are in tune with one another, Gawain. I could find you anywhere.”

Gawain hugged her to him. “I will always find you.”

She smiled. “You know, we might be sending the wrong impression here. I’ve heard the ladies talking…”

“The ladies always talk…you know that. You are a part of their gaggle, are you not?” He ruffled her hair before letting go and seating himself in an adjacent chaise to the one Terrwyn had claimed. “But I’m intrigued…what are they saying this week?”

“That we’re engaged to be married.”

Gawain’s eyes widened. “Really? Where did they get that impression?” He made a face. “Marry you? That would be…”

“Incredibly awkward…I know.” She twirled a piece of her hair absentmindedly. “I’m leaving tonight…I’m not sure where I’m going, but I’m leaving.” Her eyes darkened as she glanced out the window.
Gawain shook his head. “You’ve put me in a bad position, Terrwyn. I could be hung for abandoning the Knights. But if you go alone, I’d never be able to live with myself…”

She turned her head, her expression angry. “You can’t honestly be thinking of staying here, Gawain…”

He threw up his hands. “I have a duty to my King and Queen! And to the other Knights! With Agravain, Geheris and Geraint dead, we’re down to eight and one squire—my squire! What would happen to him if I left? Galahad would not have a Master any longer. He’d never become a Knight…”

She scoffed. “Kai will be more than glad to be rid of you. And as for Galahad, he can come with us.” Her eyes were imploring.

“Lancelot would kill me. Galahad is his son.”

“I can handle Lancelot. He’s practically my uncle.” She reached across the divide between them and rested her hand on his knee. “Please, Gawain…I need you with me. And I refuse to leave you here. You’ll tell my father and my sacrifice will be for naught.”

“I won’t tell him, Terrwyn. And I’ll send someone with you, I swear it.”

“You will tell him. He will ask you where I am and you will tell him, Gawain. It is in your nature. You cannot lie. Especially to my parents.” She squeezed his knee. “You have to come with me.”

He sighed darkly. “If I hear news that the Knights have need of me, I will be compelled to return here…you know that.”

“I would expect nothing else from my Knight.”

“Don’t call me that. You haven’t called me ‘your’ Knight since we were young children. It sends the wrong impression…”

“Everything about our friendship sends the wrong impression. That’s what becomes of having a Knight for a best friend, I’m afraid…”

“Or having the heir to Camelot as one…”

She laughed. “I assume it’s the same.”

He stood. “I have to make preparations. I will bring Galahad with me. I also have to make sure Gareth is elsewhere tonight. I cannot have him asking questions. I think I’ll switch his guard schedule with Bedivere’s…” His tone was authoritative as he went through his mental checklist.

He turned to Terrwyn. “You need to secure two horses and the food we’ll need. You also need to make sure all of your maids are doing something else when you leave. Otherwise, they’ll alert your mother and the guards. We can’t have that happen.”

Terrwyn nodded. “I understand. This was my idea, remember? Don’t you think that I’ve thought about all this already?”

“You’ve been crying. You don’t think when you cry.”

She huffed. “You’re despicable.”

He bowed. “Why thank you, Lady.” He turned to the door. “I’ll go get everything ready. Will you be all right by yourself or should I send for someone to keep you company?” He was worried about her.

“No; my thoughts will keep me company.”

With that, Gawain left the solarium, his heart heavy with responsibility but his soul light with purpose. Terrwyn had forgiven him—easily. And now he was on a mission that could save Camelot and all who lived in it—and outside of it in the neighboring provinces. Then why did he have the sense that something was going to go horribly wrong?

Sunset found Sir Lancelot du Loc on the parapet on the Western wall of Camelot’s defenses. He loved it there. It was a place where his memories came to greet him. The sunset was supposed to be the mark of an ending, but Lancelot saw it as a step towards a new beginning. He was alone on the parapet, his armor lying beside him in an unforgiving heap. It was becoming tiresome to wear it everyday. But this was how things were during times of war and crisis. He cracked his neck, absentmindedly, thinking of the people they had lost.

Agravain of Orkney had been a good Knight. Though he was overly logical and hardly chivalrous, he still was respectful and was a hell of a fighter. He was usually Lancelot’s right hand man when he went off to battle. He was a tactician—a deft planner. And he had been a good man—19 years old.

Gaheris of Orkney, the third child of Lot, had been an exceptional Knight. He wasn’t as strong as the others, but he was a true gentleman and had been courteous to all he had met. He hadn’t been married when he had died, but had been courting. Lancelot crossed himself. Gaheris had been 17.

The only man more grief-stricken about these two deaths was Gawain of Orkney—their elder brother. They were a close-knit family—a phenomena Lancelot had never witnessed. Young Elaine must have been horrified at the news—if Gawain had even told her yet.

As for the third death, Geraint had been one of the original Knights. He was weathered and sometimes haughty. But he had been one of Lancelot’s greatest friends. He had been married to Lady Enid, a widow now, and had one son, Vernus—now fatherless. He had been 32 years old at the time of death.

Grief threatened to overwhelm Lancelot as the sun continued to fall beneath the horizon. They had never lost more than one Knight in a year. And now they had lost three in one battle! This evil was of a kind Lancelot had never seen before. It was dangerous and seemingly unstoppable.

Suddenly, there was another person on the parapet—a young girl with dark brown hair and pale blue eyes. He smiled and turned to her. “Adelaide,” he said, acknowledging her before turning back to the sunset.

“Hello, brother,” she answered, entwining her left arm with his right. “Are you all right? You seem far away this evening…”

“We’ve suffered a great loss, sister. I grieve for them on this night.”

She nodded, resting her head on his shoulder. “It is all right to grieve.” He looked at her with a loving expression and she smiled. “It is the right thing to grieve.”

“I shouldn’t have to grieve. They should be alive—standing here with me, a tankard in their hands…laughing. They did not deserve to die.” He shook his head. “You should leave, Adelaide. Maybe Lady Terrwyn wishes for some company…?”

She scoffed. “You know very well that I do not associate myself with that petulant cow. She thinks herself better than me…I know it. I should be the heir. I should be the one whose arm is entwined with Sir Gawain’s...” Her chest was heaving and her eyes wild with envy and anger.

Lancelot untangled his arm from hers. “This envy and vengefulness that you feel is unhealthy, little sister. Lady Terrwyn has caused you no grievance. And Gawain has no interest in courting you.” He closed his eyes, sighing. “And if you insult the princess again, I’m afraid you’ll have to, once again, return to the convent.”

Adelaide’s eyes watered and her bottom lip jutted out—she was pouting. “But, brother…! She is undeserving! And I am far more worthy!”

“No; you are petulant and illegitimate. You have no blood ties to the royal family. You have no right to that crown.” He grabbed her chin. “Stop whining and, for God’s sake, put that lip back in your mouth.” His eyes were dark. “I come here to this parapet to think and to grieve…and, instead, I am forced to listen to you whine about circumstances that you know nothing about and have nothing to do with reality. So, leave now, Adelaide, or I will be forced to call upon Lady Enid to come and collect you. Or, perhaps you would prefer Lady Andrivete?”

Her moue stretched into a thin line. “I will leave you to your grieving. Excuse this turmoil I have caused you.” Then she was gone, her eyes dark and her expression angry.

There was much to do tonight. For the fifth night in a row, Adelaide du Loc, half-sister to the great Lancelot, would spy on the Lady Terrwyn. She would follow her wherever she went. And she would find her flaw—the flaw that would grant Adelaide her position as heir and wife of Gawain. She would have the power she deserved.

Gareth of Orkney was tired. He was tired and angry and currently standing on the battlements overlooking the inner city of Camelot. Gawain had switched his guard duty to tonight. He obviously wanted his younger brother out of the way. Or, it could be that he needed Bedivere for something important—something Gareth was not allowed to know about, or would have no interest in. After all, Gareth was new Knight, fresh to battle, and would have no purpose in a tactician meeting. He had no interest in planning, anyway.

But still, it had been a long day—beginning with no sleep last night and then no breakfast because he had been called in to speak to King Arthur personally. His mind and body ached with an intensity that nearly crippled him. He could kill Gawain for putting him on duty.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the young du Loc daughter, Adelaide, by the stables. She had followed Lady Terrwyn out of the castle moments earlier. Terrwyn must be going for a midnight ride. She did it often when she couldn’t sleep. Normally, he and Gawain would accompany her, but it seemed, tonight, she was alone. Strangely, though, she brought out two horses. Gareth’s curiosity was piqued substantially. Alas, he could do nothing but watch as she led the horses behind the castle—watch until both she and Adelaide were out of his sight. Then he had to return to his purpose—watch the inner city for any sign of a disturbance.

As usual, there were none, and the boredom only increased his hatred of his elder brother for putting him here. He stared stonily out into the fading sunset and crossed his arms. Gawain would pay.

Terrwyn led the two horses to her private garden at the back of the castle, tethering them to one of the columns. They whickered and nudged her hands before they went about grazing on the grass beneath their feet. She smiled. These two were her favorites. There was an all black mare with a white spot on her forehead—this was Terrwyn’s personal horse, Tay. The other was a chestnut stallion with a white patch around his right eye—this was Gawain’s stallion, Gringolet.

There was a rustling in the bush behind her and Terrwyn whipped around, her broadsword already unsheathed and in front of her. “Who’s there? Show yourself or I will not hesitate to run you through. Do not attempt to test me.”

The bushes parted down the middle and Galahad was visible. His arms had various cuts from the rose bush’s thorns and his squire garb was torn. “Good evening to you, Lady Terrwyn. Sir Gawain has sent me to retrieve you. He awaits you at the Western gate. I see you have the horse my Knight requested…”

“Yes,” she answered, already moving to untie the horses. “I will be there shortly. You may return to Gawain, Galahad.” The boy shook his head. “He wishes me to escort you. He fears for you.”

She smiled. “I know he does. All right, just give me one minute. I need to gather a few herbs from the garden. How about you make yourself useful and check to see if anyone followed me. This mission is secret, as you know, and it won’t be good if someone tracks us.” Galahad’s expression was priceless. It was obvious that Gawain had never given him his own personal mission before. It was always search and find—basic, one-step orders.

She made her way to the back of her garden where the herbs were kept and looked around. She needed chamomile, asphodel, lavender, bergamot, lungwort, coriander, tarragon, holly hock, yarrow, saffron, mint and rosemary. She also needed several moonflowers, lilies, magnolias and snapdragons. The mint, rosemary, and chamomile were easy to find. Next came the lavender, tarragon, saffron and hollyhock. Last was the bergamot, lungwort, coriander and, the hardest of all…asphodel. When they all had been gathered and stored in her pack, Terrwyn returned to the main clearing where the horses were tethered. Galahad stood next to them, a triumphant look on his face and a writhing young woman in his grasp.

“Adelaide?” Terrwyn queried, her eyes widening. “What are you doing here? I thought Sir Lancelot sent you back to the convent….?” She walked forward to where Galahad stood, trying desperately to contain her laughter at the sight. Adelaide du Loc was red-faced and her muscles were tensed like a lioness ready to strike. Her pale blue eyes were alight with indignant fire.

“That’s just what you’d want, isn’t it? Me—out of your hair—no longer competition for your throne and your precious Gawain. Well, keep dreaming you petulant animal, I’m not going anywhere for a long time! I intend to turn you in for what you’re doing!”

Terrwyn rolled her eyes. “What exactly am I doing, Adelaide?”

“You’re working for that witch—Morgan le Fay! You’ve probably already seduced precious Gawain so he comes with you. A Knight of his caliber would be a valuable asset…I’ll have you know that you won’t—” Terrwyn put a hand on the other girl’s mouth.

“First of all, I have no love interest in Gawain. He is my friend. I swear we’ve went through this a dozen times already. Two, you have no claim as heir to Camelot, unless for some reason my mother dies and my father remarries you…not likely. Three, you’re not competition. Gawain doesn’t fancy you at all. Four, you’re the petulant animal. And, finally, the most important one: I’m not working for Morgan le Fay and I have not seduced Gawain. We are leaving to save everyone here.” Her eyes danced in humor. “Now, I’m going to move my hand…will you behave?”

In response, Adelaide bit her hand. Terrwyn yelped in pain and pulled her hand back. “Adelaide! That hurt you little snipe!” She put the stinging appendage to her mouth. “What grievance have I ever committed unto you?”

“Existing.” Adelaide replied, simply, her tone icy and filled with hatred.

“I was born before you.”

“Exactly. If you hadn’t been born, Gawain and the throne would be mine. King Arthur likes my brother best and, God knows that Lancelot would be a horrible King. I would be next pick. And, as Queen, I could choose my King. And I would choose Gawain.”

“He would not be the same man,” Terrwyn persisted, rubbing her temple.

“Why? Because he did not know you?”

“Exactly! Every event shapes the way a person acts! If Gawain had not met me, it’s possible he would have turned traitor. He thought about doing just that when we were younger. One choice, Adelaide, can destroy your entire life. Don’t you see? You’ve become petulant and rude because of a choice you made…not one that I made or one that Gawain made.”

Adelaide scoffed. “So says you.”

Terrwyn shook her head. “Galahad, she must come with us. Go back to the stables and gather Adelaide’s horse. I will take her with me and go to Gawain.”

“But, Lady, she is—”

“I know very well that she is a liability. She cannot fight, cook, hunt, track or heal. She is useless to our mission. Unfortunately, she can do more damage here than with us. Here, she can go to my father or to her brother and all would be lost. No, she is better with us.” At that, Terrwyn reached forward, grabbed Adelaide’s arms, twisted them behind the girl’s back and walked her forwards—out to where Gawain stood by the Western exit.

At the sight of them, Gawain cursed. “Adelaide du Loc…I should have known. Gareth warned me that you’ve been following both I and Lady Terrwyn for the past few weeks. I should have assumed you would do so tonight as well.”

Adelaide dropped her head. “I am sorry,” she whispered. The pout was on her lips again and Gawain faltered for a second—but only a second.

“That stopped working when you were seven years, Adelaide.”

Her eyes hardened and her pout morphed into a scowl of displeasure. And, to Terrwyn and Gawain’s happiness, she stopped speaking. Minutes later, Galahad returned with the three horses. They strapped Adelaide into the saddle of the newest horse—a young tan mare that weighed a bit too much—Terrwyn got onto Tay and Gawain jumped up into Gringolet’s saddle. Galahad had his own mode of transportation—a spry mule named Bors—after the Knight with the childish heart.

Soon, the group found themselves on their way. They were an odd group—a too-brave Princess, a too-honest Knight and a too-spoiled child…and a very confused squire.