Chapter 10: A Dance with Death

“Teacher, I am planning to visit my mother tomorrow.”

Guinevere glanced up from the book she held in her hands and studied the prince. “Of course, Your Highness.” Hoping for good fortune, she added, “Will you allow me to accompany you once more?”

Arthur smiled. “Your company will be appreciated, teacher.”

Guinevere returned the smile. “Thank you, Your Highness.” She gestured to the documents arranged on the desk in front of him. “Once you are finished with this, you may leave.”

A few minutes later, Arthur stacked the documents into a neat pile and rose from the table. Guinevere rose with him and bowed slightly as he bid her goodbye and left the room.

The door closed and Guinevere straightened. She settled into her seat but did not pick up the book she dropped. Instead, she ran through some information in her head. Tapping a finger on the table, Guinevere thought back to the life she had lived before this one. As a fifteen-year-old then, she had been consumed with sword practice, neglecting the happenings of the world around her.

But despite that, she had noticed that there had been an uproar in the kingdom concerning the Fourth concubine's death. Yes, Igraine had died this autumn. The uproar that followed the news of her death was not just the public mourning the most popular noble, it was also the suspicion of the cause of her death.

Rumour had it that the fourth concubine was poisoned. But something was bothering her with the timing of Igraine’s illness.

Agravain’s wedding was not the first time she has come down with a coughing fit. If she recalled correctly, the concubine had also been rushed out of the Battle of Swords five years ago, the year she was reincarnated.

If someone, most likely Morgause, wanted Igraine dead, why use such a slow-acting and inconsistent poison? Did she want to make it look like a natural illness?

And if indeed someone was plotting Igraine’s death, should she interfere? How would the concubine’s death affect her plan to kill Uther?

These were important questions that Guinevere needed to consider. However, she remained unsettled about the illness. There was something she was missing. It flitted about in her mind but whenever she tried to grab hold, it disappeared. She just hoped it was not anything that would jeopardize her quest for revenge.

***

The evening breeze was cool as it fluttered through the trees lining the stone avenue. Arthur and Guinevere walked side by side in silence. The meeting with his mother went well. Her health seemed to have improved, allowing her to rise from the bed and join them for afternoon tea. Guinevere noticed that Igraine coughed quite a lot during their visit but apart from that, she seemed like her cheerful self.

After that, it was some sorting of the issue that arose in the management of the villa’s domestics and before the duo knew it, dusk had fallen. They made their way down the path and Guinevere could feel Arthur’s gaze brush her face once or twice. She wanted to ask what the issue was but courtesy prevented her.

Guinevere did not mind, though. All it showed was that his curiosity was rising when it came to her, which was good news.

Arthur finally opened his mouth to speak when suddenly, the scent of bloodlust filled the air. The duo tensed instantly, coming to a halt, adrenaline trickling into their blood.

We’re surrounded.

In one smooth move, she pulled the dagger she always carried from beneath her gown and stepped in front of the prince, ready to defend him. Arthur himself had no weapon but he stood tense, ready to fight.

Guinevere made a decision and, without turning around, passed the dagger to Arthur. “Defend yourself. Make your way back to the mansion,” she said in hushed tones.

There would be security back at the villa and a messenger could be sent to alert Arthur's guard stationed at his palace. But Arthur did not take the dagger neither did he move.

“What are you going to do?” he asked quietly.

“I will hold them back. Go. Hurry.”

Arthur smiled sardonically. “You expect me to leave you and run. You must think very poorly of me, teacher. Besides,” he added, peering into the shadows where the figures lay in wait for them, “I am the one they want.”

Guinevere shook her head. “But you may not be the only target.” She used her shoulder to gesture down the path they had just taken and watched how blood drained out of Arthur’s face in the moonlight.

“Mother,” he whispered, voice shaking. His horror soon turned to anger. “I’ll kill them all.” He took the dagger from her and ran back towards the villa, his boots scuffing against the rough stone.

Guinevere fixed her gaze forward, ready to stop anybody who went after the prince. But the figures remained still and she could all their eyes fixed on her.

Do they want me? With the prince retreating to where his mother is, they are still here… Why?

The image of Morgause’s sharp eyes flitted around in her mind and Guinevere understood. She was also a target. Their disregard of the prince did not mean he was not a target; it meant that they simply planned to take care of her here before going after him.

"To be honest, I am flattered." Securing her long hair behind her, she said into the night, "Who's first?"

In lieu of a response, there was a loud rustling of leaves as the garden on both sides of the avenue parted to reveal nineteen or twenty men, all armed with swords and menacing.

Guinevere suspected that there were more than ten men but she did not expect twenty. This was no assassination. It was an assault and the fact that Morgause could organize such a force with no one attempting to question or stop her was a testament to her influence in the royal household.

“So that is how it is. I truly do not mind. In my life, I have never shied away from a fight.”

The men surrounded her in a semicircle. Their swords were drawn and they looked alert but not because of her. They seemed more cautious of their environment than of the girl in front of them.

One of the men urged his companion, “Finish her. We need to get to the villa.”

His companion responded with a nod and stepped forward while the others all took a step backwards, ready to make their way to Igraine’s residence. What they did not expect was that in a second their companion was vanquished, body limp and bleeding on the ground, his sword in the petite girl’s hand.

Cold and quiet descended on the avenue as Guinevere lifted the sword and flung the blood off it. It was a little awkward for her to hold—the handle having been made for a larger man—but she made it work, gripping the sword securely in both hands.

"None of you is leaving here alive," she said in a voice colder than the night.

The men were still entrenched in confusion when Guinevere began her offence. She swerved to her right, thrusting her sword sharply towards one of the soldiers.

She aimed for his chest but the sword ended somewhere in his guts and while the men around her inhaled in unison, she frowned slightly, pondering the issue.

I’m shorter now.

The height difference made her attack inaccurate. She had not noticed when sparring with Arthur but it was apparent now she battled with fully grown men. That was not the only problem. While she was more skilled than they were, the difference in physical strength could also play a part in deciding the victor of this challenge.

A fifteen-year-old against twenty—now eighteen—fully grown men.

Still, Guinevere fancied her chances.

The men, realizing that this was no ordinary girl, fell into battle stances, ready to attack. Guinevere drew a breath and felt the power of the Grail thrumming in her ribs and instantly knew she was going to win this fight.

Parrying a blow, she allowed herself to be pushed backwards, sliding on the rough stone. Seeing a chance, her combatant thrust his sword forward. Expecting the move, she sidestepped his sword and swung hers powerfully, leaving him without an arm.

Three down. Seventeen to go.

The one-sided slaughter continued until just one man remained. Realizing there was no escape for him, he resorted to begging.

“Please don’t kill me. I have children and a wife. Please. I will do anything you ask.”

Guinevere pointed the sword at his neck. “Who sent you? Who hired you?”

“We are mercenaries that work under the first princess. We were told to attack the fifth prince, his tutor and his mother. And to kill any witnesses.”

“Thank you for the information,” Guinevere said, bringing her sword down and knocking the assassin unconscious.

She took in the state of her body and clothes while she pondered the information she had just received. If Morgause was the one poisoning the fourth concubine, then why would she also send such a team to eliminate her?

As she gazed at the moon, a thought crossed her mind. Or is there another enemy I am overlooking?

***

Back at the villa, once he had assured his mother's safety, Arthur directed one of the servants to alert both the security guarding the villa and his guard. But he placed no hope in both of them. If the security was doing their job, then the incursion should not have been possible.

Most likely, they had been paid off to allow the assassins on the property. And his guard which was made of people he trusted was too far away. What would be the situation by the time they arrived?

"All the entrances and windows should be barricaded with two or more people should standing guard at each entrance. Arm yourself with whatever you can find," Arthur said to the staff gathered at the drawing room.

They all dispersed with Arthur heading to the entrance closest to his mother’s room. He would defend with his life.

Arthur’s line of thought was interrupted by the sound of blades clashing. He took a step towards the door and glancing through the window beside it, tried to ascertain where the sound was coming from. The night was quiet and the air carried the sound far. But he realized soon enough that the battle seemed to be taking place on the path where he had left the tutor.

So she isn’t dead yet.

A commotion behind him drew his attention away from the window and Arthur turned to see his mother hurrying down the flight of stairs with maids trying to stop her.

Rushing to her, Arthur said, “Mother, return to your room. It is not safe here.”

“Where is she? The servants just told me that she did not return with you, Arthur.”

He did not bother pretending not to know who his mother spoke about. “Yes, she did not return with me.”

Igraine gasped, holding her hand to her chest. “Then where is she? Is she safe?”

The sounds of fighting intensified and distracted Igraine momentarily. “What was that? Is someone fighting with them?”

Arthur did not want to tell her that the person she was concerned about was the one in the thick of battle. So instead he said, “Mother, please return to your room. I will fill you in when everything is settled. Please, Mother.”

Igraine nodded and although her anxiety was plain to see, made her way up to her chambers.

Arthur refocused on the battle and after some time, the sound of blades clashing finally stopped. He peered into the darkness, wondering if his teacher was dead. He did not particularly care for her, only her ability. If she was dead, then it meant that the skill of the men was higher than he’d expected.

Looking down at the dagger in his hand, he debated waiting in the villa or leaving to search for the men. If his tutor was dead, he was certain that she would have taken a few of them along with her. He could finish up the rest.

If she was not dead and had finished the men off, then he would escort her back to the mansion and treat whatever injuries he had. His mother cared about her, it seemed.

Decided, Arthur opened the door silently and exited the mansion. He ran swiftly and quietly, blending in with the darkness, to the place where he’d left Guinevere. As he got closer to the place, he slowed to a walk, taking in the scene before him.

There was blood everywhere. On the dark stone, on the trees’ brown bark and the lamp post grey metal. Everything the moonlight illuminated was stained with dark, red blood and the air full of the stench of death.

Amid the bloodbath stood Guinevere, looking like the personification of Death. Her hair, face and sleeves were drenched in the blood of the men she had slaughtered.

Arthur made a quick count of the bodies lying on the floor and frowned. It was, simply put, a fragrant display of ability. He was finally beginning to understand the person he ate with, studied with and sparred with every day.

His heart thumped slowly as he regarded her. She was a dangerous woman. A very dangerous woman. She looked him in the eye from across the river of blood and Arthur felt something shift in the dynamic that existed between them.

He took one step closer and then another. It was strange. He felt like he was approaching a flame; the energy she gave off increasing as he drew closer until he felt like his skin was on fire. There was something about her that defied the logic he lived by and the balance he always strove hard to maintain.

Arthur came to a stop in front of her. He ignored the blood swirling around his shoes and stared into her eyes. “Guinevere,” he said, choosing to use her given name for the first time since they ever met. “What do you want? What do you truly want?”

He watched her lips part as she said, “I want… you.”

Her answer was exactly what he expected. He had known from the start that she wanted him.

“What do you want from me? What can I possibly do for you?”

“I want revenge. I want what was taken from me."

The answer made Arthur pause. He did not expect that. “Will you get it through me?”

Guinevere leaned forward, eyes intense. “Yes, I will.”

“What if I say no?”

Guinevere smiled. “What makes you think I will give you a choice?”

Arthur glanced at her confident smile. “You seem to be underestimating me.”

“I think you are also guilty of that crime.” Using the sword in her hand, she gestured to the bodies that littered the stone avenue. “This is what I can do, Your Highness. Stop underestimating me.”

“So what are you going to do?” Arthur asked, cocking a brow. “Kill me if I say no?” He laughed and shook his head. “Stop underestimating me,” he said, throwing her words back at her. “You do not know anything about me.”

Guinevere opened her mouth like she wanted to argue but Arthur interrupted her.

“My mother is worried about you. I would have loved to bring you to her but,” he paused, roving his eyes over her clothes, “I do not think that will be best.”

“No, I don’t think so. By the way, Your Highness, I have a gift for you.” Using the sword, Guinevere pointed to a man lying on the floor beside her. “He is alive, although unconscious, and may have some useful information if you can get him to talk. Somehow, though, I don’t think that will be a challenge for you. When he talks, it might become obvious that we have common goals.”

Without allowing the prince to respond, Guinevere spun around and walked down the avenue, leaving Arthur with the feeling that he had just escaped an encounter with Death.