Chapter 9 — Worst Enemy and Best Friend
The whispers had been circulating the royal family for a while like a committee of vultures hovering around a carcass but the rumours were finally confirmed with an official announcement.
The third prince, Agravain, was getting married.
It would be a time of celebration in the kingdom of Camelot. A member of the royal family getting wedded was always followed by auspicious events. Uther may decide to celebrate by granting some prisoners mercy, by reducing the tax in a particular area or sharing food and wine throughout the kingdom so the commoners might also rejoice with the royalty.
Whatever way the king decided to commemorate this event would be very welcome by the commoners. Yes, the marriage of a royal was always a happy time. It was also a time of intense politics.
Marriage would tie two families together, showing to the kingdom that they were allies. Allies of the two families also met in secret to shake hands. The marriage was a political construct made to announce to all interested parties the prince’s challenge for the throne.
This will be very interesting to watch.
That was what Guinevere told herself the first time the rumours got to her ears.
Now, she looked out the window of her chambers to the carriage of the third prince as it stopped at the front of the palace, aware that she was watching something unusual happen.
It was etiquette to personally visit all members of the ruling family to deliver the message of marriage to them but due to other responsibilities, personal visits were only paid to the king and queen and few select members of the family.
But here the third prince was, visiting the outcast prince to inform him of the event. It was true, then. The rumours that the third prince had a soft spot for Arthur. She watched as the prince alighted gracefully from the royal blue carriage and walked towards the main door of the palace.
His russet hair reflected the day’s bright light and Guinevere compared him to his brother, Arthur. None of them inherited their father's yellow hair or grey eyes. Neither did they inherit his face structure and stature; the two brothers standing tall and lean while Uther was a stocky man of average height.
It helped that whenever she gazed at Arthur, she was not reminded of his senselessly cruel father.
Well, we will see if he will be useful or not.
Pushing off the window, Guinevere walked to her table and occupied herself with some pressing issues. An hour quickly passed by and a servant knocked on her door and informed her that Agravain had departed.
Not long after that, she was summoned to Arthur’s study. As she closed the door of her chambers behind her and began striding down the carpeted hall to Arthur’s study, Guinevere tried to predict what would happen. Arthur would inform her of the marriage. She was certain of that but she was unsure of if he would ask her to accompany him.
It was typical for a courtier of the royal to accompany the royal to such events but Arthur had few of such courtiers and she was the highest-ranking amongst them. Protocol demanded that she be the one to attend the prince at this event.
His lack of trust in her was the issue though. However, Guinevere did not think the prince would dismiss protocol simply because of that. It would be too obvious. And she was right.
Standing in front of the large wooden desk where she beat him in chess five days ago, Guinevere extended a hand and received the invitation the prince handed her. She unfurled the embellished scroll and scanned over the information within.
The only new information to her was the time and date of the wedding and Guinevere had already predicted that it would be near.
"His Highness, the third prince will be getting married in a fortnight. You have my congratulations, Your Highness," Guinevere said, rolling up the scroll and placing it on the table.
“Thank you, teacher.” Arthur glanced at the scroll and stapled his long fingers under his chin. “I was wondering who to select as my companion for the night.” He looked up at her and tilted his head slightly to one side. “Naturally, my teacher would be the best choice, but I wanted to make sure that she will be alright with attending the ceremony.”
Even at such a moment, he is probing at my defences. I wonder what his reaction would be if I said no.
Contrary to her wayward thoughts, Guinevere could not afford to refuse the invitation. It would be a golden opportunity to observe the royal family up close and personal. To see their current status and to compare them with what she knew of them in her time.
“This is a privilege of a lifetime. It would be an honour beyond compare to escort Your Highness to such a prestigious event.” Guinevere ended her statement with a small curtsy.
There was a second of silence as the prince observed her from the other side of the table. With the afternoon sun behind him hitting the high-backed chair and casting a shadow on the smooth grain of the table, the prince’s face was briefly hidden in the shadow of the chair and his dark hair, but Guinevere thought his eyes glowed with an unconcealed menace. Like the night he wrapped a hand around her neck.
What do you want?
The question seemed to echo in the space between them. Guinevere left it unanswered. This was not the time.
“If that will be all,” Guinevere said, curtsying. The prince did not say anything as she spun and exited the room.
Walking back to her chambers, Guinevere could not help the smile that pulled the edges of her lips up. It was not a nice smile. It was a smile of excitement, trepidation and determination. Finally, she was going to see Uther Pendragon.
Guinevere’s hands clenched into fists and she stopped in the empty hallway, failing to control the involuntary shiver that coursed through her. Would she be able to control herself when she saw the man that took everything from her?
She often prided herself as being skilled at hiding her emotions but she did not think she possessed the degree of control that would prevent her from hurling herself at Uther. She would certainly fail that attempt of revenge but still…
Uther Pendragon. How she wanted him to suffer.
Rushing to her room before any servants could see her with such a bloodthirsty visage, Guinevere tried to focus on the strategic import of Agravain’s visit, his marriage alliance and the wedding ceremony. The royal family. With her attendance in the ceremony secure, Guinevere could finally take another step into the treacherous sea that was Camelot ruling class.
***
The choice of her outfit was almost entirely taken out of her hands. Every member of the royal family had a colour that served as the symbol of their court. The fifth prince’s official colour was purple and as his courtier, she had to be dressed in nothing else.
It was not just the colour; the choice of fabric was also taken away from her. Arthur had already selected silk as the material to be used in crafting the clothes. The designer, however, gave her a bit of latitude when it came to the actual design of the dress.
Guinevere had stared at her reflection in the mirror as the tailor moved the measuring stick this way and that. She did not want to stand out but she wanted to be noticed. She did not want to overshadow the prince, but she wanted to look like she deserved her place beside him.
In politics and life generally, first impressions were important.
As the sun set on the day of Agravain’s wedding, Guinevere spun on the spot in front of the mirror.
Yes, this is perfect.
The fifth prince’s colour of purple suited her perfectly, highlighting her bronze hair and chocolate eyes. She would surely be the subject of discussion tonight.
Thanking her maid, she made her way down to the entrance hall and waited for the prince. They were to head to the venue together. As Arthur descended the stairs and came to stand in front of her, the servants oohed and aahed, bedazzled by the spectacle that was the prince and his tutor. Despite being only adolescents, they radiated grace and beauty that was reserved for people far older than they were.
Ever the gentleman, Arthur offered to escort her and Guinevere curled her hand over his, accepting the offer. Seeing them as they were now, no one would ever believe that Arthur had once attempted to strangle her.
“Shall we?” he said, gesturing to the carriage that waited for them outside.
“Yes, let’s.”
***
The announcer’s voice boomed as they walked past the doors and into the hall. “Announcing, the fifth prince and his tutor!”
There was polite applause and following Arthur's lead, Guinevere stepped into the massive hall where the wedding of Agravain was to take place. The decorations, the splendour and the wealth that surrounded her mattered not for the moment she entered the hall, her eyes were swiftly drawn to the high table.
Like a lamp left out in the rain, all of Guinevere’s senses were instantly shut out and overwhelmed.
To Agravain’s left sat Uther Pendragon. Contrary to what she had imagined, her reaction to seeing him for the first time was not violent. She felt an intense crushing sensation in her chest like an elephant had decided to lay on her.
She walked closer to the table, her lungs slowly losing the air in them. Arriving at the table, Guinevere pulled her skirts up and curtsied, paying her respects to the royal family.
He looks younger. I have always had this image of him in my head. But now…, he looks younger. No, he is younger.
The Uther she remembered was eight years older than the one before her eyes. That alone was enough to knock her off balance. If anyone paid attention to the look on her face, they would realize she resembled an owl being strangled.
The members of the high table, however, were not interested in the people in front of them, despite one of them being the fifth prince. They continued conversing amongst themselves. Only Agravain acknowledged their greeting with a small nod.
Guinevere and Arthur walked away to take their seats at the assigned locations; Arthur on a large throne-like looking chair and Guinevere on a smaller, less decorated chair beside him. Guinevere back hit the chair and all at once, all the stimuli rushed into her mind.
The sound of the orchestra playing softly in the corner, the murmuring as people conversed with each other over wine, the glitter and gold that filled the hall. Everything assaulted her at once, holding her captive for a few seconds.
Shaking her head slightly to disperse the fog of turmoil around her, she took a deep breath and noticed Arthur tilting his head. He had caught her strange behaviour. Swallowing, Guinevere focused on keeping her emotions under tight control. She could not let Arthur figure her out.
“Announcing, the fourth concubine!”
As one Guinevere and Arthur turned to the door to watch Igraine enter the hall. She was dressed in a vivid yellow gown, one that billowed around her. Added to her charisma and grace, the dress immediately made her the centre of attention.
It was not like the crowd did not want to ignore Igraine in a bid to show their loyalty to Morgause; it was just that she was impossible to ignore. They could pretend not to see her afternoon tea invitations; they could ride in their carriages past her palace, noses wrinkled and lips curled in a sneer but here and now, they could not take their eyes off this woman.
Igraine walked up to the table and also paid her respects. Unlike Arthur and his tutor, however, she was not ignored. Uther rose from his throne-like chair and acknowledged her greeting.
Of course, the others on the table and even those in the crowd could not remain seated while their king stood. Sounds of applause rang out sparingly within the hall. This was the politics of the kingdom in full display.
When the king was watching, the nobles paid Igraine the respect she deserved. When he looked away, they sought the favour of the queen-to-come by making her into a pariah. Eye service and shallow allegiances.
Seemingly unaware of the discussion her appearance brought about, Igraine made her way to her assigned seat, waving to Arthur and Guinevere as she did. Guinevere smiled at the concubine, returning the wave.
As Guinevere lowered her hand from the wave, she felt a tingle run through her body. It was an unpleasant feeling. She tried to determine what or who the cause was but she got her answer soon.
“Announcing, the first princess and her entourage!”
The announcer’s voice came once again and the announcement was met with loud cheers and applause. Morgause Pendragon stepped into the wedding hall in a deep red gown and the knights that followed her bearing a red sash on their outfits.
If Uther is enemy number one, she definitely is the number two enemy.
Out of all of Uther’s children, she was the one that resembled the most. Physically and behaviourally also. She was the cruellest of them all and as such, she was tipped to inherit the throne from her father; something the people of Camelot dreaded but could do little about.
Morgause walked to the table and like all the royals before her, paid her respects to the couple and their parents. She turned and walked towards the seats arranged for the princes and princesses. There were three seats between her and Arthur but Guinevere could feel the pressure in the air as she took her seat.
An aged courtier made his way out of her entourage to the small seat beside hers. The movement drew Guinevere's attention and she looked to the entourage and saw, amid tall knights, a small and familiar figure.
Lancelot.
Lancelot was here.
That was a greater shock than anything, even seeing Uther.
Lancelot.
Guinevere bit her lip and gripped the hands of her chair tightly to stop herself from dashing across the hall to her best friend. Up until this moment, she had never entertained the idea that Lancelot could somehow be alive in this world.
Her Lancelot had died on that night many years ago; his death was the catalyst for her rebirth. But now, here he was. In front of her and… part of Morgause’s people.
Curiosity burned in her as she tried to figure out what would have led to Lancelot and Morgause meeting. Her need for answers was put on hold, however, as murmuring arose in the hall. She was fine with ignoring the noise but Arthur shot up from his seat and alarmed, Guinevere stood as well.
“Mother,” he said before striding across the hall to where Igraine sat. She was doubling over in her seat, clutching her chest.
Guinevere followed him and together, they held Igraine up, helping her stabilize herself. As she tried to figure out what was wrong with the Fourth concubine, Guinevere felt a tingle run down her spine and she stiffened immediately. Raising her head slightly, she ran her eyes over the crowd, searching for who or what caused the reaction.
The first princess. Morgause’s eyes stared a hole through her and Guinevere could see something evil swirl in her eyes. Like she had noticed a bug crawling close by and was about to crush it underfoot and as the maids assisted Igraine out of the hall, Guinevere wondered if her plan for revenge would be over before it began.