“By the gods,” Lancelot said next to me, his pointed face grim as we began to see bodies littered around the damp, muddy road. Most were face down in the dirt, but a few stared up at me with unseeing eyes as we passed on our way to the center of the village.
“This must have happened recently,” Bedivere chimed in, his silvery eyes scanning our surroundings. “These structures are still only half-burnt.”
A thread ofsomethingcrawled down my spine at his words as if my instincts were warning me that I was missing something.
“Your majesty!” Gawain’s voice cut through the din of misery and I whirled around in my saddle just in time to see Guinevere scrambling down from Gawain’s horse with a determined look on her face.
“Guinevere,” I barked, turning Llamrei in her direction. “Get back on that horse immediately!”
“But they need help!” she protested as she approached a group of villagers who were huddled together and looking up at her with pitying looks.
Normally, I would agree with her, but as she approached a small boy who could not have been more than six years old with a soft, reassuring smile, the sound of a war-horn blasted into the night. A war horn that was not one of ours.
“Saxons!” someone shouted as chaos erupted and the group of people who Guinevere had been approaching sprang up and began to run in all directions, seemingly trying to get away from the trap that they had been forced to set.
“Guinevere!” my voice roared over the cacophony as my queen stood frozen in place with the little boy clutched to her waist. Her fear was so palpable down our still-fresh bond that I could almost taste the hot bile of it welling up in my throat as I watched with horror.
The sound of metal hitting metal filled my ears as my men began to fight back against the deluge of Saxons that were pouring out of the semi-burned structures with their swords raised.
Excaliburrattled in its sheath and the familiar magical sensation of the connection I shared with the sword made my palms itch.
Pulling the sword free, I turned Llamrei in Guinevere’s direction and began to forge a path, Excalibur and my stallion making quick work of any Saxon that dared to point their weapon in my direction.
But I was too damned far away from my omega.
Flashes of Sir Ector and Lady Anne’s cottage after their brutal murders filled my mind.
This had been what I was so afraid of. How was I supposed to protect her when I was also meant to serve and protect my people? To be their king?
Omegas were meant to be cherished, not put second, but the moment I had been crowned king I also swore my life to my kingdom. This was why I had been so hesitant to accept any queen—omega or not.
With a slash of my sword, I sent another Saxon careening to the ground with a groan. My eyes hardly left the omega who had at the very least managed to pull the little boy into her arms. I could see that she was looking around in an attempt to find an escape, but the majority of the fighting had centered around her making that much too complicated on foot.
Suddenly, a Saxon rose up behind her and lifted his sword. It seemed to gleam in the firelight with a menace far greater than any other weapon currently out in the clearing. This sword would cleave through Guinevere, slicing through skin and bones with ease, and I had been the one to give the order to bring her into this chaos.
I would not get to her in time. Everything around me seemed to slow as I watched the sword start to lower.
As an alpha, I had failed so miserably that I had even gone against what fate had laid out for me and now I would have to watch as she died.
Then, just as Guinevere was huddling over the boy as if to protect him from the sword that would no doubt cut through the both of them, the sound of metal ringing on metal filled my ears as Gawain knocked the attacking Saxon’s sword out of the man’s arms and to the ground.
The lad made quick work of Guinevere’s attacker as she was lifted up and onto Lancelot’s saddle in a blur.
I had not even seen my second-in-command move, but now he was pulling her into his chest and shielding her and the little boy as he was flanked by Bedivere and Gawain.
Dumbfounded. That was the only emotion I could feel as the fighting continued in a confusing cacophony around me as they approached.
“Your majesty,” Lancelot’s shout reached through the dull roar in my ears as he galloped up to me with my queen safely ensconced in his arms. “Your orders?”
“Take her,” I bit out. “All three of you. Get her to Camelot safely and you can have whatever you please.”
Guinevere peeked out from underneath Lancelot’s arms, her brown eyes wide as they met mine.
“Arthur—” she began, but Lancelot was already spurring his horse on and making a path through the battle. He was followed closely by Gawain, leaving just a frowning Bedivere behind.
“Are you certain, Arthur?” Bedivere asked, his question laden with a heaviness and double meaning.
He was really asking if I was truly content with sharing Guinevere with these men?
