“I don’t believe in kismet,” I told him with a frown that the man mirrored.
He let out a noise that was half-chuckle and half-frustrated growl which I think surprised both of us.
“All right ladies and gentlemen!” the docent who’d given us the pamphlets called from a raised podium in the center of the room, the interactive floor under our feet starting to move and shift like golden grains of sand draining towards her as she gathered the people in the room with her chipper voice. “The two o’clock retelling of the King Arthur legend is just about to begin.”
I wanted to leave, but Charles was already turning to listen, the crease between his eyebrows disappearing so fast that I wasn’t sure I’d even seen it. I was starting to get the feeling that Charles was enjoying this date just about as much as I was.
“This collection is on loan to us from a private collector who wishes to remain anonymous, but they want me to tell you the story so that maybe you can love it as much as they do. The King Arthur legend is one of the most lasting stories we have in the United Kingdom,” the docent began, “It has spawned retellings, retranslations, and the love of history in countless individuals… but no one can truly agree whether it even existed at all. Somesay that Arthur was based off of some ancient forgotten king, others say that he’s just a story people used to tell around the fire to make those long winter nights a little bit better while the Saxons invaded their homelands.”
Somewhere in the back of the gathered crowd a man, American by the sound of his accent, shouted: “And what do you think?”
The docent smiled and shrugged. “I’m afraid I’m a bit of a hopeless romantic and there is no greater romance than that of Queen Guinevere and her pack. I only have a short time here with you all and it would take ages to tell you the whole story, so I suppose I’ll start there.”
At the mention of my namesake, the hair on my arms stood on end, like I’d been gathering static electricity by shuffling my feet on the carpet and was about to get the shock of my life.
Guinevere, someone whispered and I whipped around to try and figure out who was behind me, but Charles and I were at the back of the group, so when I did all I found was empty air next to a glass case containing a rusted sword.
“In today’s day and age, our designations live far more harmonious lives—there are laws and departments protecting omegas from things like being kidnapped or taken away from their alpha—or alphas—by some outside entity, and if they want, omegas can choose any single alpha or pack for themselves. But in the British Isles during the 6th century, a pack was almost unheard of. Now, in other continents such as Africa or Asia, the presence of packs can be traced almost back to the Stone age, but here in our misty, rainy homeland the first mention of a pack comes right along with the legend of King Arthur.”
I was only half-listening as I stared at the sword with a frown. It was just an old piece of metal, the placard in front of the case declaring that it had been pulled out of Bassenthwaite lake and dated for around the 6th century which was when King Arthurwas said to have fought a war on the shores before ultimately dying in battle.
It was longer than I thought a sword from this time period should be and the hilt was wider than any of the other replicas in the room, telling me that whoever had wielded it must have had big hands.
But none of that was why I continued to stare at the sword as the docent told her tale about a princess who was married off to a king.
No, oddly enough, the sword looked as if it wasvibratingin the little plastic holder it was hung on inside of the case.
“Guinevere married Arthur and became his queen and omega, what she didn’t account for was how drawn she would feel to some of his closest knights including the handsome Sir Lancelot. Arthur, for his part, quickly realized that his omega may have more in her heart than love for him. Now, most kings would have executed their wives for having a straying eye—especially during this time period when omegas were supposed to only belong to one alpha—and many people didn’t understand the connection between Guinevere and Arthur’s men, some even calling for the queen to be deposed and burnt at the stake. But Arthur wasn’t any normal king…”
The sword began to glow and the glass around it wavered, almost like I would be able to reach through it if I wanted to.
I took a step closer to the case and no one turned to look, enamored by the story being woven by the docent.
“But of course, this story doesn’t have the happiest of endings, unfortunately, or else we may still have been living in Arthur’s Camelot to this day. As the Saxons continued their push into England and eventually the combined armies of the tribal kings gathered for one last stand—some say on the shores of Lake Bassenthwaite while others argue that any number of lakes in our glorious country could have been the battleground—butregardless Guinevere watched from a hilltop as the sheer force of the enemy overwhelmed her husband and her pack, leaving her all alone in the world. Some stories go that Guinevere began to cry and cry until the lake waters began to fill, expanding the lake and burying the bodies of her lovers under hundreds of meters of water, other say that the gods took pity on poor Guinevere and filled in the lake themselves so that she wouldn’t ever have to look upon it again. But after that, all mention of Guinevere disappeared from history.”
This was why I hated that my mother named me after her. Guinevere in most legends just stood by as her pack was killed because she couldn’t do anything else as a woman during that time period. It wasn’t as if she could pick up a sword and march into battle alongside her pack, nor could she rule Camelot in Arthur’s stead.
Guinevere, the same voice whispered much louder this time.You must come to us, please.
The voice sounded desperate, like I was their only hope. My mouth felt dry as I reached for the glass, and for some reason when my hand went right through it, my brain didn’t even panic.
My hand wrapped around the hilt of the sword, barely fitting around the width of it as the docent began to talk about the various pieces that were on loan to the museum.
Then the floor disappeared from underneath my feet and I was being pulled, dragged into a dark vacuum of space. Then, I remembered nothing more.
Chapter Two
Drip, drip, drip.
The sound of water falling filled my ears as I awoke again and was immediately confused about where I was.
Was the ceiling leaking in one of the exhibits again? Albert was going to get pissed if we had to go in and fix things when our schedule was busy enough because we already had to shift several exhibits around to accommodate the King Arthur one, so if maintenance hadn’t fixed the roof, which they swore up and down that they had, they were going to see the normally proper British man lose his mind.
Rolling onto my back with a groan, I worked to open my eyes. It wasn’t like me to nap at work even if some of the other designers always tried to sneak in some shut eye on the little cot we kept in the office.
Trini wasn’t going to let me hear the end of it if she found me.
I could already hear her teasing:‘I thought you said it was ‘unprofessional’ to nap at work, Gwenny.’
