If they were such a thing, they would not have put such a dangerous fate on my shoulders and the shoulders of the other three men that were seemingly supposed to change the course of history with the woman sitting next to me.
Silence hung in the air after that, the distant whinny of a horse the only noise in the sunny glade as Guinevere continued to twist her curls, deep in thought.
Finally, she spoke again. “Why don’t we start as friends?”
“Friends?”
“Yeah, friends. You teach me how to use one of these bows and arrows and I promise to dunk myself in the bath beforehand so I don’t bother you with my scent,” Guinevere said as if her scent was something unpleasant.
I should have denied her right away, but her hopeful expression tugged at a piece of me that I could no longer ignore.
“Very well.” I agreed finally with a sigh and stood, holding out a hand to help her to her feet. Her fingers were soft and warm as they wrapped around mine and I had to push back the desire to lean forward and brush my lips against her knuckles to test just how smooth they were. “I will teach you archery and—”
“Sir Lancelot!” a young page boy called as he hurried in our direction, holding his hat to his head as if he feared it would fall off in the rush.
Gawain, who had been keeping his distance, suddenly approached us at a fast clip, making it to where we were sitting by the time the boy did.
“What is it?” I asked, standing and placing my bow on the seat behind me.
The boy pulled in a ragged breath, putting his hands on his knees for a moment before he spoke in between gasps. “Your. Father. King. Ban. Is. Here.”
“What?” My voice was incredulous as I grabbed the boy’s skinny shoulders and jerked him upright so that he was looking me in the face. “Why is he here?”
But the boy just shook his head as he finally seemed to be able to string sentences together again. “Dunno, sir, but his majesty sent me to get you. The Benoic flag was spotted up on the hillside.”
I let go of the boy and hurried around him, leaving Guinevere behind as my mind raced.
Why had my father come? Why had he not sent word ahead of him? What could he possibly want?
But whatever his reason, I knew that nothing about it could be good.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Father you cannot just bring Vivienne here and expect her majesty to accept her as a lady-in-waiting!” Lancelot’s voice was tight with frustration by the time Gawain and I made it back to the castle.
I had seen the way his expression slackened with shock when the page came to tell him his father had arrived. I had seen a look just like it before on one of my friend’s faces when their parents showed up unannounced at the dorms in college.
But their shock had been mixed with annoyance at an overbearing parent who was having trouble letting go. Lancelot’s, on the other hand, was a mix of anger and dislike.
I did not know much about Lancelot’s history past the basics, but any parent who made their child’s face look like that must be a real piece of work.
“Why should she mind?” a gruff voice questioned. “Vivienne is a princess—a perfect candidate for someone with so much…esteemas her majesty.”
My brows rose at the clear hostility in the man’s voice and I heard Gawain growl at my side and put his hand on the pommel of his sword.
I reached out and put a hand on his arm, waiting for his blue eyes to shift to me before I shook my head.
The main courtyard of the castle was steadily filling up with the people who worked within coming out to greet our guest and I had no doubt that someone had also run for the fields where Bedivere and Arthur were helping harvest the early summer wheat. I could feel the exertion that Arthur was feeling through the bond, though I knew the shift in my mood would get his attention sooner or later.
“Because she is anomega! Do you wish for Queen Guinevere to shred her to pieces and rightfully so?” Lancelot’s face was red as it came into view, showing more emotion than I had ever seen from the alpha before.
The man who must have been his father was facing away from me and a shorter girl with long blonde curls hanging down to her waist was standing at his elbow. Wind from their direction blew, carrying Lancelot’s citrusy bergamot and a much sweeter, sugary scent to me. It was definitely another omega all right, but I wondered what he meant by me ‘shredding’ her to pieces.
“I am sure Arthur’s bride can move past the baser instincts of her designation, Lancelot,” the man, King Ban, said with little concern.
“Arthur’s bride,” I finally spoke up, making everyone in the conversation jump. “Is right here.”
The man whirled around and I found, with surprise, that the man looked like a much older, much more angry version of hisson. They both shared the same dark hair and eyes, but the man’s expression held no softness or kindness to it.
