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At first he had retained a group of older advisors, lords and ladies who had served my father and who hoped to remain close to the new king. But soon none of these remained.
Oh, he had not killed them. Though a few had been sent away from Camelot, essentially banished from the Rose Court, forced back to their country estates where they would be safely out of Arthur’s way.
The rest had dwindled, one by one, as they realized Arthur would not be heeding any of their wise words.
Eventually, only Lord Agravaine remained. He had the king’s ear. Secretly, I believed this was because he told Arthur precisely what he wished to hear. Or worse, things more terrible than the ones Arthur had initially thought of.
Somehow the kingdom had not crumbled into ruin either. We had gone steadily on, the same as before. At least, until recently. Now things were changing. And not for the better.
“He used to be different. More approachable. Even...” I nearly said “kind.” But had that word ever fit my brother?
“It is not entirely his fault,” Galahad said carefully, looking at me. “We know–the entire court knows–how difficult your father was to get along with. How hard he was, not only on Arthur but on you.”
I couldn’t help it. A bitter laugh escaped me. “Yes. That is putting it... Well, that is certainly true.”
“Part of you must have been glad when he died.”
I looked at Galahad, shocked that he had said something so honest. But it was true, of course.
He clapped a hand over his mouth, his eyes wide. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I...
“It’s all right. I don’t wish to speak of it. But yes, if we’re being ruthlessly, recklessly honest. It’s true.”
I paused my tread on the stairs, the memory of that night flooding back.
It was too close. Too close by far to my memory of Florian’s attack. And I did not want to think of either just now.
But Galahad had brought me back around to one certainty. I could not go to Arthur.
Ever since our father’s death, the reality of what Arthur was becoming had grown like a weed in the back of my mind.
Part of it was that it was too terrible to allow myself to stop and really look at it.
And part of it was that I was too jaded to care.
For a long time, I had held out hope that Arthur would be... different.
I had hoped our father’s death would put a pause on Arthur’s own inclination towards coldness and cruelty.
If only.
We reached the ground floor and exited out a wooden door leading into the outer bailey.
In many ways, the bailey was the heart of the castle complex. On this warm and sunny spring day, it was a hub of bustling activity. The sounds of laughter and chatter filled the air as we passed by the kitchens where cooks were busy preparing meals for the court. Workshops lined the edges of the bailey along the stone outer wall.
Craftsmen and women were hard at work, hammering at metal, carving objects from wood, and weaving cloth. I could hear the clanging of the blacksmith's forge and the whirring of spinning wheels, as we passed by. A group of children raced past us, chasing each other in some rowdy game. A little girl screeched as she ran to catch up, a hilarious look of panic on her face.
The scents and sounds and sights threatened to overwhelm my senses, but in a good way. I found myself grinning. Galahad had been right. It was good to get out of my room. Out here, in the sunshine and the fresh air, with so many people going about their regular routines, I felt a sense of safety and security. I felt less alone.
There was so much good in Camelot. So much worth protecting. I felt a tug of tenderness as I looked at the people around me.Ourpeople.
Did Arthur ever feel it too? This sense of belonging and the urge to protect it?
Or were people like Florian and Arthur becoming the very ones I was training to protect all of this from?
I clenched my fists, feeling the freshly scabbed cuts along my arm pucker and tense with my muscles.
I felt ready to train. No, more than that. Desperate to fight. I needed to fight. To hit. To stab. I needed it more than anything.
