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“Where will you go?” Arthur asked. “How will you find this ‘mighty king’?”
“I will attend other tournaments,” came the careless answer. “Kings preside over the largest events, no?”
“But tournaments are child’s play,” Arthur argued. “You will not find what you seek there.”
“Oh?” Lancelot finally slid a silver-eyed glance his way, showing just a hint of interest.
“True kings,mightykings, lead their men at the head of the army,” Arthur said firmly. It was his personal rule to abide by. He would not ask his men to do anything he wouldn’t do himself.
“They are the first to charge into battle, for how else would the men follow them if they cannot prove their own bravery?”
“Or stupidity,” Lancelot said.
Arthur made a noise of frustration in his throat. There was no winning with this man!
“Come with me and my guard,” he invited in one last effort.
“There are no kings amongst us—yet—but I daresay there are respected leaders of men.”
The warrior eyed Arthur up and down in a slow, thorough perusal. Involuntarily, Arthur drew himself straighter in the saddle to measure up to the inspection.
“I think not,” Lancelot said.
“But perhaps, one day, our paths will cross again, Sir Bear.”
Arthur choked back a groan at the stupid name Gawain gave him, though it sounded almost official…and slightly endearing, when Lancelot added “Sir” in front of it.
“’Tis Arthur,” he offered.
“My name is Arthur.”
Lancelot cocked his head slightly in that curious way of his.
“But you will always be Bear to me.”
And with that, he spurred his stallion into a gallop, leaving Arthur to watch after him long after his form disappeared into the night.
Chapter Four
“No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same man.”
—Heraclitus
Three weeks ago. London Mayfair.
Lancelot followed at a respectable distance behind Arthur as he shot off in a fast jog from their shared abode.
It seemed to be the story of his existence: following Arthur at a respectable distance.
He couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t. He’d follow the mananywhere. Since the day he met the King to forever and beyond.
It had always been his choice. He had never, and would never, regret it.
Arthur took the most direct route to St. James Park, which wasn’t surprising. Directness had always been his forte. He did not believe in meandering through life.
First they took Haymarket Street, then Pall Mall, then Waterloo Place. Once they were on Carlton House Terrace, it was a straight shot.
Arthur’s sense of direction was impeccable. He only had to look at a map once to orient himself in any space as if he’d been there a thousand times. This ability, among others, made him a shrewd general of war. He knew exactly where and how to attack or defend, no matter if he was on familiar or foreign terrain.
