Page 67 of The White Knight

“I knew. I just knew the truth. And I was right.” Mordred looks as if he is about to flee. Gawain scoots his chair closer and closes a hand around Mordred’s arm, pulling him back to his seat.

“Did you actually see Queen Guinevere and Sir Lancelot kiss?” Gawain asks. “Or were they only standing close to one another? The catacombs are a dark place, even with the light of a single torch.”

“I…uh—”

“No,” Bagdemagus answers for Mordred. “I gave you the use of my pages to send messages to Sir Lancelot and Queen Guinevere. What was the message you gave them?”

It is my turn to speak. “They were told that I needed to speak with them in the catacombs. They went down there thinking I had sent them. That is why they were alone. Did you see them kiss, Mordred?”

Bagdemagus answers again, “King Arthur, I truly am sorry. I had thought that I saw them embrace. But as Sir Gawain mentioned, it is very dark in the catacombs.”

Mordred shoots a deadly stare in my direction. “How do you know what message I gave to the pages?”

“Elaine told me. She had seen Guinevere just before and helped her get to the catacombs, a place she had never been before. Everything happened so fast. I was so angry at the thought that Guinevere had made it up so Elaine would not know who she was really meeting down there.” That last part is a lie. For I know I must not let it slip that I knew of any such affair. I still need to play the part of a wounded husband and deceived king in order to save any chance I have at redeeming my honor and that of my family.

As he stands, Bagdemagus’ chair falls to the ground. He rushes over to Mordred. “You deceiving little rat. You are unworthy of your uncle’s love and protection. If I were King Arthur, I would have your head on a spike this very minute.”

“It is a good thing you are not my uncle then,” Mordred spits. “Your son was right about you. You are just a weak, idiotic, cunt of a man undeserving of your throne.”

Before Bagdemagus can react, Gawain slams Mordred’s head into the table, knocking the pizza to the ground. While stunned, Gawain pulls my nephew from his chair, gripping his arms behind his back. “What shall we do with this scum, your Highness?”

Mordred struggles to escape Gawain’s grasp as he pleads for forgiveness. “I was only trying to protect you, uncle.”

“No, Mordred.” I am the last one remaining at the dining table. Slowly, I stand up, keeping my eyes focused on my nephew. In silence, I stalk over to where Gawain has Mordred contained. “You wanted my throne. A throne that was never yours and will never be yours. I would rather see Camelot burn to ashes than see you upon its throne.”

Gawain releases his grip on Mordred, but he does not try to flee. Not yet. “I am your nephew. I am your blood.”

“Blood means nothing to me when that blood runs with hate, anger, and greed. You have caused the death of a prince, a beloved knight, and many others. You have tarnished the memory of my wife, son, and friend.” I pause dramatically, placing a hand on the table to give me strength. “Though I wish nothing more than to kill you right now, I will instead hand you over to King Bagdemagus to answer for the death of his son.”

Mordred’s pleading stare turns to fire. “You cannot hand me over, uncle. Mother would not allow it.”

“Morgause has no say in the matter.Iam king.Iwill choose your punishment.” I turn toward Gawain and nod. He leaves the room and returns in haste with guards. As the guards shackle my nephew, I ignore Mordred’s pleas of forgiveness. I will never forgive him. Never.

The door slams shut behind him, and I suddenly feel as if I am falling. Somehow, I keep myself standing straight. I do not feel fear. Knowing what is to come, I feel relief. Relief in knowing that my family will survive. Bagdemagus will not send his army to seek vengeance. Mordred will die at the hands of another. But what does this mean for my future?

My family is gone. My chest clenches at the thought of them escaping to the future, a place I cannot follow. Even if I could,would I? No. My place is here. My story is here. And it has not ended yet.

Chapter 41

Lancelot

“I am fine, Guin,I promise.” It has been just over a week since Galahad saved me from certain death and Guin will not leave my side. She is constantly checking my wounds, cleaning, and re-wrapping new bandages. The dark circles under her eyes betray how tired she is. “You need to rest. I have not seen you sleep in days.”

“I am fine, Lance, I promise,” she retorts, a sweet smile curling on her lips. “I just want to make sure everything is healing properly. If you get an infection and we don’t catch it in time—”

I place a finger to her lips to stop her from going on another rant. “We are in Avalon. My mother and Morgana are gifted healers, as you well know.”

A delicate sigh escapes from the wet lips she has been biting in her nervousness. I know precisely how Guin feels. Though it seems like a millennium ago when I brought her here, her blood poisoned from a gash Melwas had given her. The pain I felt just from the thought of losing her was unbearable. Then I lost her. For eight years, I fought my way back to her. I will not lose her again.

I pull her down on the bed, placing her head on my uninjured shoulder. The skin of her brow pushes against my neck, so cold. I attempt to grab the blanket folded at my knees, causing pain to shoot down to the wound in my stomach.

“What are you trying to do, Lance? You are hurting yourself.” Guin sits up, gently fingering the dressings around my shoulder and stomach. I am naked except for the bandages wrapped around my body, making my skin pucker in gooseflesh.

“It is cold. I only wanted to pull the blankets over us.”

Guin bends over my body and pulls the blankets over us both. Before she snuggles back into my undamaged side, she places a kiss on my parched mouth. With her stomach pressed against my side, I can feel the little bump that is beginning to grow. Our child. What a marvelous thing it is to know that the woman I love is carrying my child.

“How is the baby?” I ask into Guin’s hair, kissing her softly.

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