I am taking pains to record the London price of grain and ale and other necessary provisions that an army will need. The prices are somewhat steep, I feel, so I will inquire in other parts of Britain as soon as possible.
In more favorable news the training of Cavall goes well. The kennel master has been training him in protective and battle maneuvers since I sent a letter to him in February. He claims the dog is not overly aggressive, but I shall have to judge for myself before I gift him to my Lord Britt Arthurs.
I am still well pleased with the idea, for a dog will be able to follow my Lord Britt Arthurs everywhere—even into her private quarters, where I dare not send guards. Additionally, my Lord Britt Arthurs will most likely be less offended by a dog she believes I mean to be a pet than a squad of soldiers.
Finally, I—and most all of the knights here in London—made the discovery that my Lord Britt Arthurs has another tool with which she can break a man: her smile.
I would be sorely embarrassed to write this, for it sounds like worshipful dribble, but my Lord has a lethal smile. The smile is entirely too feminine, but Merlin’s rumor that my Lord has faery blood makes most perceive it as an enchanting smile. I have never seen such straight, white teeth, and my Lord’s entire face and countenance seems to change when she smiles. I suspect she is in a state of constant apprehension, for I did not notice how tense she is until she relaxed in her smile.
I suspect she will unknowing swindle many a knight change many a mind with the smile. Merlin is already amusing himself, trying think of the ways he use my Lord’s new found charisma.
Kay frowned as he reread the paragraph. “Errors, I’ll have to rewrite it,” he said, glancing at his bed before he hunched over the logbook. Not five minutes later Sir Kay was sprawled across his desk, clenching the quill in his sleep.
…hope we can claim a suitable sword for my Lord. Faery swords are known for being temperamental, but I believe the right one will be instrumental for my Lord’s welfare. It grieved her so to give up the sword she pulled from the stone.
Tomorrow I will record the details of my Lord’s magical weapon, and my first impressions of the castle Merlin has built for my Lord.
Kay put away his writing materials and waited until the ink dried before he shut the book. He arranged the saddle packs behind him so he could sleep propped up, and settled down to doze as the campfire crackled and his father snored.
He was pulled from sleep some hours later when Britt sat upright, a strangled gasp exiting her chest. She was wide eyed and mussed, but eventually her posture slumped as she relaxed.
Kay nodded when she met his gaze and he shut his eyes. He was surprised when he heard rustling as Britt went through a pack. His eyes popped open and he watched Britt unearth a thick, strangely covered book.
Britt flipped through the pages, stopping abruptly. She read from it—murmuring softly under her breath.
Kay watched curiously, but his curiosity turned to worry when the book fell from Britt’s hand like a stone. Britt was pale, and her eyes were hazy with confusion and terror.
When she picked up the book again Kay stood. He hesitated, intending to take a step towards her, before retreating and approaching his father—who had suspiciously stopped snoring when Britt started paging through her book.
“Father,” Kay quietly said.
“I know, what’s wrong?” Sir Ector said, putting aside the pretenses of sleep as he stood.
“I don’t know,” Kay admitted.
Sir Ector patted Kay on the shoulder before he stood and picked his way around the fire. “Britt?”
When the frightened woman looked up Sir Ector crouched down. “Lass, you’re crying. What’s wrong?”
Britt burst into heart wrenching tears.
Kay hurried to the horses, affectionately patting his hobbled stallion when it blearily blinked at him.
Kay winced as he leaned against his mount. The raw grief of Britt’s sobs were like a sword to his gut. He glanced back at the fire.
Merlin was up now, but Sir Ector held Britt in a fatherly embrace, speaking to her in the soothing tones he used with small children and hurt animals.
Kay grimaced again when Britt cried louder. It occurred to him that while he marveled over Britt’s hidden skills and talents and busied himself with his new duties he never dwelled on the personal sacrifice she had made by becoming king.
“I won’t let this happen again,” Kay vowed, his words frosted with Britt’s tears in the otherwise quiet darkness.
Some weeks later Kay looked up from his calculations—he was trying to estimate the cost of lady’s maids with enough discretion to keep their mouths shut—and watched Britt eat.
The tall monarch stared at the ceiling as she slipped Cavall a piece of egg. She yawned and shook her head slightly before she grabbed her wine cup. “Sir Kay, am I holding open court today?”
“I apologize, I do not know, my Lord,” Kay said.