Free Quest - Book 2 of Queen's Honor - YA + Adult Fantasy Romance and Adventure by Mande Matthews

and gold
velvets and satins laced with even more gold and jewels than my gown.
    As I entered through the arched doorway of the chapel, I released
the triquetra into a nearby trash heap, hoping that with it, I released the
blackness of my own heart. Father would be so ashamed of me. He was right about
me. My blood—the blood of the old ones, the dark ones, the tainted ones—had brought
ruin to everyone I loved. I was glad he wasn’t here to see what a mess I had
made of my situation.
    I seemed to disconnect from myself as I stood next to Arthur,
as if I watched the event from outside of my body. He beamed, lighting like the
sun. He stared down on me as if I were the only woman alive—as if he had no
recollection of spending the night with my cousin. Then the Bishop of
Canterbury sealed our souls with words spoken in Latin, a strange tongue I
could not even comprehend.
    When it was done, Arthur kissed me. My lips were unwilling
lumps under his touch remembering they had recently been on Lancelot’s, and
Arthur’s on Elibel’s—but Arthur pressed into them anyway as if he owned the
right to do so. I suddenly realized the electricity of his touch was more like
the slice of a conquering sword rather than the excitement of love’s first rush.
He had gotten what he wanted. And I hoped, if my choice had not served my own
heart or that of my loved ones, that it would at least serve Britannia.
     
     

Chapter
1 1
     
     
    After I had been
introduced as Camelot’s new Queen to the awaiting citizens, I was escorted to
the stands where the quest would conclude. Both my mind and my body numbed—so I
was Queen. What could I possibly do as Queen when I could not even manage to
better those around me?
    Aerona, Crystin
and Rhosyn trailed after me, while Arthur had already mounted the steps and
seated himself for the arrival of the questers. He jested with a few of his knights,
each holding a goblet of honeyed mead. They clanked their cups and toasted,
chugging back the sweet drink in anticipation of the celebration.
    “I believe you
dropped this, My Queen,” said a low, rich voice from behind me. I swirled as
quickly as the overdone fabric of my gown would allow.
    Lancelot stood
behind me. His hand stretched outward. Settled in the thickness of his palm,
lay the triquetra. My heart thumped at the sight of him, and I repressed a
hopeful smile.
    “A moment,” I said
to my ladies.
    They curtsied and
left us, joining Arthur and his knights on the stands.
    “You’re here,” I
said, my breath quivering against my chest.
    “You told me to
seek happiness,” he replied, holding my gaze in his. And those eyes—dark, deep,
simmering—said a million more words than the ones he spoke.
    Even as far as two
paces from me, his warmth penetrated me, livened my insides once more, and drove
away the numbness that had seized me. I wanted to fall in front of him and
weep, but I remained standing as I thought a queen should retain a wee bit of restraint.
    “You dropped
this,” he repeated.
    “No,” I said, “it
belongs in the garbage.”
    “I dare to argue
with a queen, but a triquetra is the very symbol a queen should possess.”
    “It’s wickedness,”
I said.
    “It’s the land,
the sea and the sky,” he argued. “It stands for love, honor and protection.”
Lancelot mirrored the words my mother had said, so many, many seasons passed.
“How could it be wicked?”
    “My father says it
is the sign of the witch—of the old ones.”
    Lancelot shook his
head. “No more than the clover.”
    I furrowed my
brow, disagreeing.
    “The clover has
three leaves, like the triquetra. The clover is from the land, given to us by
God. They say, to the west, a Saint teaches his followers God’s trinity with
the petals of the clover. The triquetra is no more wicked than the trinity—both
are the same, both are holy. Though called by another name, they stand for the
same truth. And that truth is what you are, Guinevere. You are the land,