Free THE WARRIOR QUEEN (The Guinevere Trilogy Book 1) by Lavinia Collins Page A

still grand, with high ceilings and enough room for fifty men, at least, to stand inside. Arthur sat on his throne with the casual easiness of youth, although I knew now he did not feel it. He sat lazily in it, one knee bent and the foot braced against the edge of the seat, opposite elbow on the arm, gazing thoughtfully down at the group just before him. At his side stood Merlin, Kay and Ector, two of whom I was pleased to see. The group before him were all women; most, by their dress I guessed, neat little nuns. All but the one at the front, who stood as I entered with her back to me, but whose white-blonde hair marked her out strikingly from the rest. As she turned on our entrance I could see that her face and hands, too, were threaded with patterns of blue in the form of twisting vines and sharp-petalled flowers. When Arthur saw me, he rose from the throne with a smile.
    “There you are, lovely as ever, my queen.”
    “Are four days enough for ‘as ever’?” I replied, teasing. He smiled and ran down the steps in two strides to take my hand and lead me back up. He was excited; I could see it on his face. I wondered what for. For once I could not feel Merlin’s gaze on me. When I glanced at him, I could see that his eyes were fixed on the white-haired lady before us.
    “Nimue, this is my queen, Guinevere.”
    The girl – because she was a girl as I looked upon her – she could not have been more than thirteen years of age – curtseyed neatly, and so did the nuns. She wore a lovely dress, pale blue like the sky and, like Morgan’s dress, sewn with little gems from its high neck to the waist, making her shimmer in the light. Her gossamer-fine white hair lay on her shoulder in a simple plait, shining in the sun that streamed through the windows. She looked as though she were spun from glass.
    “My lady, you are every bit as lovely as they say.” Her manners were impeccable, but her voice, too was sincere, and I found myself already warming to the little creature. She was not like Morgan or Merlin; her eyes were light and quick, and she had a ready smile. “I am sorry I am late to pay my respects at your wedding. I come with a gift. It is from the Lady of the Lake, the Lady of Avalon. She brings you an oath, for all your knights, that they might swear to you and to the kingdom to protect and be faithful always.”
    The girl took from one of the nuns a wooden box, and opened it and held up a scroll of parchment. Arthur took it gratefully, and read it aloud. I noticed that his reading was slow, as though he had learned late. I supposed he had not been born a king. I remembered he had said he could not read the stone his father’s sword was set in.
    “It is a good oath. We shall all take it tonight, for tonight is Pentecost and at this time the spirit of the Lord is closer to us all, and each man will be truer in his oath.”
    Nimue nodded in approval.
    “There is a second gift.”
    “Your lady is generous.” Arthur replied.
    “A hunt. The hunt for the White Hart.”
    This seemed a gift even more to Arthur’s liking, but it was also to mine. I would feel more like myself again astride a horse, and I would enjoy the fresh air in my hair and on my skin.
     
    We gathered in Camelot’s great courtyard for the hunt. It was a hot, bright summer’s day with a soft breeze. I was glad I had hidden some hunting leathers among my things and I strode down from my tower dressed in those – thick trousers and sturdy brown boots, a jerkin of leather over a thin silk vest, the net gone from my hair and instead it plaited back and tied with a leather string. I had not realised how I had missed my boots until I had them on again; the women of Logrys wore little pretty shoes like slippers, no good for riding a horse. Across my back hung my bows and arrows. Arthur smiled when he saw me.
    “Now there is a queen fit for a warrior king.” He held me by the hips, looking over me with approval.
    “Here is a queen fit to go