Arthur: Bonus Chapters

Lancelot meets Guinevere

Dedicated to aabihzer for continuing to read and enjoy my story despite very slow updates. Thanks for your lovely comments and I hope you enjoy this backstory!

"Guinevere! Guinevere, where are you?" Elise's frantic voice echoes down the hallway. "Guinevere," she calls again, "You come out right this instant or I will go find your mother and tell her exactly where you go sneaking off to every morning!"

I frown, crossing my arms and stepping out from my hiding place behind my great-grandfather's bust. "You wouldn't."

"Don't test me, child," she says, and my glare deepens.

"Don't call me that! I'm nearly four-and-ten! I am not a child." I stomp down on the floor, digging my heel in for good measure. Elise raises an eyebrow in response, as if to say are you done yet?

I send her the meanest look I can muster before storming down the hall, away from the pesky old maid and toward certain doom.

If Maeve were here she would be on my side. She'd even hide me herself, I think, smiling at the thought of my elder sister. Marriage may have grasped her in its sharp talons but it won't get me. I won't ever be forced to leave this place.

Mother's expression is murderous when she sees me enter the dining hall. Father doesn't notice, engrossed in conversation with our newest guest. I march up to the table stiffly, pulling out my usual chair next to my mother, to the right of where my father sits at its head. Disturbed as the chair scratches against the floor when I pull it out, my father glances up. He frowns at my disheveled and untimely appearance before turning back to his guest. He pauses for a moment, his steady expression faltering as he gives me a second look.

His ever-unshakable resolve appears to crumple for just a moment, before he calmly rearranges the angry crease in his brow and looks back toward his guest.

I sit silently, hands folded primly in my lap and pretend my hair isn't a curly mess, half loose from its plait and incredibly frizzy. The skirt of my once beautiful new dress is stained with dirt, and a little blood from when I ran into the thorn patch. The dress was bought in honour of this man's visit. But he doesn't seem too significant to me.

If anything, he seems rather young to be so important.

There's patch of mud on my cheek, I can feel it as it dries and crusts to my skin. I'm tempted to wipe it off and erase the itch, but I'd rather leave it and make my parents uncomfortable.

I feel a bit wrong, as though I'm betraying them with my appearance, my thoughts. But if they expect me to marry this boy than they have already betrayed me more than I could ever hurt them. With that thought in mind, I do my best to continue my great farce.

"Good evening, mother," I say, doing my best to smile. Mother just stares at me as I begin to eat my dinner, picking apart the pheasant meat with my fingers. I purse my lips together, wanting to burst into laughter at her appalled expression.

The boy-I think mother said his name is Lance-who sits across the table from my mother, on my father's left side, looks up for the first time when I snort. I suck in my cheeks a bit, biting on them in a weak bid not to smile.

I didn't realize this would be so fun.

He frowns at me, narrowing his brown eyes and scrunching up his nose a bit. He only looks a few years older than I am-seven-and-ten at most. I can tell he wants to say something, but doesn't want to offend my parents. I smirk at him when Father isn't looking before glancing back to my food.