Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set (110 page)

“What’s that?” I ask. Now Syr Phillip is stifling a
laugh. “Is there something you aren’t telling me, Phil?” He just
shakes his head and starts guffawing.

“Okay, Pegeen, looks like at least Phil here knows
what you’ve been lying to me about. Out with it.”

Pegeen grins sheepishly and takes a long sip of her
Big Gulp before answering. “Umm, I hope you’re not too mad about it
or anything, but I sort of forswore you in as a member of the Great
Dark Horde as my first officially sponsored Horde initiate. So that
makes you the first sitting Crown Princess of the Middle Kingdom
who is also an active Horde member—a
secret
member, of
course. You’re going to have some additional. . . duties at the War
because of that.”

“
What?
You forswore me into The Great Dark
Horde? Without my knowledge? What the hell, Pegeen?”

Syr Phillip finally stops laughing long enough to
chime in. “Well, Lisa, if you want to get technical about it, you
sort of became a secret Hordeswoman by default when you became my
most favored lady.”

“Okay, just wait a minute,” I say. “I don’t
understand. Pegeen, since when are you even
in
the
Horde?”

“I’ve been a committed Hordeswoman for almost two
months.”

“It’s true,” Syr Phillip says as he pulls the
Navigator into the line of cars waiting to pass the Ohio Turnpike’s
first tollbooth. “I was present for Pegeen’s swearing-in
ceremony.”

“And furthermore, like Syr Phillip, I’m a
secret
Horde member,” Pegeen goes on. “I don’t acknowledge
my membership to any non-Horde members. But since you’re a secret
member now too, Lisa, I can tell you. As your lady-in-waiting,
it’ll be part of my job to assist you in fulfilling all your secret
Horde duties and obligations while you’re serving as Middle Kingdom
royalty.”

Now I’m so stunned I can barely breathe. “Now wait
just a minute,” I blurt. “How in the hell can both my boyfriend
and
my best friend be secret members of this kooky group? I
have yet to fully understand what the Great Dark Horde even is, let
alone why you guys—or anyone, for that matter—would want to be
members. And furthermore, Pegeen, you had absolutely no right to do
something as underhanded as to commit me to some kind of weird,
lifelong duty obligation to an organization as freaky as the Great
Dark Horde.”

Pegeen sets down her Big Gulp and laughs. “Actually,
I
did
have a right to do it. Don’t you remember our little
agreement at Max & Erma’s a month or two ago?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” I
snap.

“Actually, it has everything to do with it,” Pegeen
replies coolly. “Considering the fact you agreed that I would help
you with your little Horde spying task for Syr Phillip on the
condition that one of us would
join
the Horde.”

I lean in closer to Pegeen. “I don’t
understand.”

Pegeen flashes me a wicked smile. “Well,
I
was already a member of the Horde when we made the agreement. So,
of course it’s only logical that
you
would be the one to
join. And in all our years as friends, Lees, I’ve never known you
to back out of a promise.”

She definitely has me there. Still, it doesn’t
change the fact that Pegeen took advantage of my ignorance at
minimum, and my personal trust at maximum. “That was still a pretty
underhanded thing for you to do, Pegeen,” I seethe.

Now Pegeen and Syr Phillip both laugh.

“Well, get used to that, Lees,” Pegeen chuckles.
“The Horde by its very nature is a pretty underhanded organization.
If it makes you feel any better, I got roped into it ass-backwards,
too.”

“How?” I ask, not exactly impressed. Pegeen’s been
getting herself roped ass-backwards into harebrained schemes since
we were both kids.

“By Arundel, of course. He’s a secret Hordesman too.
He forswore
me
in as a condition of carrying my favor.”

“Calm down, ladies,” Syr Phillip says as we clear
the tollbooth. “We’ve only got an hour and a half or so to go
before we arrive at Pennsic. I suggest the two of you try to take a
nap the rest of the way, because things are going to get pretty
crazy pretty soon after we arrive. The first royal War Summit
between the Midrealm, Aethelmarc, the Horde, and the Tuchux starts
only an hour or so after we arrive on-site, and I need the two of
you to be refreshed and ready to go. These War Summits can be very,
very long and intensive. Or so I hear, anyway.”

I think about pointing out the fact that the War
Summit will be Syr Phillip’s first opportunity to reconcile with
his father and brother is probably what will make it long and
intensive for him, but I don’t. Instead I just lean my seat back
into the reclining position and take a nap.

****

I’m awakened a couple hours later when the Navigator
starts bouncing around violently. I sit all the way up and look out
the window, and am completely blown away by what I see.

Syr Phillip is guiding the Navigator up a bumpy
gravel road that ends in front of a long row of huge white tents.
There is a gigantic banner—at least twenty feet long and ten feet
high—flying from the top of one of the tents.

In huge red-and-gold Gothic lettering, it reads,
“WELCOME TO PENNSIC WAR XXXVI. TROLL BOOTH”. Then in smaller script
below, it reads “PLEASE WAIT IN YOUR DRAGON UNTIL THE NEXT TROLL
VOLUNTEER WAVES YOU IN.”

Just beyond the troll booth is a hill. And covering
that hill are more tents than I have ever seen in one place in my
entire life. Thousands and
thousands
of tents, that seem to
stretch on for miles. It’s a bona fide tent city.

Syr Phillip notices I’m awake. “That’s Pennsic,
Lisa. And if you think it looks big now, wait until the end of the
first week. It’ll easily be three times as big by next weekend.
This year’s Pennsic Mayor expects at least thirteen thousand people
on-site by the end.”

My jaw goes agape. “Thirteen
thousand
people?”

Syr Phillip nods. “That’s right. And be thankful
you’re royalty, Lisa. As Crown Princess of the Midrealm, you’ll
never have to wait in line for a shower, something most of the
common folk spend half their time at Pennsic doing.”

I nod, but don’t reply. Somehow I think over the
next two weeks I’ll get my first taste of just how good being
kingdom royalty can be. As if to prove my point, a chubby
middle-aged woman in a long white cotton tunic and sporting a
“TROLL” badge around her neck toddles right past the seventeen or
so cars and SUVs in front of us in line and heads over to the
Navigator. She taps on the window, and Syr Phillip presses the
automatic rolldown button.

“Good morrow, gentles,” the woman sings into the
car. “Might you be Phillip and Lisa, Crown Prince and Princess of
the Midrealm?”

“That would indeed be us, milady,” Syr Phillip
replies, already taking on his chivalrous noble persona. “How did
you know?”

“King Fallon and Queen Marguerite told me to be on
the lookout for a red Navigator with Ohio plates,” the woman
explains. “I’m Countess Caroline Hightower, former Queen of
Calontir. I’m the Deputy Mayor of Pennsic for Kingdom Royalty. If
you will pull your dragon over to yonder red tent, you can bypass
regular Troll, and our Royalty Pavilion will process you all in and
then personally escort you to Midrealm Royal Encampment. Welcome to
Pennsic, Your Royal Highnesses.”

“This royalty thing really isn’t half bad,” I
chuckle as Syr Phillip rolls up the window and slowly eases the
Navigator over to the Royalty Pavilion.

Within five minutes, we’ve signed all the necessary
waivers and other paperwork, received our Pennsic site medallions,
and are on our way towards the Midrealm Royal Encampment. Countess
Caroline and a preteen page girl lead us down the Low Road,
Pennsic’s main campground thoroughfare. Syr Phillip guides the
Navigator and our U-Haul along behind them at about two miles an
hour.

“MAKE WAY! MAKE WAY!” Countess Caroline and her page
shout ahead of us. “STAND ASIDE FOR THE DRAGON CARRYING PHILLIP AND
LISA, CROWN PRINCE AND PRINCESS OF THE MIDDLE KINGDOM!”

All the costumed passerby who have jumped off the
road to lean against the scores of Porta-Potties lining it all
curtsey and bow to the Lincoln Navigator.

Syr Phillip taps me on the shoulder. “Wave and
smile, Lisa. Wave and smile.”

We do.

Pegeen is still asleep in the backseat. I lean over
to shake her awake. “Wake up, Pegeen. You really need to see
this.”

Pegeen groggily rubs her eyes and looks out the
Navigator’s side window at the hundreds of bowing and curtseying
SCA commoners. “Who are they bowing for?” she asks.

“
Us
, stupid!” I shake her again; she’s still
half-asleep. “Remember, you’re on lady-in-waiting duty now.
Chop-chop.”

Pegeen growls something unintelligible as Syr
Phillip pulls the Navigator to a stop in front of a lavish gated
encampment. Resplendent multicolored flags decorate the painted
wooden gate, which is hung with red-white-and-gold lamé banners
bearing the Middle Kingdom coat-of-arms. Two armored and armed
sentries carrying real edged-steel swords and crossed spears guard
the front entrance. No sooner do Syr Phillip and I step out of the
Navigator are there at least fifty different SCA commonfolk—some of
whom I recognize and some I don’t—all prepared to wait upon us hand
and foot. Countess Caroline instructs Syr Phillip to hand over his
car and U-Haul keys. “The Middle Kingdom royal volunteers will
handle the rest,” she beams. “Meantime, go ye into yonder Prince’s
Pavilion and rest from your hard journey.” Countess Caroline nods
toward a twelfth-century style pavilion tent of blue-and-gold
fleur-de-lis fabric. Its flaps are drawn and tied open with banners
displaying Syr Phillip’s personal coat of arms; inside the pavilion
I see a mahogany four-poster bed piled high with comforters, a
matching mahogany wardrobe, a dining table with four chairs and a
chessboard set up for play, and a beautiful purple satin chaise
lounge.

I guess kingdom royalty camps in style at
Pennsic.

Syr Phillip and I head straight for our pavilion. I
kick off my sneakers and fall backwards onto the magnificent bed,
which Syr Phillip and I are sure to put to good use over the next
two weeks. Syr Phillip tinkers with the wardrobe and chess set,
while Pegeen flops down on the satin fainting couch and immediate
falls back to sleep. But not for long—Countess Caroline appears in
our tent and her first action is to shake Pegeen awake.

“I’m sorry, milady, but this pavilion is solely for
the enjoyment of Their Royal Highnesses. You’ll need to leave.”

“But—but, I’m Princess Lisa’s personal
lady-in-waiting!” Pegeen protests loudly. “And I’m also the most
favored lady of Arundel the Black, the Chief Land-Grabber for the
Midrealm Royal Encampment!”

“Ah,” Countess Caroline smiles. “You must be the
lady Pegonia. Arundel’s pup tent is on the far side of the royal
encampment. Follow me.”

“
Pup
tent?” Pegeen whines as Countess
Caroline leads her away.

“I don’t think Pegeen will much like a pup tent,” I
say, sighing back into the luxurious goosedown duvet of our royal
bed.

“I don’t think Pegeen and Arundel will much
fit
in a pup tent, either,” Syr Phillip replies wickedly.
“But first things first. You and I need to get garbed for the War
Summit, and fast. It begins in fifteen minutes. Where the hell is
all our stuff?”

As if on cue, a team of at least thirty kingdom
volunteers carry the entire contents of our U-Haul into the
pavilion. Within minutes, all our garb is in the wardrobe, all our
royal gifts and accouterments safely stashed in heavy wooden trunks
under the bed, and all the Horde and Tuchux gifts are tucked away
in the royal treasury pavilion. And just as quickly as the royal
servants unpack and stow everything, they disappear without a
trace.

“Wow,” I say. “Now
that’s
what I call
service.”

“I guess that’s where the expression ‘the royal
treatment’ comes from,” Syr Phillip offers.

“You guys ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” shouts a familiar
male voice. Baron Grizzly and Baroness Barlonda pop their heads
into our pavilion.

“I see you guys got here okay.” Baroness Barlonda,
already decked out in her fanciest houppelande, goes straight for
the royal wardrobe. “Lisa, Your Royal Highness, we need to get you
garbed for the War Summit in the next five minutes. You too, Phil.
Both of you, strip right out of those mundanes so we can get this
Pennsic show on the road. Oh and by the way—Countess Caroline and
her crew are taking your Navigator back to the dragon lot for you.
She’ll bring back the keys, don’t worry.”

Before Syr Phillip and I get a chance to object to
stripping to our skivvies in full view of the royal encampment,
Baron Grizzly has swept the flaps of our pavilion shut and Baroness
Barlonda is tossing garb and accessories this way and that. In
something that can only be explained as supernatural, Barlonda has
the both of us garbed, shod, and crowned in the fanciest of our
royal attire in less than five minutes.

“They’re ready, Grizz!” Barlonda shouts, and Baron
Grizzly opens the tent flaps from the outside. He’s put on his
Dragon Herald tabard and is carrying an elaborately carved herald’s
staff.

“Follow me, Your Royal Highnesses,” he says
stiffly.

We do.

“MAKE WAY, MAKE WAY! FOR THEIR ROYAL HIGHNESSES,
PHILLIP AND LISA, CROWN PRINCE AND PRINCESS OF THE MIDREALM,
APPROACH!”

There doesn’t seem to be anyone in the way, but that
doesn’t deter Baron Grizzly from announcing us.

We follow Baron Grizzly to the most elaborate
pavilion in the royal encampment, which of course can be none other
than King Fallon and Queen Marguerite’s. Baron Grizzly flings wide
the royal pavilion’s flaps and we go inside.