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

QUEEN'S HONOR

Tales of Lady Guinevere

Book II: Quest

By

Mande Matthews

PUBLISHED BY:

Guardian Tree Press

Queens Honor: Part II -
Quest

Copyright 2012 by Mande Matthews

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under
the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced,
distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a
database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the
publisher.

The characters and events portrayed in this
book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is
coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author acknowledges the trademarked
status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of
fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these
trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark
owners.

Visit
www.MandeMatthews.com

Signup for Mande
Matthew's newsletter

 
to be notified about new releases, contests,
prizes and special offers

Books
by Mande Matthews

Queen's Honor – Book I:
Betrothal – Available Now!

Queen's Honor – Book
II: Quest – Available Now!

The Light Keepers – a
ShadowLight
Saga Prequel
–
Available for Free!

Bonded – Book One of the
ShadowLight
Saga –
Available Now!

Broken – Book Two of the
ShadowLight
Saga – Coming Soon!

In memory of my beloved Kasie,

Because true love comes in unexpected forms.

QUEEN'S HONOR

Tales of Lady Guinevere

Book II: Quest

There were times when I thought the beliefs of the old ones and those
of the followers of Jesu were in conflict. But when I learned to look beyond the
limitations of my reason, I realized it was only the details of the matter that
were in conflict, not the spirit of the matter, which has always possessed the
true nature of love.

- Guinevere, Queen of
Camelot

The 11th day of
November in the year of our Lord 536

Written from the abbey
at Amesbury

- The 19
^th
 
day of May in the year of our Lord 533

"Can you see him, Guinevere?"

I stiffened at the hushed tone of my mother's voice. Morning
dew wore through my slippers, numbing my toes. Mother had not taken time to put
on my leather overshoes when she dragged me from my bed, threw on my clothes,
and rushed me to the meadow before dawn so Father would not notice our
departure.

Though I followed the line of her finger as she pointed
toward the hillside, nothing came into view; a gray mist clung over the fields.

"No, Mamma, I cannot."

Mother's tresses dangled around her ermine-lined mantle as
she knelt next to me, her skirts soiling in the moist grass as she slunk down
to my height. I took comfort in the fact that the strands of her hair matched
my own in color—brown, like the lighter shades of bark.

"Close your eyes little one, and think of
nothing."

"But—"

"Quiet, child, and count to ten. Then open your eyes
and tell me what you see."

I obeyed, counting to myself. When I reached ten, I opened
my eyes and focused on the hillside.

"Oh!" A squeal escaped me. "I see him!"

Emerging from the haze, an enormous white hart lifted his
head and turned toward us. His antlers razed the sky like a storm of tree
branches, a dark tangle against the mist. A snort blew from his nostrils
sending a puff of white to mingle with the cool morning air; his muscles
rippled underneath his hide.

“Sometimes you can see beyond your normal vision—into the Otherworld,
and other times, into the hearts of men. But most importantly, you must learn
to see into the corners of your own soul.”

I didn’t know what Mamma meant, but I quivered, mesmerized
by the majesty of the creature as if I had been captured by a fey. My childish
mind scrambled with sightings of deer—all red or tawny, never shimmering like
beads of fresh snow.

"Why is his fur white, Mamma?"

"Do you know who he is, Guinevere?" Her tone
remained hushed and reminded me to lower mine as well.

I shook my head.

"The old ones called him the Lord of the Wild Things, and
the new God heralds him the messenger of peace. It does not matter what he is
called. What matters is we understand his essence—that he is immortal. He is
goodness and light. When he appears, he reminds you a challenge is at hand, and
in order to overcome the ordeal, you must stay pure of heart."

I thought for a moment, furrowing my brow. "Why would
he remind us of such a thing, Mamma? Are our hearts bad?"

A knowingness flicked in her blue-gray eyes.
She placed her hand over my heart and
smiled—a sad but tender smile. The white hart pawed the ground behind us, then bolted,
springing over the meadow; he vanished into the mist. Mother lifted her gaze to
meet my own.

Elibel interrupted my mother’s reply with a sharp nudge of
her elbow into my ribs, jarring me out of the long-ago memory.

"You gawk, My Lady," scolded Elibel.

"I do not—"

"You might as well drool, My Lady."

Then I understood: while the recollection had filled my mind,
my gaze had wandered across the crowd to stare at one man—not my soon-to-be
husband, but Sir Lancelot.

The knight ignored me, or perhaps he did not notice I ogled
him. Instead, Lancelot watched King Arthur with all the intensity of a gargoyle
while we milled near the door to Camelaird's granary at my father's request.

"Straighten up and act your part, My Lady."

I turned toward Elibel as she scolded me, breaking my line
of sight to the knight.

The largeness of my cousin's eyes narrowed into slits as she
whispered, "I fear you will make an ill-suited queen if you can't restrain
yourself and show a little decorum."

My fingers continued to trace the triquetra, circling each loop
of the charm as it hung around my neck.

"I am sorry, Elibel. I didn't mean to stare. I was
thinking about Father—"

“About how he’d flay you like a disobedient hound if he
caught you salivating over a man who is not your betrothed?”

“No. About how clearly I can see events I could not remember
before, as if something inside me seeks to find the truth.”

“Perhaps you should seek the truth of how dangerous your actions
are.”

She turned her attention back toward Arthur, dismissing me. My
chest tightened at her reproach and subsequent dismissal. Since I had agreed to
become Arthur's queen, Elibel's rebukes about my demeanor had increased.

Despite the late day in May, a constant drizzle settled over
Camelaird as we waited on my father. I tightened my arms around my waist,
protecting myself from the dampness, and I suppose, from my cousin's coldness.
The clamminess of my dress weighed down the already heavy velvet as it clung to
my skin.

"King Arthur," my father began.

"Why so formal?" Arthur beamed at my father.

His blonde curls lit with a glow despite the morning's
gloom. His good-looks held the crowd captive, but for whatever reason, he
didn't stir tender emotions in me. I examined him, trying to discern what
everyone else saw in him.

"We are soon to be family. Arthur will do. Or son if
you prefer, for you have proven yourself as a father to me through our long-time
alliance, and now by the hand of your daughter—the most enchanting woman in all
of Britannia."

I rolled my eyes at his honeyed compliment, but the sag of
my father's eyelids lifted at Arthur's statement. The tiredness that stretched
his features released as he stared up at the younger king; his eyes filled with
hope.

"Son, then," replied Father.

A smile spread both men's lips. A twinge of regret for my
earlier thought of Arthur's insincerity hit me, and I chided myself for my
cruelty, this time, without the aid of Elibel.

"For my daughter's bride price, gold, jewels or cattle
would not serve, for your wealth is far beyond my own. Alas, I thought, what
could I offer so great a king that he did not already possess?"

Arthur's grin spread his entire face, magnifying his
attractiveness; he relished my father's praise.

Elibel seemed dizzy at the sight of Arthur's beauty, though
she tried to control her admiration by tightening the line of her lips.

While everyone remained under the spell of Arthur's charms,
my gaze wandered back toward Lancelot. It wasn't as if I could control the
matter. Whenever the knight was near, he drew me as if a string pulled me toward
him without my consent. And when Lancelot was absent, my thoughts became
obsessed with his whereabouts. Though I tried to withdraw, my instincts won
out, and I found myself staring at him once more.

What tugged at me remained a mystery; he was attractive, but
in a dark, enigmatic way, not like the flamboyant brightness of Arthur, and by
all outward appearances, he discounted me. Yet there was something more, and
that something nagged at my heart.

Elibel jabbed my ribs with such ferocity that I grabbed my
side and swung my head back in her direction. Her eyes chastised me; she had
caught me gawking. Again.

Shame flushed through my body, and I cast my eyes downward,
studying the mud that clung to the hem of my dress and covered the pale blue of
my shoes.

Father's gesture toward the granary took the edge off the
moment; his soldiers swung open the doors at his command.

Arthur clapped, and I glanced up to see why he showed such
excitement.

An enormous table, divided into twenty-four sections, sat in
the center of the chamber beyond the reach of the doors. The cast of light from
outside caught the inlaid silver and gold swirls, causing the circumference to
glimmer.

"Your father, Uther Pendragon, commissioned Merlin for
this table many seasons past. Your father gifted the table to me in hopes that
I could unite the kingdoms of Britannia, but I never retained the loyalty of
enough knights to fulfill the requirement of the Round Table, as each spoke
represents a retinue of six. I give this table to you as my daughter's bride
price, knowing you will achieve the destiny I could not."