A March of Kings

The girl came closer, and reached their group, and bent down to fill Erec’s goblet. He was so mesmerized, he forgot to raise it.

Finally, she looked up at him. As she did, so close, as her eyes met his, he felt his whole world melt away.

“My Lord?” she asked, staring back at him. Her eyes froze in his, and seemed to widen, too. She, too, seemed captivated by him. It was as if they were meeting again.

“My Lord?” she repeated, after several seconds. “Shall I fill your goblet?”

Erec stared at her, forgetting his manners, too dumbfounded to speak. After several seconds of staring back at him, finally, she moved on. She turned and checked back over her shoulder a few times as she went, looking at him.

Then finally, she set down the pitcher, turned, and ran from the hall.

Erec stood, watching her.

“I must know her,” Erec said to the Duke.

“Her?” the Duke asked, in shock.

“But she’s a servant girl. Why would you want to know her?” Brandt asked.

Erec stood, electrified, knowing for the first time exactly what he wanted.

“She is the one I want. She is the one I will fight for.”

“Her!?” Brandt asked, stunned, standing beside him.

The Duke stood, too.

“You could choose any woman in the kingdom, on both sides of the Ring. You could choose a princess. A lord’s daughter. A woman with a dowry as wide as the kingdom. And you would choose her? A servant girl?”

But their words hardly phased Erec. He watched, mesmerized, as she fled from the hall, out a side room.

“Where is she going?” he demanded. “I must know.”

“Erec, are you sure about this?” Brandt asked.

“You are making a grave mistake,” the Duke added. “And you would snub all the women here, all of high royalty.”

Erec turned to him, earnest.

“I aim to snub no one,” he answered. “But that is the woman I am going to marry. Will you help me find her?”

The Duke nodded to his attendant, who ran off, on the mission.

He raised a hand and clasped Erec’s shoulder, and broke into a hearty smile.

“It is true what they say about you, my friend. You do not defer to what others think. And that is, I think, what I love about you best.”

The Duke sighed.

“We will find you this servant girl. And we will make a match!”

A cheer rose up around Erec, as others clasped him on his back. But he paid attention to none of it. His mind was only on one thing: that girl. He felt, without a doubt, that he had found the love of his life.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Gareth stood there, in his father’s ruling chamber, looking out through the open window over King’s Court, like his father used to love to do. His father used to stroll out, onto the parapets, but Gareth felt no need to do that. He was perfectly happy, standing here, indoors, at the edge of the window, hands clasped loosely behind his back, and looking out over his people from the shadows.

His people. They were his people now. He could hardly believe it.

He stood there, rooted in place, the crown securely on his head as it had been since the ceremony. He would not take it off. He also wore his father’s white and black mantle, even in the summer heat, and clutched in his hand his father’s long, golden scepter. He was beginning to feel like a king-a real king-and he loved the feeling. All his subjects, as he walked, bowed to him. To him, not to his father. It made him feel a rush of adrenaline unlike any he had felt before. All eyes were turned to him, all hours of the day.

He had really done it. He had managed to kill his father, to cover up the crime, and to wipe out all obstacles between him and the kingship. They had all fell for it. And now that they had crowned him, there was no turning back. Now there was nothing they could do to change it.

Yet now that Gareth was King, he scarcely knew what to do. All his life he had dreamt of this moment; now that he’d achieved it, he did not know what was next. His first impression was that being king was lonely. He had stood here, alone in this room for hours, watching the court. Down below, in the lower chambers, his counsel awaited him for a meeting. He had decided to make them wait. In fact, he enjoyed making them wait. He was King, and he could make anyone wait that he wanted to, for as long as he wanted.

As he had stood here, watching over his people, he had pondered how to solidify and secure his power. To start with, he would have Kendrick imprisoned, then, executed. It was too much of a risk to have Kendrick alive, the firstborn, the most loved of his family. He smiled as he thought of the guards already on their way to take Kendrick in.

Then he would have Thor killed. He, too, was a threat, given how close he had been to his father; who knew what his father had told him while on his deathbed? Perhaps he had even identified Firth. Gareth was pleased with himself for setting into motions plans for his assassination; he had wisely paid off a Legion member to do the trick. Once they reached the Isle of Mist, he would ambush Thor and finish him off. He was assured that Thor would not return.

When Thor and Kendrick were out of the way, he would turn to Gwendolyn. She, too, posed a threat. After all, his father’s last wish was for her to rule. As long as she was alive, the possibility of revolt lingered.

Finally, most importantly, was the one issue that loomed on his mind most: the Dynasty Sword. Would he attempt to wield it? If he could, it would set him apart from every MacGil king that had ever ruled. It would make all the people love him, for all time. It would mean that he was the chosen one, the one destined to rule. It would validate him, and it would secure his throne forever. Gareth had dreamt his whole life of the moment when he would wield it, from the time he was a boy. A part of him felt certain that he could.

Yet another part of him was not so sure.

The door to his chamber suddenly barged open, and Gareth turned, wondering who could be so impudent as to barge in on the king. His face fell as he saw that it was Firth, strutting in past the guards, who gave Gareth a befuddled look. Firth had grown too brazen since Gareth had become crowned-he acted as if he ruled the kingdom with him. Gareth resented him barging in like this, and wondered if he had made a mistake in elevating him, in making him his adviser. Yet at the same time, he had to admit that he was happy to see him. A part of him was tired of being alone. And he hardly knew who he could be friends with, now that he was King. He seemed to have isolated everyone in his life.

Gareth nodded to the guards, who closed the door behind Firth. Firth crossed the room, and embraced Gareth. He leaned back and tried to kiss him, but Gareth turned away.

Gareth wasn’t in the mood for him. He’d interrupted his thoughts.

Firth looked hurt, but then quickly smiled.

“My Liege,” he said, stretching out the word. “Don’t you love being called that? It’s so becoming of you!” Firth clapped his hands in delight. “Can you believe it? You are King. Thousands of subjects stand waiting for your every beck and call. There is nothing we cannot do!”

“We?” Gareth asked, darkly.

Firth hesitated.

“I mean…you, my lord. Can you imagine? Anything you want. Right now, everyone awaits your decision.”

“Decision?”

“About the sword,” Firth said. “The whole kingdom is whispering. That’s all they’re talking about. Will you