• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

“Or he will hold by the common notion that the third time pays for all,” the Lady countered, and shrugged. “I confess, I am not in his confidence. I do not know what he will think, I only know that, like you, he considers first the good of his people. He needs an heir, the land needs a queen, and all else is secondary. He is getting no younger. He has no time to waste. We who have counseled him have made very, very sure that he understands this.”

“There is another factor; the High King wants my horses,” her father rumbled, nodding. “To get them, he will take you. It is a good bargain, as you know I do not part with them easily.”

Her cheeks flamed with suppressed anger. “So that is what this is about. I’m now the unwanted part of a horse trade!”

“Unwanted by the High King perhaps, but greatly desired by us!” the Lady snapped. “The King’s second wife did us great damage with her adherence to the Christ priests. The High King grows old; in the back of his mind, I suspect, is the fact that the Young Stag supplants the Old, and Lleu slays Goronwy. The land is not suffering—yet—but if it does, his age may be blamed, and the followers of the Old Ways may look for a Young Stag. The Christ priests do not demand that the High King sacrifice himself—ever. Except metaphorically, of course.”

“And do you?” she asked, pointedly.

The Lady shrugged. “It has been our experience that the gods take that in hand before we need to. The Merlin is useless to us now, and the King has decided to forget that his old mentor was a Druid before he was the King’s man. Even though you have not the Gifts, Gwenhwyfar, you can undo some of that. You are called ‘cousin’ by Gwyn ap Nudd, and you are accepted by Abbot Gildas. You can turn some of the rancor of the Christ priests away from us. You can bring Arthur back to us. And perhaps you can supply an heir to the throne.”

Gwen felt like a rabbit in a snare. All of this did make very good sense. She probably was the best candidate to be the High King’s new wife. And she could do much. Unlike many of the followers of the Old Ways—the Ladies being prime examples of that—now that she had actually met with some of them, she didn’t think all that badly of the followers of the White Christ.

But this was not what she wanted to do! This had nothing to do with her dreams!

But I am a king’s daughter. And kings’ daughters know that duty comes before desire. Kings’ daughters know that they will be called upon to sacrifice much. I have had my dream for years. Now . . .

Now it was time to pay for having had that dream in her hands. And it felt horrible. As if something she loved was dying before her eyes.

It’s me that’s dying. It’s the Gwen that is the war chief, the only Gwen I’ve been for all of my life. And something I don’t recognize is going to take her place.

And . . . it wasn’t Arthur she wanted to wed . . .

“Am I really the only one?” she asked, in a small voice.

“Would I be here if you were not?” Aeronwen shrugged. “At least the High King is not in love with you. He was in love with the last Gwenhwyfar, and that did not end well. His wedding to the first Gwenhwyfar was far more arranged than the tales would make it seem; he wanted her father as an ally in the days when he had far fewer. Trust me, he is no stranger to marrying for expedience. For his second wife, he pleased himself; deluded himself, perhaps, but he did not think first of his people, or the Land, and the result was almost a disaster.”

Gwen wanted to ask how the second queen had really died, but—no. It was probably better not to have an answer to that question. Whatever had happened was in the hands and judgment of the gods. Whichever gods those were.

It was ironic, when she thought back to her childhood and how when she had heard that the first queen had her name, she had wished she too could be a queen and have goose every day and gowns that were not made-over. Now all she could think was how it meant the end of her freedom, that not all the fine food and handsome