"You and Merlin need to practice how you address Royalty."
"I promise you, your highness, I try, but it's never done me any good in the past."
"Its Prince Arthur..." He paused, likely realizing he didn't know my name. "And you are?"
"I'm but a commo...
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HOME AND BACK AGAIN Known also as... {TALES BETWEEN TIME :: Part Two}
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The moonlight lit my path as I approached the distant window. I pushed back the glass pane and let the crisp night sky air mix with the stuffy heat coming from my fireplace. It stung my lungs, but I relished the smell of the oncoming spring.
Londinium would be experiencing its earliest signs of spring already. Trees will be budding, plants will be blooming, and the first few merchants will be arriving to set up the bazaar for the warmer weeks ahead.
While I, on the other hand, will be stuck in Camelot when the Solstice Festival rolls around. But I'll be there my heart; under the paper lanterns, watching the bonfires blossom around the city. Smells of roasted food will fill the air with it's savery aroma; starved children will finally go to bed full for a night.
A sharp pang of homesickness brought me back to the dark, stuffy room within Camelot's castle. I was miles away from home.
I should have accepted Rulf's offer to go out to the tavern with him and some of the other knights. The company would have been nice. Maybe the rowdiness could have chased away some of my regret.
Suddenly, a loud knock from my door stunned my thoughts into silence. Confused, I glanced up toward the night sky. It was well past midnight. Who was possibly still up at this hour?
I flipped the hilt of my dagger into my palm as I crossed the room. While there were certainly better people to assassinate in this castle, I wasn't foolish enough to think that I could let my guard down.
With my shoulder pressed up against the door, I asked, "What is it?"
"It's a letter, Miss." A small voice called back. "I was told to deliver it to you urgently. Someone important."
I frowned. Was that a child speaking?
I pulled open the door to find, in fact, a kid— a small boy with dirt on his forehead and freckles on his cheeks. He had unkempt dark brown hair that covered his ears and stopped just above his hazel eyes. He wore a simple bluish gray tunic and black breeches that were sprinkled with dirt.
"How old are you?" I asked him. It was an unnecessary question really, he couldn't be more than twelve at best, but I hadn't been expecting a child at my door.
The small boy pulled a face. "Want your letter or not?"
Hm. Not the most servant-like etiquette I'd ever seen.
