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The Once and Future May Queen
By
He asked me to meet him at his pavilion. I said sure. The colors on his banner were impressive even if he wasn't. I met him there. He asked if I would like some ale. I said okay. He poured me some and then suddenly he was all hands, whispering in my ear about how he could get me good seats at the tournament if I would help him polish his lance.
"I'm really into jousting," he said, stroking his beardless chin and eyeing the neckline of my gown.
Of course, I did what any good damsel would do. I hauled back and clocked him in the eye with my goblet. Ale drenched his tiny little head. The kid howled so loudly I thought his brother might come running. Too bad he didn't. I always thought Cai was cute.
"I'm out of here," I sighed and the boy began to whine. He followed me out of his tent, pleading with me to stay.
"Look, don't go. I know the latest ballads. I could sing for you. People say I'm pretty good."
I ignored him, pressing my way through the crowds. For a second, I thought I lost him. But no such luck. He was right behind me as I made it to the edge of the clearing.
"Look, " I said, whirling around to glare at him. "You're okay, but I was May queen last year. I have a reputation to protect. So unless you're a knight, forget it, kid."
Some people can't take a hint. He sidled closer, grinning lasciviously. "My father's a knight. He's got an in with the Bishop. I could get you a tour of the palace if you'd let me take a tour of your chastity belt."
"Kid," I said, putting my hands on my hips and giving his scrawny little adolescent body a scornful once over, "even if you found the Holy Grail, you'd never get to take this tour."
And then I saw him. My heart did a belly flop and then catapulted to my throat. I couldn't breath. There was Lance, the hottest night in Camelot, astride a really cool white stallion. His armor was shiny and new and his cloak was really trendy with rabbit fur around the hem. He looked so good. He was the only reason I wanted to get into the tournament. Ever since I ran into him at the Scarborough Fair last year, I'd wanted to get to know him better.
I put up my arm and waved frantically until I got his attention. He cantered over to me, nearly trampling the boy in the process.
"Hey sexy," he said, lifting his helm to wink at me. My knees turned to water. "I remember you. Gherda, isn't it? No, Guinevere. That's right. Couldn't forget that face. Good to see you. Are you coming to the banquet tonight? Should be good. They're picking the King today. The winner of the tournament gets a chance to draw the sword and there's a dance after."
I felt a lurch of disappointment in my stomach. I hadn't managed to get invited to the banquet yet.
"No," I said.
"Too bad." He shrugged and trotted away.
Oh, I could have kicked myself. I had to think. There had to be a way to get to that banquet. I felt sick. I had to sit down. The ground was trampled and muddy. No way I was ruining my best dress like that. I stumbled over to a large boulder and sat down. I heard a rip as the back of my dress caught on something sharp. I glanced over my shoulder.
Just my luck. I would have to sit on that stone. Stupid sword tore my best dress
"So, you want to go to the banquet?"
The boy's eager face peered down into mine. I didn't answer. He sat down next to me. I felt his arm slide around my shoulder and then it moved lower.
"Pervert!"
I elbowed him in the ribs but that didn't dissuade his wandering hands.
"Look," I growled in irritation, "Why don't you go on a quest or something? Prove your love for me. Get lost."
He only giggled and let his other hand start to explore. I exploded. Reaching around, I grabbed the hilt of the sword and pulled. With a singing sound, it slid free.
I looked at the heavy jewel encrusted blade. Cool, I thought, checking out my reflection on its shiny surface.
The boy's eyes went wide. He slid backward and hit the ground with a squelchy thud.
"I mean it, kid," I threatened, waving the sword at him. "Leave me alone."
He raised his hands up in an attitude of surrender, but it didn't wipe the leer from his face.
"Oh baby, I like a woman that plays rough."
For a split second, I thought about skewering the little rat but I tossed the sword away and stalked off. Maybe I could still catch Lancelot, I thought. I would make him want me.
As I neared the tournament grounds, I passed a very pissed looking knight marching the other way. (Way too old for me, I thought, wrinkling my nose at his shaggy gray beard.)
"Arthur?" he bellowed.
"Over here, dad," I heard the boy answer meekly.
The End