So: There are going to be some difficult and dark parts in here. There will be things you may not enjoy reading. There may be some things you will HATE reading. All I ask is that you trust me and stick with me. Don’t kill me. See it through. I promise it will all be okay. Okay? Okay.

-Guinevere-

    “You have suffered much for one so young,” Helios says, seemingly sympathetic to Gwen’s fabricated tale of a murdered family and her flight. “Now those days are truly behind you,” he adds decisively, lifting his goblet to his lips. He drinks, eyeing her appreciatively once again.
    Gwen forces a small smile, looking down. She averts her eyes out of discomfort under his scrutiny, yet he interprets it as coyness. Her lovely almond-shaped eyes bewitched him as soon as he saw her on the dirty ground of the pigsty, a sword to her throat.
    “Where will we be going, my lord? If I may ask,” Gwen speaks again, not wishing to create an awkward silence.
    “Just a few leagues to the east, to my fortress. There you will join my staff, yes, as a serving wench, but I promise you,” he pauses, taking a moment to appreciate how her light brown skin glows in the firelight, how the aubergine silk compliments this coloring, the delicate swell of her breasts as they rise and fall with her breathing, “you will not have a difficult life.”
    “Thank you, my lord, but I am no stranger to hard work,” she says, taking a drink in order to hide behind her goblet.
    “And that is precisely why you shall be given the least strenuous tasks,” he says, his gruff voice maintaining that same soft timbre.
    I’m sure he means to sound gentle, perhaps even seductive, but it is nothing but a growl to my ears, she realizes, unconsciously comparing his voice to Arthur’s voice. His clear, authoritative voice, rising above the ranks of his knights, commanding their attention with barely a syllable. His soft, gentle voice, a caress against her skin when he speaks her name.
    She once again finds her hand drifting up to touch the ring about her neck, just to touch it, a reminder of the man she still desperately loves, the man she inexplicably betrayed. A reminder that she deserves less than what Helios is offering her. She was happy to muck out the pigs. I’d be happy to sleep with the pigs, for that is what I deserve.
    “What meaning does that ring hold for you?” Helios asks suddenly, and she drops her hand.
    “It is all I have left of my family, my lord.” Another lie. Just add it to the web.
    “I simply ask because I could not help but notice that your hand seems to stray to it often. And your eyes turn very sad when it does.”
    He is observant. Will have to be mindful of that.
    “As I said, my lord, I no longer have any family. This was my mother’s. The only thing I have left,” she says, her voice breaking slightly, for while the words are fabricated, the emotions are true.
    “I have no designs on your ring, do not worry, Gwen,” Helios smiles reassuringly at her. “You may keep your heirloom. I am not a cruel man.”
    “Thank you, my lord,” she says, finding she is grateful that he called her Gwen instead of Guinevere. I don’t think I could have borne that. She stifles a yawn as he reaches for another grape.
    “But you are tired. I should let you retire; you have had a trying day and we will be riding at first light,” he says, standing and holding his hand out to her.
    “Thank you, my lord,” she says, taking his hand and standing. His hand is large, thick, calloused. Arthur’s hands are large, but slender and graceful. Calloused, yes, but refined.
    Stop comparing them.
    Gwen curtseys to Helios, exiting the cave-like chamber in which they dined, heading towards the one where she had changed earlier. She finds a skin laid out on the floor for her to sleep on and a blanket folded at one end.
    She removes the veil from her hair, laying it atop the dress she had been wearing when he had taken her. Taken? Kidnapped? Saved? Who knows? She lays down on the skin, the thick fur providing some cushion, but she’s certainly slept under worse circumstances.
    Pulling the blanket over her body and tucking it under her chin, she lay a few moments, eyes open, fearing that sleep would not find her again tonight. She remembers how Helios’ eyes had raked over her body when she appeared in the outfit he provided for her. It had made her insides shiver uncomfortably, seeing his thinly-veiled desire rise to the surface.
    I wonder how long I’ll be able to keep him at bay. Something about him makes me fear for my virtue. She shivers again, willing the image of his lecherous eyes from her mind.
    Guinevere’s eyes grow heavy and drift closed, and she falls into a thankfully dreamless sleep. She is so exhausted that her usual nightmares, nightmares that alternate between Arthur killing Lancelot and Lancelot killing Arthur and Arthur killing her, don’t even seem to have the energy to form.

xXx

    Gwen feels the touch of fingertips stroking her cheek, caressing her skin, pulling her from her slumber.
    Arthur, she thinks, forgetting her banishment, unable to think of anyone else that would caress her so, and she smiles and stretches a little before opening her eyes.
    But it is not Arthur’s twinkling blue eyes gazing lovingly down at her, but Helios’ cold black eyes, studying her thoughtfully. The smile slips from her face immediately.
    “Were you expecting another, Guinevere?” he asks as she sits up.
    She squeezes her eyes closed, her full name on his lips feeling like a sword in her heart.
    “Gwen, if you please, my lord,” she says quietly, standing and slipping her shoes on.
    He hands her a goblet of water, watching her, puzzled. “Very well, Gwen it is, though your full name is quite lovely.”
    “I am sorry, my lord, it just… pains me to hear it at the moment,” she confesses truthfully.
    “You are a puzzle, my beauty,” he says.
    “Forgive me. It’s just that… my father was the only person to call me by my full name, and I guess those wounds are still much more fresh than I realized,” she lies again, though it is really a half-truth.
    The only person I will allow to call me Guinevere is a golden god who wears a red cloak and sits on the throne of Camelot, she silently vows, turning away so Helios will not see the errant tear.
    “I’ve brought you some fruit. We need to make haste this morning, patrols are about,” he says, heading towards the door.
    “Yes, my lord.” She doesn’t question why he wants to avoid the patrols, but if they are Camelot patrols, she had best avoid them as well.
    “I have a horse prepared for you.” Helios ducks out, leaving her to get ready.
    They ride a distance, Helios taking care to keep Gwen nearby.
    She is a quiet one, he muses. I have a feeling she keeps many secrets. I will enjoy discovering them. He allows his eyes to rove her slender form once again, appreciating her petite yet curvy body, watching it sway with the horse’s footsteps.
    “You are a quiet one, Gwen,” he finally says.
    “Oh, I am sorry, my lord,” she apologizes.
    “Do not apologize,” he chuckles. “It is refreshing to meet a woman who doesn’t feel the need for mindless chatter.”
    “I only speak if I have something to say, my lord.”
    “Indeed. Silas,” he calls to a nearby henchman.
    “My lord,” the thickly-built, gruff man drops back to ride beside Helios.
    “Send scouts ahead. We are nearing the fortress. I wish for an uneventful arrival.”
    “Yes, sire,” Silas answers and spurs his horse forward.
    They reach Helios’ castle before midday, and Gwen looks around as they pass through the gates, comparing it to the glory of Camelot.
    It is an ugly pile of stones, she observes. Dingy and grey. The people look tired and put-upon. Smaller than Camelot.
    They dismount, and Helios helps Gwen down from her horse, his hands lingering at her waist a moment longer than she would have liked, and her mind flashes back a year, when she returned to Camelot, escorted by knights, to be welcomed by Arthur’s kiss in the middle of the courtyard.
    “Your sadness will fade with time, Gwen,” Helios reassures her. “Your life here will be pleasant.”
    You have no idea what you are talking about, Gwen thinks. This wound will never heal. Still she manages a small smile and she turns away from him to take the small bag containing her few belongings.
    They walk up the steps to the doors, Gwen stepping carefully as some are starting to crumble. They are met by two maids, one stocky and a few years older, with brown hair and rosy cheeks; the other tall and beautiful with hair so blonde it is nearly white.
    “Ah, Lorica, see to it that lunch is prepared immediately; I am quite famished. Frida, this is Gwen. She is a new serving wench. Show her to the servant’s quarters and find her a bunk.”
    “Yes, my lord,” Lorica, the dark-haired one bobs and scurries off to the kitchen.
    “Yes, my lord,” Frida echoes, her voice bearing an accent unfamiliar to Gwen’s ears. Gwen pauses in front of the tall blonde, realizing that the other girl is looking at her sympathetically, as if they have a shared misery.
    “Frida, is it?” Gwen asks.
    “Ya,” she answers. “G… Gven?” she struggles with the name.
    “Yes, Gwen,” she smiles.
    “Forgive me,” they start to walk, “I have trouble vith that sound,” Frida explains.
    Gwen smiles again. “I don’t mind.” Away from Helios, she finds herself relaxing a bit, comforted by this strange young maid with the strange accent. She doesn’t notice Helios turning to watch her walk away, but Frida does, and ushers her down a corridor, out of sight as quickly as she can without being obvious.
    “Thank you,” Frida says. “My speaking gives me trouble sometimes.”
    “You have a lovely accent. It’s unique.”
    “The other girls tease me because of it,” she says plainly.
    “Well, that’s hardly fair,” Gwen says, frowning. “I’d wager that not a one of them can speak more than one language, and probably do not even speak the one they do that well,” she says decisively.
    Frida laughs at this. “I never thought of that.”
    They turn another corner and reach a room in the corner of the castle. “This area is for the ‘serving venches,’” she says, and Gwen can hear the implication in her voice, though she does not yet fully understand it.
    “Ve all share, two to a room. I have an empty bunk in mine, if you do not mind sharing vith me,” Frida ventures, hoping that this new girl will take her offer.
    “Yes, I would quite like that, especially since you’re the only person I know,” Gwen smiles.
    “Good enough for me,” Frida answers, leading Gwen to a door on the end and pushing it open.
    The room is small, with two narrow bunks on either side. There is a small privacy screen, a very small wardrobe, a few candles, a small table, and one chamber pot. There is one small window, and somehow Gwen feels fortunate to have that much.

xXx

    Gwen spends the rest of the day with Frida, pleased to discover that she is a pleasant, intelligent, and friendly girl. There is a sadness about her, though, that Gwen notices is common amongst almost all of Helio’s “serving wenches.”
    This seems a pleasant enough place to work. I’m certain that Helios takes advantage of the prettier among them, but they don’t seem to be treated poorly otherwise.
    She also notices an unspoken line of demarcation between the serving wenches and the rest of the servants. It is subtle; a look down a nose here, a jealous remark muttered there, but there is definitely a rift. She also notices that the women not dubbed “serving wenches” are either older, not pretty, or both. There are few male servants, and most of them work in the stables.
    Thankfully, they do not encounter Helios at all.
    Late at night, back in their room, in the safety of the dark after Frida has blown out the last candle, she asks the question.
    “Gven?”
    “Yes?”
    “Vat is it dat you are running from?”
    Gwen pauses a careful second. “What makes you think I am running from something?”
    “Ve have all run avay from someting. Dat is vy ve are here. Helios, he has a… a skill for finding beautiful young ladies who have run avay from someting. Promises a better life, protection from whoever is pursuing. I suppose it is better.”
    So that’s his game. “My family was murdered,” Gwen starts, going on to spin the same false tale she told Helios the previous day. “…And Helios actually saved me from one of his own men, who was holding me at swordpoint,” she finishes.
    “So sad,” Frida says. “I vill tell you my tale, then, since you have shared yours.”
    “You don’t have to if you do not wish to,” Gwen says, but she is indeed very curious.
    “I am running from my vater.”
    “Vater?”
    “Um, my papa.”
    “Oh, your father.”
    “Ya. He probably vishes me dead now.”
    “What happened?”
    “I come from a land far to the north called Nor Veg. It is cold and harsh but beautiful. I miss it very much. My clan lived near the sea and it is by the sea that ve lived. Mainly fishing.”
    Gwen listens and waits, wishing she could picture the sea in her mind’s eye.
    “Ven I vas a little girl, my vater arranged for me to be married to the son of his great friend Lars. His name is Per. He is a good man, or vas, but I did not love him.”
    “Your heart belonged to another,” Gwen guesses, her fingers groping for Arthur’s ring at her neck.
    “Nils. Ve did not mean to fall in love; ve resisted it, tried to shut our feelings avay. I vas promised to another. Forbidden to Nils. His vater was a goatherder, so Nils also a goatherder. Not good enough for my vater; I vas to be married to Per, the mighty fisherman.”
    “Of course,” Gwen says sympathetically, already knowing that Frida’s story is going to rip her heart out with its parallels to her own truth.
    “Two nights before my vedding vas to take place, Nils and I arranged to meet in secret in an old barn on the edge of our village. Ve gave in to our passion dat night, knowing ve vould never have another opportunity.”
    “But wouldn’t Per suspect something on your wedding night?” Gwen asks, knowing it is a bold question.
    “Perhaps. A voman’s virtue is not so important to my people as it is to yours, I have learned.”
    “Oh,” Gwen says dumbly.
    “But Nils had a sister, Agnete, who vas jealous of me. She had been desiring Per for herself, even though she knew he vas promised to me and she could never have him even if he vasn’t. She somehow found out about Nils and me and she told Vater.”
    “Oh, no!” Gwen gasps, a tear slipping from her eye now. It rolls across her cheek and falls into her ear.
    “Vater came storming in, but he vas too late; we had already done it. It was the best and the vorst night of my life. Vater ripped me from Nils’ arms and threw me at my older brother Erik, who tossed me over his shoulder and carried me avay, to home.”
    Frida takes a shaky breath. “Outside, I could hear the svish and the sickening crack as my vater chopped off Nils’ head vit his battleaxe.” Her voice is a shaky whisper.
    Gwen doesn’t even try to hide the sobs that are coming forth now. She grips her ring tightly in her palm, the edges of the metal digging into her flesh.
    Frida recovers herself after a long moment and continues. “My brother carried me back to our house, dumping me in my room and locking me in. I vas screaming, crying, throwing things. Out of my mind vith grief. I knew that my vater would be fetching Per and the two of dem vould be returning to make their decision.”
    “Decision?” Gwen asks, but somehow she already knows the answer.
    “Vater had already killed my Nils. It vas vithin his rights to kill me as vell. Unless Per vould still be villing to marry me. Even if he vas, I vould be beaten severely. By both of dem.”
    “Oh, my…”
    “I knew Erik vas guarding my door, and I knew that he vould never let me out. So I dressed varmly, took all dat I could easily carry, including the small amount of coin I had hidden, and climbed out my vindow into the night.”
    “Where did you go?”
    “I ran south to the next village and had secured passage on a ship by the next morning.”
    “You weren’t followed?”
    “Ya, I vas. But I am nimble, able to duck through much smaller places than the men. The men of my clan, of my village, are very large, like bears. Bigger than Helios, even. Dat often makes dem slow. I am slender and very fast, like the fox. I ducked through places that I knew they vould have problem. The bear cannot catch the fox.”
    “You are smart, Frida.”
    “Not smart enough,” she sighs. “The voyage south vas long and hard. Sea very rough. I became very ill.” Frida pauses again, then continues. “I had never gotten the seasickness before. So I knew something vas different.”
    “I got to shore and collapsed, bleeding lots from below,” Frida says. “I vas taken to a physician in the village ve had landed at and I learned dat I had been vit child. As I thought.”
    “I’m so sorry,” Gwen says, her face still wet with tears.
    “Ven they found out I was not married or even a vidow, they turned me out of the inn. Even though the child vas gone. Gone before he even had time to form. Dat was ven Helios found me. He vas looking for new ‘recruits’ for his ‘army,’ and collected me as vell, to be a serving vench.”
    “How long ago was this?” Gwen asks, wiping her face.
    “I have seen two vinters here.”
    That night, sometime before dawn, Gwen awoke to hear Frida babbling in her sleep in her native language. Pained, frantic words. She could make out “Nils” and “Vater;” even “Erik” once. Several “Nays.” But it was Nils, over and over, coupled with screams of “Babyen min” that broke a new part of Gwen’s already shattered heart.
    Tears began to fall afresh for Gwen, thinking of how the retelling of her story must have brought painful dreams to the surface for Frida. Opening her eyes, she reaches across the small room and captures one of Frida’s flailing hands, gripping it tightly, hoping to reassure the girl that she is not alone.

xXx

    One week later, Gwen and Frida are in the laundry, washing bed linens. They have a level of comfort and trust that built quickly between them that allows them to easily share silence, to work together without feeling obliged to engage in mindless prattle.
    It’s been pleasant enough. Not a life of leisure, but I’m not working any harder than I did in Camelot. Less so, if I am honest. Food is adequate and I have a comfortable bed, even if the pay is ridiculously low.
    She’s encountered Helios often enough, and he has continued to be a gentleman, though his lecherous eyes sometimes betrayed him, following her hips as she walks to refill goblets, drifting to her breasts as she bends to retrieve a fallen piece of linen.
    She has also heard Helios’ creepy right-hand man, Silas, stomping around the servants’ quarters in the evenings, specifically the corridor where the serving wenches sleep. She has heard the knocking and the call of “My lord Helios requests the pleasure of your company.” She has heard these things, and they make her blood run cold, but she is too afraid to ask Frida about it. They have not been visited in the week she has been there, so until the time comes, she will play ignorant.
    Frida is no innocent, but does Helios know that I am still a maiden? Does he care? Will I be called upon one night, and will he force me if I do not wish to? Is he even calling these girls for that reason? Fears so deep that she dares not voice them. Even thinking them makes her a bit queasy.
    Gwen looks over and sees Frida rubbing furiously at a stain.
    “Add some salt to the spot, that should help,” she recommends.
    Frida reaches for the jar, and gives Gwen a sideways look. “Gven?” she asks quietly.
    “Yes?” Gwen has learned to recognize that tone.
    “Can I ask, who is Artur?”
    “Arthur?” Gwen repeats, trying to keep her voice cool.
    “Yes. I only ask because you speak his name many times in your sleep almost every night.”
    That often? Gwen thinks. “He was my brother,” she lies, keeping her eyes on her work.
    “He must have been very special to you,” Frida says.
    “Yes, he was,” Gwen agrees, but does not elaborate. Do not touch that ring. Do not touch that ring. “I am sorry if I wake you.”
    “I sleep lightly most of the time and not vell anyvay,” she shrugs. “And you have probably heard some of my mutterings as vell,” she adds. “I know your first night here vas disturbed, because I told you the story. I always dream when I tell the story.”
    “It’s really all right, don’t worry. I can’t understand what you’re saying anyway,” she chuckles, reaching over to squeeze her friend’s hand.
    Frida laughs a little, too, but says, “I am sure you recognize a few names.”
    “Yes, but it’s all right. We both have our memories to deal with, but as long as we have a roof over our heads and a bed to sleep in, I’m not going to complain about a little chatter disturbing our sleep.”
    “You do have a vay to make things seem not so bad,” Frida says, furrowing her brow. “I do not know the vord for it in your language.”
    “Perspective,” Gwen supplies. “It means appreciating what you have because it could be a lot worse.”
    “Ya, dat is the vord.”

xXx

    Two nights later, Frida and Gwen are in their room, chatting about the events of the day, when a knock at their door cuts Gwen off mid-sentence.
    Frida stands and opens the door to see Silas hulking in their doorway. Her motions are automatic, stilted, almost.
    “My lord Helios requests the pleasure of your company,” he says, looking directly at Frida.
    “Yes, sir,” she says, glancing back at Gwen for a moment.
    Their eyes meet, and in that split second, Gwen knows that her suspicions are truth.
    Frida follows Silas out the door, and when it closes, Gwen collapses on her bed, clutching her ring in her hand, rubbing the textured surface with her thumb, her heart pounding furiously.
    Gwen gradually drifts to a fitful sleep, waking at the slightest noises. The wind blowing against the window. A bat flitting past. The distant hoot of an owl. Only when their door opens again and Frida returns does Gwen realize what it is that she had been listening for.
    She listens as Frida removes her shoes and changes into her nightdress. She hears the creak as she climbs into her bed.
    Dare I say anything? Gwen asks, and realizes she’s been holding her breath.
    “Gven?” The faintest whisper.
    “Yes?” she answers, letting her breath out.
    “You are a maiden,” Frida says, not asking; she just knows.
    “Yes.”
    “Learn from my mistake, then, one I made when I first arrived. Ven Helios calls for you, and he vill, do not resist him. Do not argue or fight him. You vill not vin, I promise. It vill be painful enough, do not add to your own pain,” she says quietly.
    “Is he… cruel?”
    “Only if you do not follow orders. Some of the venches actually enjoy their time vith him. Surely you’ve discovered that ve are not really his serving venches.”
    “I had a suspicion, but I was too afraid to ask.”
    “Ya, dat’s vat I thought. But your suspicions are correct. Ve are his… vat is dat vord? His harem.”
    Gwen gasps slightly. She had heard of such things, tales of powerful men in faraway lands who have scores of women at their disposal, keeping them all, using them all, sometimes calling them all “wife,” but she never thought she’d ever personally experience something like that.
    “What happens if a girl becomes with child?”
    “He does not, um… I don’t know how to say.”
    Gwen thinks a minute. “He doesn’t spill his seed inside?”
    “Ya. It is messy.”
    Gwen’s lips curl in disgust at the thought. Where does he…? I don’t think I want to know.
    “Try to sleep, Gven,” Frida says quietly.

xXx

    Gwen is walking through the courtyard with a basket of herbs when a commotion catches her attention. She looks over to see one of Helios’ guards kicking a young boy on the ground.
    Before she can think otherwise, she hurries over.
    “Get up, you weed! You’re supposed to be fetching my horse!” the guard yells, lifting his fist now.
    Gwen dives between them and almost receives the blow. The guard stops his fist just in time as she yells, “Stop! Can’t you see he’s hurt?”
    “Not that you probably care,” she adds icily, bending down to the boy, gently freeing his foot from where it is stuck in a hole in the cobbles.
    The boy smiles weakly at her, tears in his eyes.
    “There, now,” she says, kneeling down, taking his foot in her hand and moving it experimentally. “Does that hurt?”
    He shakes his head no.
    “What’s your name?” she asks, looking at him, furrowing her brows as he says nothing, but fishes into his vest pocket.
    “He’s nobody; a useless lump of skin from the stables,” the guard says gruffly from behind her. Gwen turns her head and looks at him, glaring at him as if to say, Oh, are you still here? She turns back to the boy, who is holding out a small piece of parchment.
    My name is Matthias. I cannot speak.
    “Matthias, my name is Gwen,” she smiles, returning his parchment to him.
    “You can read?” the guard asks incredulously.
    “Yes, I can read. Can’t you?” she snaps. “Don’t you have a horse you’re supposed to be getting?” she asks crossly, standing. She reaches her hand down to Matthias, helping him up.
    “Impertinent wench,” the guard says, raising his hand again. Gwen doesn’t flinch.
    “Baul, stay your hand,” Helios’ voice booms from a small distance away.
    “My lord, I…”
    “I know what you were about. Be off before my patience wears out,” he says.
    Gwen curtseys to Helios, looking down.
    “Gwen, you are very brave,” Helios says to her, his voice turning softer.
    “Thank you, my lord,” she says, not looking up.
    “Is the boy injured?”
    She looks at Matthias, and he takes a couple of experimental steps. He looks up and smiles a little.
    “It looks like he’s all right, my lord.”
    “Very good,” Helios declares.
    “My lord?” Gwen says before she can stop herself.
    “Yes, my beauty?”
    “Um, you may want to consider having that cobble repaired,” she points. “That is why he fell.”
    “I will have someone see to it immediately.”
    As he walks away, Gwen remembers the look in his eyes just before he turned away. Oh, no. I’ve done it now.
    Matthias touches her elbow and she turns to see his concerned face.
    “I’m all right, Matthias, thanks.”

xXx

    “My lord Helios requests the pleasure of your company.”
    He waited until the next night to summon Gwen. She had spent the balance of the previous day avoiding him, and when Silas did not come knocking last night, she relaxed a little, but her sleep was disturbed by dreams of Arthur, terrible dreams where he is finding all manner of punishment for her, her pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears, her cries of help unheeded by Elyan and, most surprisingly, Merlin.
    She woke up with a tear-streaked face and red eyes. One glance at Frida confirmed that she had disturbed her roommate’s sleep as well.
    “Sorry, Frida,” Gwen had apologized immediately.
    “Do not apologize. Your soul is haunted, Gven,” Frida answered empathetically, though she is growing more and more suspicious about this Arthur person. I do not think he is really her brother.
    “Yes, sir,” Gwen says, standing, following the example Frida set two nights ago. She slips her shoes back on and follows Silas into the dim corridor.
    He says nothing; she says nothing. Does he enjoy fetching Helios’ whores for him? Does it bring him some sort of perverse pleasure?
    Silas knocks twice on Helios’ door.
    “Enter,” his voice calls, and Silas opens the door but does not enter.
    Gwen steps through, her heart thumping through her chest. Just kill me. Kill me now. Kill me horribly and slowly, cut me up piece by piece and feed me to wolves, anything but this.
    “Gwen, my brave beauty,” Helios says from his place by the window. He is facing away from her, clad only in silk trousers, holding a goblet.
    “My lord,” she says quietly.
    “I have been watching you these weeks,” turns to face her. “Wine?”
    “Please,” she says. Get me drunk enough so I won’t remember any of this.
    He chuckles as he pours for her and hands her a goblet.
    “You have a grace about you. A… nobility that I find quite intriguing,” he continues his original train of thought.
    She drinks her wine, really wishing to knock the entire thing back in one go, refill it, and do it again, but she resists.
    “You are certain you were only a commoner before I found you?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
    “Yes, my lord. My father was a blacksmith and my mother a maid.” The first truthful thing she’s said about her past.
    “I see. Forgive me for doubting you, but when a serving wench stands up to a guard to defend a stable boy, I do take notice,” he says, and Gwen realizes that he’s gotten quite close to her.
    “My, but you are beautiful,” he says, reaching up to run a single finger down her cheek and under her chin, lifting her face so he can look at her.
    “Thank you, my lord,” she says, willing her eyes to meet his.
    “You are scared,” he observes, seeing the fear in her eyes. “You look like a rabbit caught in a trap.”
    “Forgive me, my lord,” she drops her eyes.
    “Is it possible that you are yet a maiden?”
    “Yes, my lord,” she whispers, hoping fruitlessly that the truth will somehow make him change his mind.
    “Mmm, very interesting, indeed. How the men of your village must have pined,” he grins lasciviously. “Don’t be frightened, little rabbit.”
    “I cannot promise that, my lord.”
    Helios laughs now. “I enjoy your candor, Gwen.”
    She takes another drink of her wine, downing the rest of it, no longer caring about decorum. He knows I’m petrified. May as well quaff some wine.
    “Now, now, not so fast,” he cautions, taking her goblet from her and setting it on the table.
    Bugger.
    “Come,” he takes her hand and pulls her towards his large bed, and somehow her feet follow. “I will be gentle,” he promises, then adds, “as long as you are cooperative.”
    He stands a short distance from her, still within arms’ reach. “Take off your dress,” he commands.
    He wants to watch me? How much humiliation must I endure?
    Don’t argue. Don’t resist. Remember Frida’s advice.
    “Yes, my lord,” she says, willing her hands to the laces of her apron, removing it and setting it carefully aside on a nearby bench. Then she pulls the ties in the back of her dress as he watches, interested yet somehow detached.
    She takes a deep breath and removes the dress, setting it with her apron. She turns back to him, now wearing only her cream-colored shift; thin, concealing very little.    
    “Proceed,” he prompts, “and don’t forget your shoes.”
    She slips those off first, trying to delay baring her skin to him.
    “You are beautiful, Gwen, let me see how beautiful you are,” he rumbles.
    I am sure he means to sound seductive, but it is nothing but a growled command to my ears.
    She slides the straps from her shoulders and the shift slips down over her body, becoming a puddle on the floor surrounding her feet.
    Do not cry. Do not cry.
    “Magnificent,” Helios assesses, “as I expected.”
    “Th- thank you, my lord,” she whispers, her hands clasped in front of her, her eyes downcast.
    He reaches his hand out to her and touches her arm. She jumps slightly when his fingers make contact and slide down to take her hand, pulling her over to the bed.
    “Lie down for me,” he says.
    Standing proudly next to the bed, he removes his trousers, pausing a moment so she can appreciate his body as he has done hers.
    Gwen looks no further than the middle of his chest, not wanting to see that part of him that is about to invade her and take the gift she only ever wanted to give to Arthur.
    Helios doesn’t seem to notice or care that she doesn’t look at him, climbing on the bed next to her.
    “Relax, little rabbit, you can enjoy this, too,” he says simply, his eyes raking over her one more time before he reaches his hand out again, this time boldly closing one giant rough palm over a breast. She jumps again.
    “Now, if you jump every time I touch you, we’re not going to get anywhere and I may lose patience with you,” he says, a mild threat.
    “I am sorry, my lord,” she whispers. She closes her eyes a moment, trying to collect her thoughts, and Helios takes advantage, leaning down to press his lips to hers.
    Her eyes fly open in surprise, but she does not jump. She feels his lips curl into a smile against hers, and a moment later his tongue is running along her lower lip, asking for entrance.
    If I don’t let him, he will find some way to force me, she reminds herself, and wills her lips apart.
    “Good,” he mutters, pulling back just for the single syllable before returning, thrusting his tongue inside her mouth, kissing her deeply.
    It feels like he is trying to swallow my entire head, Gwen thinks, trying not to be repulsed by the feel of his large, snaking tongue. She even presses back with hers a little. Helios interprets this as participation; really she is just trying not to choke on his tongue.
    “Your lips feel as good as I imagined,” he says, breaking the kiss. His hand is still on her breast. He gives it another experimental squeeze. “A little smaller than I like, but firm and nicely shaped.”
    Why do I suddenly feel like a piece of livestock?
    Helios’ hand roves her body, splaying across the flat plane of her stomach, his broad moving casually, carelessly, as he explores her skin, concerned only with his own pleasure.
    “Now,” he says, climbing over her, “I want you to touch me,” he says, taking her hand in his and guiding it to his shaft.
    Gwen swallows hard as she feels his firm length pressed into her palm. Her fingers close around him without being told, and he smiles.
    “Mmm, very good, Gwen,” he praises her. “Now move your hand on me. Slide it up and down.”
    She does, focusing her eyes on the bedpost over his shoulder. Anywhere but on him.
    “Very good,” he says, his eyes closing. “You have nice, strong hands.”
    He touches her stomach again, sliding it lower.
    “Don’t jump now, I’m going to touch you,” he says in her ear, and he prods gently with one finger.
    She gasps at the sensation. No one has ever touched me there before.
    He frowns slightly. “Gwen, my beauty, you are not wet enough. It will hurt more if you cannot get wet for me.”
    “My lord?”
    “Let me see if I can remedy this problem,” he ponders, dropping his head to kiss her again, repeating his same head-swallowing technique. He brings his hand to her breast again, this time sliding his rough palm against her nipple.
    She squeaks, her mind protesting while her body’s reflexes rebel. The sensation is somewhat pleasurable, but it is caused by the wrong hand. Helios removes his lips from hers and kisses her neck once, twice, a third time.
    The wrong lips at my neck.
    He flicks her nipple with his tongue and she squeaks again. So he repeats his action, moving his hand below again, probing with his finger again, this time deeper, actually pushing inside.
    Gwen gasps, not with desire but with shock. Helios thinks it to be desire, and moves his finger inside her, smiling slightly now that he’s found the beginnings of some wetness. He pulls his finger out and touches another part of her, the place that she’s touched a few times out of curiosity and frustration.
    She makes another involuntary noise in the back of her throat.
    The wrong hand.
    “Yes, get wet for me,” he purrs, moving his finger on her. She grips the bedsheet with her free hand and bites her lip.
    Returning his lips to her nipple, he suckles it briefly, slipping his tongue around in concert with his finger below.
    “Let go,” he says, indicating that she should release his manhood.
    Thank the gods.
    Helios kneels between her legs, and without so much as a warning or apology, he thrusts into her, swiftly and powerfully.
    “Ah!” she cries out as the pain rips through her. She digs her fingernails into her palms and tears fall from her eyes.
    Surely he’s just ripped me in half, she thinks, squeezing her eyes shut as Helios pounds into her, apparently having no consideration for her pain.
    “Oh, so tight,” he grunts, his hands gripping her hips as he thrusts, the fronts of his thighs slapping against her. “So good.”
    So painful, so wrong, so humiliating. Gwen longs to hold Arthur’s ring in her hand, to draw even a trace of comfort from it, but she dare not, as he’s allowed her to keep it, thinking it a family heirloom.
    Instead she continues to dig her nails into her palms, pressing until she feels the wetness of blood forming on her palms.
    Suddenly Helios pulls out, then moves his own hand on his shaft, quickly jerking it along its length until he shoots forth a thick, hot, cloudy liquid.
    Shoots it forth all over Gwen’s stomach and chest. Gwen has to swallow back the bile that rises to her throat at this action.
    Helios collapses beside her with a sigh. “You did well, little rabbit,” he says.
    Do not tell me you’re going to leave me here with this stuff all over me, you disgusting brute. “Thank you, my lord.” A whisper is still all she can manage.
    “It only hurts the first time, I promise,” he says, finally groping to one side of his bed for a small towel.
    “I know, my lord.” You are wrong. It will always hurt. You just will not see it.
    “Clean yourself,” he says casually, tossing the towel at her before standing and retrieving his trousers.
    Charming. Gwen wipes Helios’ seed from her torso, cringing at the strange pungent smell of it. She folds the towel and sets it aside, then stands gingerly.
    Ouch. “My lord?” she asks.
    “You may go.” He is at the window again, looking out over the courtyard below, drinking from his goblet, just as he was when she arrived.
    She quickly dresses and exits his chambers. Halfway to her room, the wave of grief, anger, and humiliation washes over her, and the tears start in a massive flood. She sinks to the floor in the corridor, sobbing into her hands for a few minutes.
    Get up. Get up. You don’t want someone finding you here like this, she reminds herself, then stands and walks painfully back to her room.
    The room is dark, but Frida is awake.
    “Gven, I vaited up for you,” she says simply.
    “You didn’t have to,” Gwen says, her voice shaky. She feels broken, used. Cheap. Like a cheap whore.
    “Ya, I did.”
    Gwen goes to change, and she sees that Frida has prepared a washbasin for her to clean herself up with.
    “Thank you, Frida,” she says quietly.
    “The vater is not very varm, but it vas the best I could do.”
    “It is perfect. Thank you so much for caring about me.” No one else does.
    Gwen cleans herself, wincing as she wipes the blood away. She scrubs furiously at her stomach, trying to erase any trace of Helios from her body. When her stomach is pink and raw, she finally slips into her nightdress.
    “Come here,” Frida says, like a mother to her child. She scoots to the far side of her narrow bed and pulls back the covers.
    Without a word, Gwen climbs in, and lets her friend’s arms wrap around her, comfortingly.
    “I never had a sister,” Gwen says. “Always wanted one.”
    “I have a younger sister. Lucia. I only hope dat her life turns out better dan mine.”
    “Frida…” Gwen says, her voice turning shaky again.
    “You don’t need to say anything now, Gven.” She strokes her hair and starts singing a strange song, a lullaby in her native tongue.
    The dam bursts inside Gwen and she sobs, weeping unreservedly into her friend’s shoulder. Frida’s voice falters once or twice as a few tears slip from her own eyes.
    Gwen cries until she can cry no more, falling into an exhausted sleep.
    During the night, Frida is not surprised to be woken by Gwen’s torment.
    “Arthur… I’m so sorry, Arthur… I love only you, never any other… Forgive me, Arthur… I had no choice…”
    I knew it. But I am sure she has her reasons.
    “Arthur…”

xXx

    Gwen is sore the next morning, but she stubbornly keeps her discomfort hidden, not willing to give anyone the satisfaction of knowing that Helios had not only had her the previous night, but had taken her maidenhead as well.
    None of their damn business.
    She is also exhausted and even more heartbroken than she already was, not realizing that was even possible.
    This is your life now. A whore in the harem of a power-hungry warlord.
    The castle is bustling this morning, and it takes some time for Gwen to learn that Helios is entertaining an important visitor at lunch. The hall is cleaned, the best dishes prepared and served on the finest silver.
    Gwen hovers in the doorway of the hall, prepared to help serve, when she hears a familiar voice talking with Helios.
    It is a voice straight out of her nightmares, a voice she never thought she’d have to hear again.
    “I trust you will enjoy your brief stay with us, my lady,” Helios says, escorting his guest into the hall.
    “You certainly know how to greet a guest, Helios,” Lady Morgana replies. “I only hope that you are as skilled and as powerful as the display you put on.”
    “Now, you wound me,” he says, flirting. “You think this is all for show? I assure you, my lady, I am as just as skilled and powerful as I appear.” He is clearly making insinuations.
    Gwen feels faint, her heart pounding as she starts to panic at the prospect of encountering Morgana.
    “Vat is wrong, Gven?” Frida asks quietly.
    “I… I cannot serve lunch today,” she whispers back. “Can you cover for me?”
    “Of course, but…”
    Gwen sighs. “I cannot go in there. She… she knows me,” she admits.
    “Lady Morgana Pendragon knows you?”
    “Yes. I… I’ve been lying about my past. I’ll tell you everything later, I promise, Frida, but please, please, don’t make me go in there.”
    Frida is sympathetic to her friend’s anxiety, so she agrees.
    “Thank you,” Gwen hugs her quickly. “If Helios asks for me, try to cut him off before he even says my name.”
    “Um…”
    “Thank you Frida, I will make it up to you somehow,” Gwen says and hurries off.
    I need to find out what she is doing here. I need to find a hiding place.
    Gwen quickly walks the corridors surrounding the hall, and finds a small door. She opens it and can hear Helios and Morgana talking, so she crawls in. She runs into something large and warm and almost shouts out, ruining her cover.
    “Matthias?” she whispers, peering into the dark. He waves.
    “I need to listen. I need to hear what is going on in there,” she says, not even bothering to wonder why he’s in there. He scoots aside and lets her crawl past. Now she can hear and see as well, as she discovers that she is behind a grate low on one wall.
    “You have the plans?” Helios’ voice asks.
    “Not yet. My ally within the castle has not been able to procure them yet.”
    Ally? She has an ally in Camelot?
    “Morgana, I grow impatient! You assured me you would get them!”
    “Helios, calm yourself. My man is a trusted member of the court, he has to bide his time.”
    “If he is a trusted member of the court, can he be trusted by us?”
    “I trust him more than I do you, Helios.”
    He laughs. “Who is this ally?”
    Yes, who?
    “Ah-ah, I will keep that secret. He is a close advisor to dear King Arthur. That is all I will say.”
    Agravaine. That slime.
    “You have one week. Pressure your man. My patience grows thin,” Helios growls.
    “Patience is a virtue, Helios, and one I see you do not possess,” she purrs back.
    “Ah, but I do possess other admirable qualities, my lady, some of which I would be most willing to share with you.”
    Gwen watches as Morgana leans in close and says, “Help me bring down Camelot, and once I am on the throne, you may have anything you desire.”
    I need to tell them. Without a word, Gwen hurries from the crawlspace, dragging Matthias with her.
    Leaning in close, she asks him, “You heard what they said?”
    He nods.
    “I have dear friends in Camelot. I need to help them.”
    He nods again.
    “Do you know how to get to Camelot?”
    He nods emphatically.
    “Are you brave enough to deliver a very important message there for me?”
    He nods, pulling her to a part of the castle she’s never seen. It is an unused guest room, and he reaches into a desk and withdraws a parchment, a quill, and ink.
    Gwen looks at him, realizing for the first time that he is taller than she is. He must be at least fifteen. “Can you read?” she asks him.
    No.
    “Probably for the best, in this case,” she says, and quickly writes a message, folding it carefully and tucking it into Matthias’ vest, deep inside.
    He jumps at her touch, and she mutters, “Sorry.”
    He blushes.
    “Now, Matthias. Take this message to Camelot, to a man called Merlin. He is my closest friend. He is also the king’s manservant an the court physician’s assistant.” She goes on to describe his appearance, then decides to take another small parchment, writing the name Merlin on it.
    She hands this one to him and he looks confused.
    “So you can ask for him. I don’t want to write it on the note so he won’t be connected to it if something should happen.”
    Matthias nods solemnly, understanding, and tucks the name inside another part of his vest.
    “Try not to let the king see you.”
    What? Why?
    “He is not cruel, but… let’s just say that if he knew you were bringing a message from me, you might not be very well received by him. I have been banished from Camelot. By the king himself. You do not need to know why.”
    His eyes grow wide.
    “One more thing,” she bends and writes another quick message, this time writing the name Aland on the front.
    “Take this as well. Matthias, I want you to stay in Camelot. Don’t come back here. Your life will be better there. Give this note to Aland, he is in charge of the stables.”
    He nods, a look of awe on his face. He reaches for her hand and squeezes it to his chest.
    Thank you.
    She leans up and kisses his cheek. “Thank you for this. Now go. As quick as you can.”
    Matthias runs down the deserted corridor, out a hidden back exit.

xXx

    “He did ask, Gven,” Frida says in the darkness where they share all their secrets. Silas has already been and gone, and thankfully neither Frida nor Gwen was on the menu this night.
    “He did?”
    “Ya. I told him you had a sudden stomach problem,” she chuckles.
    “So he thinks I spent the afternoon with a chamber pot,” Gwen laughs with her.
    “I thought it vas a good excuse. Dose tings come on quite quickly and vittout varning sometimes.”
    “You are smart, Frida, as I have said.”
    “Thank you. Not many people tell me so.”
    “Pity.” She pauses a moment. “I owe you the truth now.”
    “Ya. But Gven?”
    “Yes?”
    “I know already dat Artur is not your brother.”
    “Too much talking in my sleep,” Gwen sighs.
    “Especially last night. You said you loved him. Over and over. Apologized to him. Over and over.”
    “I would imagine so.”
    “You vill feel better ven you tell me,” Frida prompts.
    “Come sit next to me,” Gwen says, shifting to sit sideways on her bed, her back against the wall.
    Frida crosses the small space in one step and tucks herself in beside Gwen.
    “My Arthur is actually King Arthur of Camelot. Against all logic and every rule, Arthur and I fell in love. I was the Lady Morgana’s maidservant, and that is why I couldn’t let her see me or know I am here.”
    “Vy are you not vit him?”
    “Because I did something unforgivable, something I cannot even explain, and instead of executing me, he banished me from the kingdom.” She reaches down and takes the ring in her hand, rubbing it fondly. “This is the betrothal ring he gave me.”

I promise this is the most difficult chapter. And believe me when I say that the parts you found difficult to read were difficult for me to write, and I cried more than once while writing.

Part 2: link