A pale orange glow is just starting to appear in the eastern sky. The streets of Camelot are still, apart from a trio of figures with a cart, making their way quietly through the lower town. They come to a stop outside a modest house, but clean; the house of the maid Guinevere, nursemaid to the late king.
One of the men motions to the other two to wait outside, and he creeps towards the door. He listens. No sound. Gently he eases the door open and peeks inside. No movement. He slips in, closing the door soundlessly behind him.
In...
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