King Arthur and Her Knights: Enthroned #1, Enchanted #2, Embittered #3 by K.M. Shea

speak with Sir Kay and Sir Ector much.
    “Is it a common trait in your time period?” Merlin asked, his eyes narrowed. Mostly he avoided asking Britt questions about the future—he was more concerned with the present than the future he claimed—so the inquiry surprised Britt.
    “No. It’s a lost art,” Britt said.
    Merlin started muttering under his breath, a strange mixture of prayers and curses based on the snatches Britt heard. Her attention was reclaimed by the masses, however, when the Archbishop approached Arthur.
    “It appears, young Arthur, that the people have chosen,” the Archbishop said. He opened his mouth to say more, but Merlin’s knights had finally gotten themselves organized.
    They—with the several dozen barons, kings, knights, and princes that had decided to join Britt—shouted in one voice. “Long live King Arthur! We will have no more delay, nor any other king, for so it is God’s will; and we will slay whoso resists Him and Arthur!”
    Merlin nodded in satisfaction and the Archbishop smiled. “Come,” he said, gesturing to St. Paul’s Cathedral. “A graveyard is no place for a crowning.”
    Britt trooped inside with the kings, barons, and knights. The cathedral was not big enough to house the peasants as well, but the doors were left open and those standing in the doorways shouted out details to the crowds in the streets.
    “Put your sword on the altar, dedicating it to God,” Merlin whispered to Britt as everyone settled into place.
    “What? All this work for a sword I don’t even get to keep?” Britt hissed.
    “We will get you a better one. An enchanted one. Just do it.”
    Britt heaved her eyes to the ceiling, but marched to the altar. She hesitated as the crowds grew quiet and dropped to her knee, holding the sword above her head. She stood, unnerved by the silence as she placed the sword on the altar.
    She bounded back to Merlin, relieved as the crowd of men looked at the altar with great reverence. “Now I know how Frodo felt about the Ring,” Britt sighed.
    Merlin frowned. “What are you babbling about?”
    “Nothing.”
    “Come, Arthur. It is time,” the archbishop said as he swept past Britt, carrying a crown.
    Britt glanced to Merlin, who nodded, before she followed the bishop. She shifted uncomfortably when they stopped in front of the altar.
    “Arthur,” the Archbishop started—for the first time since Britt met him he did not wear a smile. His gaze was piercing and his mouth was set as he spoke. “Do you vow to be a true king to all people, lords and commons alike, and to deal only in justice until your life ends?”
    Britt hesitated, but she heard Merlin’s soft whisper.
    “Say you do, lass.”
    “I do,” Britt said, forcing her voice to be strong and unwavering.
    The Archbishop’s face was transformed into its usual smile. “Then by the will of God and the ready agreement of man, I crown you King Arthur, King over all of Britain. Behold, your King!”
    The outdoor crowds’ roaring and celebrating made the indoor enthusiasm tame, but many of the knights and lords seemed resigned, if not content, with the Britt as their King.
    Britt idly wondered how different the ceremony would have gone if they knew she was a woman.
    “My King.”
    Britt fixed her gaze on the speaker, a knight who was perhaps Britt’s age—in his early twenties or so—who had pushed his way to the front of the cathedral to kneel.
    “Too long have we delayed you from your crown. I beg for your grace and pardon on all of us, that you would forgive us for our transgression.”
    “What is your name, knight?” Britt asked.
    “Sir Bedivere, my King.”
    Britt glanced to Merlin. The young sorcerer narrowed his eyes as he inspected the knight. When he met Britt’s gaze he nodded almost imperceptibly.
    Britt rolled her shoulders back and stood tall. “Rise Sir Bedivere,” she ordered.
    The knight rocked to his feet, his posture straight as he faced her with unwavering