Realm of Ruin by KC Kingmaker EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: KC Kingmaker
- Language: English
- Genre: Arthurian Fantasy
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Guinevere
“Avalon save me, woman. Who taught you to sword fight?”
Lancelot poses the question to me as an accusation. I’m on my ass in the
grass, chest heaving after my most recent bout of getting upended by the
knight. I’m bruised in at least three spots: my butt, my right hip, and somehow
my left ribs.
I don’t remember getting smacked there. Lancelot is quick enough to hurt
me without me noticing at first.
His biting remarks are fair: I still suck ass with a sword. Might as well admit
it, because lying will get me nowhere.
But it’s not really my fault! For one, I didn’t have a lot of practice time
before getting ousted from Camelot and separated from my guys. Also, I
typically spent the time I did have getting my insides rearranged by said guys.
No regrets.
Lancelot doesn’t need to know all that.
I wobble to my feet, using my sword like a cane in the grass. “Well, Sir
Gawain and Percy—erm, Sir Percival—were starting to teach me . . .” I avert
my gaze to the ground to find an interesting bug to look at. It’s the first time
I’ve seen a dragonfly in ages, so it is interesting, just not as much as I’m
making it out to be.
I can hide the embarrassment from my eyes, but not my burning pink
cheeks. Damn being a pale, ghostly ginger.
“You know my next question,” Lancelot murmurs in his low, soft voice. It’s
like warm whiskey burning through me, heated and controlled.
His words—which sound like a command—whip my head to his face. I
certainly don’t know his next question, and just the thought of it—“What were
you doing with them instead of learning to sword fight?”—makes my heart rattle in my
chest.
I clamp my mouth shut before I can make myself look stupider. I examine
his sharp features: curly black hair, wild and free, framing his face of sharp
stone. Plump lips, perpetually tight. His skin is darker than the other knights,
likely from being outside in the sun more. The scars lining his face are partly
concealed by his bronze hue.
The freeness of Sir Lancelot is embodied by more than just his hair. He has
an air of something that further separates him from Gawain, Kay, Percival, and
even Arthur.
Liberty, perhaps? Independence?
My four men are entombed by their positions in Camelot. Trapped in
politics and court life, whether they like it or not. The knights are at the beck
and call of their king, and the king is at the beck and call of his people. They
fight for something or someone—an ideal, a belief, an oath.
Me
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