Queen Arrosa clutched her five-year-old son tightly to her chest, her heart pounding like the war drums echoing in the distance. The room was a storm of chaosâservants darted between armoires and trunks, their faces as pale as death itself. Garments spilled from trembling hands as the weight of panic choked the air. Beyond the chamber doors, the wailing cries of fleeing servants filled the corridors, each voice a shard of the unraveling nightmare.
Another thunderous cannon blast shook the castle to its bones, rattling the chandeliers and loosening stones from the ancient walls. Arrosa instinctively turned her back to the falling rubble, shielding her son with her body. Dust and debris settled in her hair as screams rose to a crescendo, both inside and out. Her son whimpered, his small hands clutching at her dress, and though she wanted to cry out herself, she swallowed the impulse. He was frightened enough already. She had to be strongâfor him.
Tears burned her eyes as fear clawed at her throat. The rebellion had been a long time coming, years of discontent simmering beneath the surface. She had heard the whispers in the halls, seen the glances exchanged by servants who no longer smiled. The kingdom's people were done with King Marten's greed. They had grown weary of war after war, of sons sent to die on foreign fields, of the crushing taxes that bled them dry. They had accused him of hoarding wealth for himself and his family, and now, their fury had erupted into open revolt.
Arrosa's stomach twisted with guilt and dread. They were rightâevery word of it was true. King Marten had ruled with a clenched fist, obsessed with power and treasures, blind to the suffering he inflicted on his people. Even his wife and child were secondary to his ambitions. And now, his arrogance had brought war to their doorstep. Because of his choices, her son might die. They might all die.
The booming of another cannon blast nearly deafened her. This one was too close. Her son, Arthur, whimpered and buried his face deeper against her. She couldn't allow this to happen. Something needed to be done. Now!
"Keep packing," she shouted at the servants before taking her son's hand and leading him out of her bedchamber. There was only one thing that could be doneâonly one person who could help.
Merlin.
They hurried down the grand staircase, the ornate banisters trembling with each shudder of the castle walls. Another deafening blast ripped through the air, closer this time. A chunk of the ceiling collapsed just ahead, smashing into the floor with a thunderous crash. Arrosa flinched, clutching Arthur tighter to her chest as her heart hammered with raw determination. She had to get her son to safetyâthere was no other choice.
Servants darted through the halls, their faces drawn with fear. Arrosa weaved around them, her focus fixed on a single destination. The panicked shouts and frenzied footsteps swirled around her, but she pressed forward, refusing to let the chaos overwhelm her. When she reached one of the side doors, she paused before yanking it open. The heavy wood groaned on its hinges as she peeked outside.
Smoke thickened the air, curling up from the cannon fire that rained destruction on the castle grounds. The acrid stench bit at her throat, and voices cried out in terror from every direction. The scene was a nightmare brought to life.
And where was her so-called brave husband, the king? Arrosa clenched her jaw. Likely hiding with one of his countless mistresses, far from the danger. Certainly not here, not today. Marten would never risk his own skin for anyone, least of all for her or their son.
Arrosa lifted Arthur into her arms, holding him close as she stepped into the suffocating haze. The smoke clawed at her lungs, stinging her eyes, but she pressed on. She shielded her son from the vile scent and the horrors around them.
"It's all right," she murmured, her voice steady despite the chaos. "We're going to be all right."
She broke into a run, her legs burning as she pushed herself forward. The cannon fire grew more distant with each step, and the smoky air began to clear. At last, she spotted Merlin's cabinâa modest, weathered structure tucked into the woods nearby.
Marten had always insisted the wizard stay close, a safeguard for his own protection. Arrosa's lips curled in a bitter smile. The kingdom's fearless leaderâwas he there now, cowering behind Merlin's spells?
With a final burst of effort, she reached the cabin door. Her chest heaved with exertion, but she clung tightly to Arthur. Whatever lay ahead, she would fight for her son's safety. Unlike Marten, she wouldn't abandon the people who needed her most.
Once she reached his door, she knocked hard and fast. "Merlin," she cried out. "I need your help."
The door swung open almost instantly, revealing a thin, middle-aged man with a long, snowy-white beard and hair that cascaded down his shoulders. His piercing eyes, sharp and knowing, met hers for the briefest moment before he stepped aside, motioning her hurriedly inside.
Arrosa entered the small cottage, the scent of herbs and aged wood wrapping around her like a cloak. Her gaze swept the cramped interior. The walls were lined with shelves, each one crammed with bottles and jars of varying sizes. Some were filled with colorful liquids that shimmered faintly in the dim light, while others contained powders, dried herbs, or unidentifiable substances that hinted at the wizard's craft.
In the center of the room stood a modest table, its surface cluttered with a simple plate of bread, cured meats, wedges of cheese, and a basket of apples. Two wooden chairs framed the table, their worn edges evidence of frequent use.
In one of the chairs sat a little girl, perhaps the same age as Arthur, nibbling delicately on a piece of cheese. She froze at the sight of Arrosa, her wide, frightened eyes darting from the queen to the boy in her arms.
The child's hair was a striking shade of brownish-red, parted neatly down the middle and woven into two tidy pigtails that rested on her small shoulders. She clutched the cheese tightly in her hand, her gaze lingering on Arthur as though trying to assess whether he was friend or foe.
The queen nodded to the little girl. "Good day."
"Your Majesty," Merlin said, closing the door and securing it tightly with a rope. "This is my granddaughter, Felicity."
Arrosa's heart ached for the little girl, and all the children in Camelot. Would any of these children be alive on the marrow?
"Merlin," Arrosa said, urgently, "my child and I need protection. Living in the castle, I fear for our lives."
He nodded and scratched his scruffy chin. "And rightly so. The uprising of the king's enemies has been foretold to me. We cannot stop it now."
"But what about his son? Did you not promise me that one day Arthur would inherit Camelot when he was a man? How can that happen if my son is dead?"
"No, Prince Arthur will live." Merlin shuffled his feet toward a large pot hanging over the fire pit. "I shall send you and the prince to a place that will keep you safe."
Tears built in her eyes as relief poured over her. "Yes. That is where we need to be. Safe."
"However..." He paused, lifting a spoonful from the pot. The grayish-yellow concoction had steam swirling around the wooden spoon. "You must not let anyone know he is Prince Arthur. The only way he will survive is to have his memory erased of this horrid place."
Arrosa sucked in a quick breath as her gaze jumped back and forth between the spoon and Merlin. "His memory will be gone?"
"Aye, but only as a cloud cover it, making it unable for him to remember about his life in Camelot. If he has any recollection of his life here, it will be in dream-form."
"Then how will he know to return to take over as king?"
"Not to worry, My Queen. I shall come for you when the time is right. I will give him another elixir that will make him remember." He hesitated as he watched the swirling steam of liquid. "Are you ready?"
"Now?" Her voice rose. "But I do not have our clothes."
He reached to the nearest shelf and took down a hefty leather bag. Coins clinked together inside as he handed it to her.
"This will help you in the new land, I assure you. You will be able to establish a home quickly."
A movement from the table drew Arrosa's attention as the little girl hopped down off the chair, carrying with her an apple in each hand. She reached her arm out toward Arthur.
"Here."
The prince stared at the little girl for a few long moments before he took the apple. "I thank you."
The girl handed the other one to Arrosa. "Now you will have something to eat." She smiled.
A tear slid down Arrosa's cheek as she nodded. "You are most kind." She looked at Merlin. "We are ready now."
"May God be with you," he said before blowing the liquid toward them.
Arrosa squeezed her eyes shut, her breath caught in her throat as if the weight of the world pressed down on her chest. Wherever they were heading, she clung to one desperate hopeâthat she would have the strength to raise her son alone. The path ahead was shrouded in uncertainty, but she knew one thing with unshakable clarity... she could not fail. Not now. Not ever.
Arthur's destiny loomed large, etched into the very fabric of her thoughts. He would be king someday, and it was her duty to guide him there, to shield him from the shadows of his father's mistakes. Her resolve hardened, a steel edge slicing through the doubt clawing at her mind.
She would see it through.
For Arthur and the kingdom that needed him.