Arabian Knight: Knights of Caerleon, #3

By Ines Johnson

Sir Geraint gets tangled up in an arranged marriage in this steamy, magical modern-day adventure of knights, fairies, and slip knots!

 

Fairy princess Enid is tired of being a pawn in her father's games of thorns. Don't let the pretty petals of her flowers fool you because she's no wilting wallflower. But when the king goes too far, she calls on the Knights of the Round Table to help free her from an impossible situation. She doesn't expect for the valiant knight who comes to her rescue to sweep her off her roots as he comes to her rescue.

 

After pledging himself to the chivalric code, Sir Geraint feels useless as the modern women around him fight their own battles. Given purpose by the call of a fairy in distress, he rushes in—sword at attention—to restore her honor. When he learns that only a marriage of convenience will save her, he lays his sword at her feet and offers his name, and his heart. Agreeing to this forced union is against everything he stands for as a chivalric knight, but for once he's willing to throw those vows out the window in exchange for making lifelong ones with Enid.

 

The price of her freedom is higher than she expected, but as Enid grows to care for her new husband and her new home of Camelot, there are secrets she must keep. Geraint longs to break through her protective barriers, but it may also mean breaking his oath to his brother knights. And when the fairy king's plots and plans put Enid's new life in jeopardy, will she have to betray the husband she's starting to fall for in order to save him and everything he loves?

 

Arabian Knight is the third book in a series of modern-day retellings of the myths and lore of Camelot. If you like fierce knights who would lay down their lives for their brothers and lose their hearts for their women, then you'll love the Knights of Caerleon.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Those Johnson Girls
• Release date: Oct 18, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215356791

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Running in heels was not a skill Enid had ever mastered. As a matter of course, fairies hadn’t evolved to run. When the Monteschia Vidalii, the first plant to flower upon the Earth, had pulled its stem up from the freshwaters of the Pyrenees Mountains over one hundred million years ago, it had only taken a few steps to cast its seedlings about. Those plants had taken root mere steps away from their progenitor. As the offspring grew and flowered, they’d done the same with their seedlings, each new bud taking a few more steps away from the others until the day came when fairies walked the fertile lands more than they rooted their stems into the earth.

But they did not run. Especially not the high fae.

As a high fae, even walking wasn’t a skill Enid needed. She only ever had to sit still, look pretty, and say as little as possible.

It wasn’t a bad gig. Most days. Today was not one of those days. Hence the need for running.

Enid’s feet hit the ground in uneven strides. For a fairy used to being rooted into freshly turned soil from her heels to her toes, it was disorienting to hit the hard ground toe first and for her heels to not even make direct contact with the earth.

As though her shoes heard her complaint, the toe of her right shoe touched hard earth at the same time as the stem of her right heel sunk into wet earth. Enid’s forward momentum came to a halt. The top of her body pitched forward while the bottom sunk down. Her gloved hands impacted the ground with a wet smack.

Being a highly evolved flower, none of her kind would look twice at the mud splattered up to her elbows. Her fingertips and her feet welcomed the nourishment of the rich earth that broke her fall. The delicate lace of her gloves, the exquisite gown of white silk, and the intricate tulle of the veil that covered her face, however, did not appreciate the dirt bath.

It was no matter. If Enid managed to get to her feet and run a bit farther, she would have no need of the ceremonial clothing. She just needed to determine which way to go.

The lands of Caerleon all looked the same to her. Drab hillside to the left. Cloud-covered knoll to the right. The human world was a study of sedate colors where her very flesh was the color of lavender—though no relation to the Lamiaceaes or any mint family.

A tendril of azure hair fell over her eyes, and she brushed it away. At this rate, she would never find the one she sought. The man who could save her from the fate that nipped at her ruined heels.

She could not give up. Not now, not when she’d come so far and she was so close. He had to be here, somewhere near. She sensed the magic she’d felt in him all around her in the air.

No, not in the air. There was magic in the ground.

Enid removed her hands from the mud. She reached to the side, where a cluster of wildflowers grew. She didn’t have to reach far. The blooms eagerly opened their petals toward her on the cloudy day.

Though after a moment, the stamens of the male flowers shrank away from Enid’s fingers. The carpels of the female flowers gave a sorrowful shudder, their sepals—the leaves that protected their flowering buds—rising higher around their petals. Enid balled her hand into a fist at the pity. Then her head lifted and her shoulders went back as she pulled on her royal status. Each petal bowed in deference to the fairy princess as she asked her question.

The flowers whispered to her in the ancient language of the Goddess’ first creations. They spoke through the soil in a series of energy pulses. Much like humankind’s Morse code, though that language came millions of years later and was a rudimentary dialect that even a sproutling would discern on its first day in the sun. The plants whispered to Enid the way to go to Tintagel Castle, the home of the Knights of Arthur, where she would find the knight she sought.

Enid rose from the mud. She let the rich soil have the satin shoes. She let the earth have her lace gloves. She let the grass leave their marks on the silk and the tulle. If Sir Geraint could help her as he’d promised, she would have no need of her wedding gown or the veil.

For now, she kept those two articles of clothing. Though humans had no knowledge of the fae or the high court, her appearance was not that of the earth tone colors of mankind. The people of Camelot were knights and witches, but they, too, had little to no interaction with fairies.

And so Enid hid her face, pulling the veil lower as she went into the town. There weren’t many people out in the setting sun. She felt her energy flagging as the star set. But she was part nightshade on her father’s side of the graft. It was the only gift from her father that hadn’t come back to slash her stalks.

With the flowers’ directions, Enid slipped through the town unnoticed and inside the castle with ease. She kept to the shadows, blending in like the chameleon her mother’s genes made her. Despite the many-hued people of this place, she definitely looked different from them all, with her violet flesh, her lilac hair, and her rose-colored irises.

She was only mildly surprised that no one had stopped her. The people here were magic, like her. But theirs was a different magic, a younger form where her powers were ancient.

She watched from the shadows, waiting for her knight to show up. Sir Geraint was a dark knight. His skin was the color of the richest, fertile ground that had made Enid want to rub her toes against it.

She gave herself a shake. Though she had felt an attraction to the knight when she’d first laid eyes on him, there could never be a liaison between the two of them. There might be magic in him, but he was still human. And he was in love with another woman.

Enid ducked deeper into the shadows as a man and woman walked by arm and arm. The man held a cone in his hand. Atop the cone was a melting blob of white cream. He offered the concoction to the woman. Enid held her breath as the woman canted her head and licked. Instead of clutching for her throat, the woman grinned up at the man and offered him her lips.

Across the street, a man called out to another. Enid pressed her back against the brick of the building. She watched in tense silence as both men extended arms to one another. But instead of dealing a death blow, they embraced.

She jumped at the sound of screams coming around the corner. Two women came into view. Their mouths were open, teeth bared. But their faces were contorted in joy and amusement, not horror and pain. Perhaps they were laughing and not at each other’s throats.

It was the most curious thing. Enid had been in the town of Camelot for over a quarter of an hour, and not a single drop of blood had been shed. Yes, the human world was strange indeed. Or perhaps it was just that her world was so different. A flower had to watch her front, her back, and her roots in the high court of her father’s gardens.

After an hour of observation, Enid came to the conclusion that Sir Geraint was not in attendance. It shouldn’t surprise her. He was a knight, and men of his ilk were prone to go on quests. She hadn’t taken that into account when she’d made this desperate plan. She needed to find him. If she didn’t get his help by the morning, her journey would all be for naught, and her life would no longer be her own.

Have you heard from the Gs and Loren yet?

Enid’s ears perked up at the mention of the woman, Loren. That was Geraint’s mate. She had been with him at her father’s tournament where Enid and Geraint had met. Wherever Loren was, Geraint would surely be there with her.

A vine grew up on the side of the castle. Enid placed her hand on the plant. With just a gentle push of her magic, the vine wrapped around her hands and feet and carried her up the side of the castle to the window where the voices had carried.

Inside the window, Enid spied two more women walking together. One was fair-haired like a yellow daisy, and the other had the raven hair of a nightshade plant. Though their hair was different, the two favored in their faces. Perhaps they were siblings.

They haven’t returned from their last quest in Alfheim, said the daisy-haired one.

Alfheim? That was back beyond the Veil, back in Enid’s realm. She’d journeyed all the way here; meanwhile, the one person who could help her was right in her father’s own backyard.

She had to get back there. And she had to do it fast. If she went back the way she’d come here, she would never find her knight in time.

Enid looked around at her options. Witches could make portals on ley lines. There was enough energy all around this land that could provide her transit. She just needed to find a converging point.

As she looked around, the grain of the floor caught Enid’s attention. This was no ordinary bark. It had the grain of a Welwitschia wood plant, one of the longest living plants of the earth. The species was so rare, she’d only ever met one of its kind in her lifetime. The plant preferred the temperate climes of Africa. If it had come to this land and allowed itself to be carved by the people of Camelot, then these knights and witches must be special indeed.

The wood was teeming with magic. If she found its heart, she could step into the wood and take a quicker ride back beyond the Veil. Enid reached out to the Welwitschia. The plants lived for thousands of years. She could tell that this one had been around for a long time. It roused slowly and didn’t speak with words. It spoke in a language so ancient that words held no meaning, only fluid dreams.

It was a friendly plant, overly chatty once it knew Enid understood it. The plant guided Enid through the castle. She noted that she was on the same path as the two sisters.

You missed a button, said the dark-haired one.

The blonde-haired one fumbled with her blouse. Looks like you got a little tied up.

That was last night.

The two women cackled like witches, because they likely were. Enid had never sensed this much magic coming from humans before. She knew of two modern-day witches that held this level of power. The Galahad sisters, Lady Morgan and Lady Gwin. Their unions with Sir Arthur and Sir Lancelot had been heard across all realms.

While the two sisters chatted on about their nighttime activities with their respective paramours, Enid inched farther into the room near the hearth, the heart of the wood that would lead to her salvation. She knew she was caught when the floor creaked, and both witches went on high alert.

Enid felt the magic at her back. She didn’t want to hurt the women, but she had no choice. She sent out a vine.

The stems wound themselves around Gwin’s and Morgan’s legs and then encased their forearms. The witch fire that the two witches were able to conjure did nothing to the trailing plant. Enid’s magic was far older and purer than the witches.

I mean you no harm, my ladies.

Who are you? Gwin asked.

You’re going to find out very soon, and for that, I’m sorry.

I know who you are, said Morgan. Loren told me about you. You’re Enid, the fairy Geraint’s been mooning over.

Mooning? Enid wasn’t sure what the word meant in that context. Human slang had never interested her, especially as it changed so frequently. One day, bad was good and up was down. She had no care to keep up. Though the sparkle in Morgan’s eyes hinted that Geraint’s mooning over her might be a positive thing.

Geraint is our family, said Gwin. If he’s in danger, let us help you.

For a moment, Enid hesitated, no longer certain of her path. But this was her only choice, and he had promised.

If ever you need it, for the rest of my days, my sword is at your command.

Enid shook her head. There was nothing the witches could do to help her. Her only hope was the knight and his promise.

She turned her back on the women and stepped onto the hearth. With another flick of her wrist, she allowed the magic to engulf her. At first there was darkness, and then there was light, a multicolored light of vibrant colors that swallowed Enid whole.

CHAPTER TWO

How did he end up in scenarios like these?

Wait, no. There was no need for Geraint to ponder that question aloud. He knew the answer: damsels.

As a knight of the fabled Round Table, it was his duty to rescue damsels in distress. He’d had no problems when called upon to leap up a high tower and rescue any flaxen-haired princesses within. It had been all fine and good back in medieval times when it was the height of gentlemanliness to pick up the dropped handkerchief of a fair maiden during a joust. It had been well in his wheelhouse in Victorian times to rescue a kidnapped bride absconded by a villainous highwayman.

But here in the twenty-first century, a man like him, a man brought up in and sworn to the chivalric code, was a pariah.

At the turn of the last century, he’d walked on the outside of the curb, placing himself between cars and carriages and the woman he’d been courting, only to be labeled a misogynist. He’d once opened a door for a suffragette, and she’d turned back and glared at him, accusing him of sexism unless he also held the door open for another man as well. He’d offered to carry a heavy parcel for an Afro-wearing feminist in the sixties and had been accused