There was an unwritten rule in the royal family. Or rather, it was a trait that they all possessed. The higher a member’s aptitude for the magical power within them was, the more similar their hair would be to their progenitor – a shining silver without any blemish. Bea, in her family’s long history, was the only person to have that identical color, meaning that even within the royal bloodline, she was the most special of all.
And yet, standing before only a “normal” royal, a person with only a decent hint of silver mixed with a dull tint of gray, she couldn’t compose herself. For the simple reason that that person was none other than her mother, Queen Elisabeth of Britain.
The woman gazed at her own daughter with eyes as cold as ice, as if trying to pry open her very soul. Her presence was chilling to the bone, giving the sense that even the tiniest error would result in a major punishment. But the worst part was undoubtedly her seemingly perpetual poker face, so much so that even her family members never had a clue what was on her mind, and the daughter in front of her was no exception.
Standing before her, a torrent of different emotions swelled within Bea. The mistreatment of her childhood. Putting her on the isles. Calling her back as soon as she was used to life there. And now, even as she stood there next to her, not a single word of affection for her long-absent daughter.
The girl opened her mouth, but no words would come out. Eight years was a long time, but even that kind of time wasn’t enough to chase away the fear that was already deeply rooted in her soul.
Or at least, that was what the Queen wanted her to think. Fear soon turned to anger as the girl realized the current situation that she was in. Raising her hand forward, Bea formed a word with her mouth’s movement, though her voice still wasn’t heard:
“Bruidhinn.[1]”
Air rushed into her mouth and nose like a flood, causing the girl to gasp in surprise. She opened her mouth again, and this time, there was indeed a voice that came out:
“I have returned, Mother.”
“It seems that you have not neglected your training, Beatrice,” answered Elisabeth, her eyes still as soulless as ever.
“With all due respect, Mother, was casting a silence field necessary?”
“Of course,” unfazed by the question, the Queen continued. “We of Royal heritage must always be careful. It was the first rule you learned in your training as my heir, was it not?”
“But I just returned, unnoticed, even.” Bea tried to retort. “To go this far is…”
She silenced herself before she could finish. Elisabeth’s eyes turned colder and sharper than ever, as if indirectly warning her – one wrong word and her head would be cut off right then and there, even if she was her daughter.
“It seems that I was mistaken. The years you spent on those isles have naught but dulled your senses.”
“... My apologies, Mother.” Desperately fighting back the stream of short breaths that were dying to burst from her lungs, Bea answered. “It was foolish of me to question your decisions.”
“You are wrong, my naive daughter. If you cannot stand against me, you cannot hope to stand against the millions of lives that will be in your hands. I do not blame you for your insolence; I am merely suggesting that you best prepare your arguments before you engage in verbal debates.”
Bea clenched her fists in frustration. Again, it had come to this – her mother’s twisted way of “education”. To be heir to the Queen meant that she had to prepare to fight anytime, anywhere, in any form possible, whether it was a battle of words or a true duel of the sword. It was a lesson she’d known all too well, but could never truly apply. Opposing her mother was tantamount to treason, and no matter where she was, let it be the isles or the castle, Bea was helpless. Her mother was correct. The peaceful time that she had spent away from the castle’s turbulence had dulled her senses, and in turn, had made her body forget the self-defense she had spent so long to sharpen.
“... I shall take notice of the matter.”
“I expect no less. Then, o’ daughter of mine, have you not known of the reason I summoned you back?”
“... It’s because of Peter, isn’t it?” Seeing no reason to dawdle on the topic, Bea decided to be upfront.
For the first time since she returned home, Bea could see the hint of emotion stirring within her mother. As her forehead lightly frowns and her eyes squint ever so slightly in doubt, Elisabeth answered the question with a claim of her own:
“So, the boy even carries the cursed name…”
“Do you not know about it, Mother?”
“... I am merely surprised, that is all,” after a brief moment, the Queen regained her composure. “Do you not know the meaning behind that name?”
“Meaning? What do you mean, Mother?”
“You have neglected your studies, have you not?”
Though her words regarding her daughter’s training were always harsh, perhaps more than necessary, they were always stating the most cold-hearted, but correct, judgment. However, this was the first time Elisabeth was so expressive, as each word she uttered was akin to thousands of needles prickling onto Bea’s skin.
“I… have no excuses,” the girl lightly bowed her head in shame and anger. Not at her mother, but at herself.
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“Then let me jolt your memories once more, my foolish heir.” The Queen answered with a wave of her fingers. From the walls, a secret door opened.
“Come with me,” she said, disregarding the surprised look on Bea’s face.
With a small candle in their hands, the two ventured down the spiral staircase. The dreaded silence accentuated their echoing steps and Bea’s rough breathing, so much that it warranted a voice of reminder from Elisabeth herself:
“Calm down, Beatrice. There is no harm in this hallway.”
“... My apologies, Mother. I’m still trying to get used to the fact… How long has this pathway been around?”
“Ever since the castle was built. There is a reason that every Princess of Britain was given this very room, without change, for millennia.”
Their journey ended in front of a small chamber, within was only a single bookshelf and an ornamental sword resting above. Its sheathe shone a golden flash, signaling that even within this secret room, the sword was taken great care of… or that it couldn’t rust, no matter the condition.
“Is that…” Bea gestured towards the sword.
“It is,” nodded her mother. “Galatine, the Holy Sword used in our coronation. But never mind that for now.”
With a wave of her fingers, a large tome floated out of the shelf and landed on Elisabeth’s lap. As she opened the book and peered into its stained pages, she sounded:
“Can you still read our ancient language?”
“... Of course,” Bea nodded. It was a topic that she had practiced always, enough so that she could decipher the contents of the ancient tome that housed the cross that she gave away.
But that much wasn’t enough to prepare her for the incoming shock at the content inside.
“This… this is…”
“This is the truth about that boy’s name… The cursed name that goes beyond our bloodlines.
“Pendragon and Bedryant… The two founders of our clans were once inseparable comrades, and together we formed the eternal kingdom of Camelot – Britain’s predecessor, along with the Knights of the Round Table – a system that we have kept and advanced to what we have now. But Britain’s King of the past, Arthur Pendragon, had lost his mind within the darkness and heeded the call of the Demons, forcing Camelot to go into its last stance.”
“And with Arthur’s death, Britain was reborn anew. The Bedryant clan, hailing from the silver knight – Arthur’s right-hand man, Sir Bedivere, reigned the land as its rightful rulers, a fact that remained until even today. With Galatine, originally the Holy Sword that Sir Gawain entrusted to us in his final moment, we continued to rule Britain as its guiding light, to replace Excalibur, which had been plunged into darkness.” Bea continued. “That was the story that all Royals must carve into their hearts. But, Mother, this…”
“That story was the truth, and nothing but the truth. However, even the truth has many layers that might be hidden from the public's eyes. Beatrice, heed my words well: this information is only passed down to Britain’s ruler, the next Queen. As you learn of it, be prepared to never let it go.”
For the first time in her life, Bea had seen the full extent of her mother’s emotions. For the first time in her life, she had managed to resonate with her – that single-minded determination to her kingdom was nothing short of dazzling, truly befitting of how a queen should behave. As the girl gave a silent nod of agreement, the woman continued, her fingers gliding through the letters on the tome, giving them a faint golden glow.
“The discourse between King Arthur and Sir Bedivere was not the entire story. Much information was hidden, and the reason…”
The golden letters then flew into the air, forming themselves into a singular word. Nay, a singular name.
“... is this.”
“This is…”
“Our progenitor’s real name. Peter Bedryant, otherwise known as Sir Bedivere of the Round Table.”
“But… why?”
There was a slight hesitation in Elisabeth’s words, but she continued nonetheless. “Long ago, there was a prophecy… nay, a premonition. Not on the scale of Britain, but the world itself was what this premonition entailed. That the war between God and the Demons would resume its course whenever a ‘Peter’ emerged.”
“... What? Mother, forgive my insolence, but Peter is naught but a name. There are hundreds, no, thousands of people out there that might bear the same name.”
“That might be true,” nodded the Queen, yet her face didn’t show any sense of agreement, “but at least in this land of Britain, I’ve checked, and every Queen before me has, as well. I can assure you, from our progenitor until that boy, there was not another soul named Peter here.”
Bea could only gasp at the sudden revelation, but her face soon paled as the girl realized the much more important matter at hand with the new information that she had received.
“Wait a minute… Mother, if there is in fact not another soul named Peter since Sir Bedivere until now, then, the reason that you called me here, regarding Peter, was…”
“Indeed,” replying to her was a cold, calculating nod. “As current Queen, I cannot let the flames of war once again ravage my kingdom. He must be eliminated before he could grow.”
“... Even if he hasn’t done anything?”
“Because he hasn’t done anything. It means that he hasn’t gotten a glimpse of the cross’s full power. Any more and he’ll be a menace.”
Bea shivered once more. And once more, overflowing within her was the ice of fear and the flames of rage.
“Mother, you can’t do this. It’s wrong to capture an innocent person.”
“Innocent?” Elisabeth raised her eyebrows in doubt, before letting out a sigh. “Fine, if you wish to keep the boy so much, then I propose a bet between you and me, naive daughter of mine.”
“A bet?”
“Didn’t you already set up for a test with the boy? You gave him the cross already, correct?”
She knew already… Bea lightly clenched her fists. She had learned about the contents of the ancient tome, so she knew what was inside the cross, and why it was so heavily guarded before she stole it from the vault. However, her reasoning went beyond just a whim or a rebellious phase.
“Mother, do you know why I proposed that test for him?”
A silence. Not one of ignorance, but one of pride and arrogance. I need not know, for the reason is obvious. That was the thought that her mother, the current Queen, was showing off.
“... The reason why I proposed the test wasn’t just to see if Peter was able to awaken the cross or not. It’s to see if he can control it or not.”
“Are you implying that you can put him on a leash, o’ foolish daughter of mine?”
“I am not putting anyone on a leash, Mother. Ruling by force is not what I do. I am placing my trust in him, to have him by my side as an equal. Britain shall regain Excalibur, and with it, ascend to new heights.”
“... A faulty ideal, born through naught but arrogance,” Elisabeth only scoffed at her daughter’s answer. “As I said, if you wish to stand against me, Beatrice, then bring me proof. You’ve given him the cross, now it’s time for him to show his worth. Station the knights on the isles to surround his house. If he complies with their demands, all without going berserk from its power, I shall acknowledge that he is not a threat to Britain, and you were right. However, should he fail, the boy is to be executed. Do we have a deal?”
“... I object,” Bea firmly shook her head. “The Rounds on the isles hate Peter. There will be no doubt that they will force him into a corner, and there can’t be any guarantee that he won’t accidentally activate the cross’s power for self-defense.”
“Isn’t that what we’re testing him on? His unparalleled virtue, that he could stay strong no matter the circumstances?”
“Mother, that is just oppression against the innocent.”
“... Very well. Then if there is a situation where the boy is forced to use the cross, we’ll capture him alive and put him on a trial. The trial shall be placed three days from now, no more, no less.” As her eyes gleamed, the Queen spoke out her final declaration. “Prepare your best against me, o’ future heir of mine, and we shall see if we have to settle it in the court of the law.”
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[1] Speak