Realm of Kings 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
Shit is not going well for Team Guin.
Recently, I’ve been feeling less like the Ever Queen and more like the Never
Queen.
We’ve been roaming the beautiful Logres countryside for weeks. Or at least
it seems like weeks. I’ve lost track of the sunrises and sunsets that mark our
days; lost track of the nightly campfires blurring by, as we huddle next to one
another and speak in hushed voices.
All I know is we’ve been constantly moving—never safe enough to stay in
one place for too long.
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This is nothing like the Knights of the Round Table legends I know from
my world, where people like King Arthur and Sir Lancelot, Gawain, Percival,
and Kay are spoken of with reverence and gallantry.
My proverbial knights in shining armor have been relegated to hiding in the
shadows, ducking among the trees. Hunting and foraging for scraps of food.
Bickering, growing more and more frustrated as the days pass and the
pressures mount.
It’s getting exasperating living as nomads and vagabonds—outlaws cast to
the fringes of the realm, if only so we’ll be safe.
This isn’t me, I recognize one night while sitting at another sputtering
campfire. It’s not any of us.
I told myself once I won’t be safe here any longer. By design. I was safe and meek in my
world for too long. Lacking agency. Look where it got me. Destitute and depressed. Run
over.
I won’t let that same fate befall me in this magical land of monsters, monstrous men, and
medieval politics. There’s no room for tiptoeing around here like a mouse. The people who do
get squashed like rodents. I can’t be one of them. Not if we’re going to survive.
I puff my cheeks out and sigh, staring into the snapping flames. Hugging
my knees to stave off the chill, I gaze through the swirling smoke to the
landscape around us, cast purple from the silver moon. Prairie grass shudders
over the surrounding hillsides, flattened by the breeze. With some sadness
tugging my heart, I notice the lush greenery of Logres outside Camelot has
started to lose its splendor.
Nomads, vagabonds, outlaws. We’re more than that.
A few pairs of eyes glance in my direction at the sound of my heavy sigh.
Percival and Lancelot, in particular, look worried.
I’m not ready to talk yet.
We’ve been desperately trying to gather allies. It hasn’t been going well. It’s
abundantly clear to all of us, I think, we’re losing this arms race against “King”
Mordred.
Going over the past few days while the flames draw me in, I recall the backalley meetings we’ve had with townsfolk in the area. Random farmers, woodsmen,
and blacksmiths aren’t going to build us an army. We need to think beyond that. Bigger.
We haven’t gotten word from Sir Lamorak or Lady Freya or Baucillas in
Camelot. Our insiders, who we hoped would be building some kind of
grassroots rebellion in the wake of Mordred stealing Arthur’s throne and
crown.
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