We were gathered in Spendlove's mansion the morning after the triumphant return. The few knights who were up had either abstained from the ‘whiskey’ or were haunted by the spectre of drinks past. Glamour-infused spirits meant glamour-infused hangovers, after all.

  “Gring didn't kick me in the face, did he?” Lance mumbled as she slid into one of the chairs and slumped over the rickety table I’d dragged in from one of the other rooms. The round table was still outside and would likely need a good clean before being brought back. Before Sephy and I had slipped away, I’d seen Bors and a few others dancing on it. Our Order was embracing its icon, if not for its symbolism, then at least for its utility.

  “No, that's just the hangover. I'm making bacon sandwiches. It's day-old bread, but it'll get you going.” Lance grunted her approval as I slid off to the kitchens, passing Sephy who was guiding a dishevelled-looking Gawain through the halls. She’d taken point on hunting down our errant knights.

  I got to work in the kitchen, firing up the stove. I'd given Lucan the morning off. The man deserved it. My motives weren't entirely altruistic. Arthur and Tristan were soon to join us, and I wanted some social buffer and food to help soften the blow.

  I hummed to myself as I made the food. I had found after some experimentation in the last few weeks that I was an acceptable cook as long as I kept to simple fare. Applying the principles of alchemy, it wasn’t hard to understand that precise heat and timing turned meat into bacon. I chuckled to myself as I remembered the first meal I’d shared with Bors. A lot had changed since then.

  Coming back to the hall with a tray piled high with rolls of bread with bacon between them, I entered the room to find all of our group bar Bors present. I passed out the rolls, along with bowls of porridge I’d heated up with some honey I’d found.

  I could feel the Prince watching me. His eyes occasionally flicked between me, Sephy, and Maeve. I could tell his anger was still merrily burning, but he kept a lid on it.

  I wisely chose to limit my time in his company, lest the flames of his ire break free of their bonds. Running up and down between the kitchens to supply the knights gave me an easy excuse to be absent. When I did finally meet him eye to eye, it was behind a shield of bacon and bread, and there's only so angry one can be in such a situation.

  As the knights slowly woke up, revived by fats, salt and sugars, the discussion turned to what was next.

  With the worst of the hangover exorcised, the mood in the room turned jovial, if a little muted. The group's success against two Iron-ranked beasts was a worthy first outing for our nascent Order, but the encounter with the Druid pushed it up to the kind of event that would stick in everyone’s memory. They were a little frustrated that she’d nailed down our Order’s name for them, however having her backing made the benefits far greater than the losses.

  Her presence tempered their victory. Knowing their lives had been entirely at another’s mercy robbed them of the heady rush of true success. That was only added to by discovering the bandits upon their return, further stripping away the feeling of a job well done. It left a question in the air—would these be the only knaves who'd dare to threaten the town?

  Bors arrived a few minutes later, freshly washed, looking bright-eyed with a wide smile on his face. As he tucked in, Tristan began to outline what they’d learned from the bandit.

  He began with an overview. It seemed many groups were fleeing the passes, forced out by the upheaval and the betrayal of the newly formed Order Teutonique. Word was some of the small villages that formed part of the chain of transport and relied upon the travelling knights had already been abandoned—terrified mortals, knowing they had no direct protection, fleeing their homes rather than waiting for bandit or beast to fall upon them.

  Then there were skirmishes between the various powers. Without the balance of a neutral force, the Orders, Houses and Covens who claimed patronage over the larger cities had started to try and carve up the neutral territories, leading to skirmishes that, if they didn’t simmer down, had the makings of small border wars. All of this was adding to the already fraught situation.

  “With all the refugees, banditry is spreading along the roads. The knave are flocking to what they see as easy hunting grounds. This group got wind of Spendlove, and hoped to get set up with some easy loot before heading out there. They figured one Pig Iron who was too scared to handle his own problems would give them some easy pickings,” said Tristan. In his private persona, he felt more like a clerk, his tone neat and tidy as if summarising taxes collected, not the results of an interrogation.

  “It sounds like a nightmare. The bandit also felt incredibly confident when he explained that they didn’t expect to find any knights on the roads. With all the talk of war and challenge, the powers that be would be keeping their champions close.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  “Someone from the Artoss lands should be arriving today, tomorrow at the latest. They can take over from Spendlove, and keep an eye out for bandits,” Tristan explained.

  “Then do we push on?”

  “We'll have to go back through the Artoss estate, and then yes. I think it's time we head out,” Sephy said. She went around calmly pouring everyone measures of water. Mortal or cultivator, water was essential to clear a hangover.

  “What is it that we're even looking for in this prophecy though?” Lance groaned, still not fully recovered.

  “The elders don’t permit anyone below Steel to know the full extent of the prophecy, for fear that they might be interrogated by Divine Cultivators. Of what I’m permitted to know, the prophecy revolves around a figure we know as the King of Lament. A mortal, or perhaps a Wood or Bronze cultivator, is said to be the one to unearth the Grail in a search to end whatever curse ails him.” Sephy replied.

  “Is that all we know?”

  “There are only so many petty kings, yet we can't also just turn up and demand they tell us what they're doing.” Kay commented.

  “Most are supported by an Order, Coven or a House. They won’t take kindly to us poking around the mortals under their protection.” Gawain added into the mix.

  “Our Round Table is actually a better solution than I thought for this. The prophecy makes clear that the King is troubled by some incredible task. We aim to be an Order that fixes problems.” Sephy smiled at me as she spoke—an acknowledgement of the effectiveness of this new shared plan.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “Are you suggesting we just keep going till we get the attention of this King?” Arthur looked utterly lost.

  “You speak like that will be hard,” I said, and the room turned to look at me. “Sephy, I’m not the best at explaining politics but it’s really not that difficult.”

  “Arthur, your father is an exception among kings. His title as King of Albion might’ve given you a skewed perspective of what kings really are. The reason Uthar Quilvern is respected so highly comes from the fact he’s a Mithril—not that he is a king. Most kings are—”

  “Greedy, short-sighted tyrants, obsessed with power and control,” Kay muttered angrily. I noticed she still had flowers in her hair from yesterday though they’d started to wilt. It didn’t lessen the anger she held.

  “I was going to say ‘focused on legitimacy’. They wish to appear like the rightful ruler, and the more that we can play into that, the better.” Sephy cut in diplomatically.

  “There will be tales about you. The mortals will shout your names, and their nobles will come to know our banner. When a King wants to show he is in control, that he should be respected, what better way to do it than by hosting us?” I smiled, noticing a slight shift in the mood at the idea of tales being sung about them.

  “Are you suggesting we ‘sell’ our honour to get invitations?” Kay asked, her voice waspish. I saw Arthur just behind her, nodding along.

  “I think they’re suggesting we prove our competence, and just let the greedy, honour-obsessed fools do the rest for us.” Bors chimed in. Sephy and I nodded, and Kay subsided.

  “It’s not a bad plan. But I think it needs some tweaks.”

  “Spare us the lecture. My head still feels like the weasels are nesting in it. Let us revisit this once we are hale.” Lance called, and a few others nodded in agreement.

  A few hours later, the Artoss representatives arrived. Lucan sprinted into the manor, desperately summoning me as herald.

  “They’re from the main estate, I can tell! And the manor is a mess, and then there’s…” I’d seen less pained faces on women about to give birth.

  “Be calm, Squire Lucan. The manor is far better than it has any right to be thanks to your care, and once they hear of your achievements they will recognise your skills. I'm sure it won't be anyone too difficult to deal with.” I felt confident in that statement. After all, Pellinore had directly endorsed us, and Tristan had sent out the alarm. They had to be reasonable!

  Minutes later I cursed my na?ve optimism. I was leading a party that consisted of three Steels—Rensleigh, Elaine, and a third older woman with grey in her hair who had introduced herself as one Lady Rowena Artoss, a name that tickled some distant memory. All three wore heavy expressions. The two Steels I knew carried themselves with a different air to what I’d come to expect from our more casual encounters.

  Not that Rensleigh ever struck me as a casual relaxed soul, but now she radiated a sense of control.

  Following them, almost an afterthought, was a couple of knights who offered no name and acted as guard to the last and most bizarre member of the group—Tiffany.

  The rest were imposing, but why Gaz’s fiancée was joining us I wasn't sure. But from her smile, I could tell at least one of our number was going to enjoy this little get-together.

  Ahead I could feel the bursts of glamour as Lucan and the others frantically assembled themselves in preparation. Behind me I heard Lady Rowena hum to herself. It was not a noise of contentment. I readied myself for what was to come.

  “And that concludes my report.” Tristan bowed his head to Lady Rowena and the two Steels who sat at one end of the round table, sipping teas and snacking on treats that Lucan had summoned from somewhere. Tiffany sat to their right, apparently there to take notes.

  The rest of us stood at the other end of the hall, keen to keep as much distance between us and the trio of powerful women as possible.

  Lance and Maeve were both trying to avoid too much attention. Lance, because getting rip-roaringly drunk last night had meant she failed to check in through the dream space, and Maeve because she was certain her governess had opinions on her being the only one wounded in the beast attack. Gaz was the only one among us not trying to shuffle to the back of the pack, as that might interrupt his longing glances toward Tiff.

  The one I was most worried about was Lady Rowena. The way Tristan had paled when I mentioned her name told me all I needed to know. Tristan had led the debriefing, going into detail about everything from the wolf attack all the way through to his interrogation of the bandit.

  “An acceptable report, though your actions certainly leave me questioning the intelligence of this venture. To have already encountered a druid.” Rensleigh was first to speak, at her words I saw Tristan visibly relax.

  “Come now, it is not their fault they ended up in a druid's path. Such things are the whims of fate and fae.” Elaine chimed in, though she still watched the group carefully.

  “I am disappointed that none of you noticed that there were two beasts. There seems to be multiple opportunities for you to have noticed such issues. There are other complaints and I will be speaking to each of you individually about them. I do have one question for the bard that relates to the rest of you. Given your Order’s poor reception, I am intrigued as to why Spendlove had functioning limbs to flee upon.”

  “Are you suggesting I should've insisted upon a duel with him?” I asked carefully. The woman’s voice had a testing quality to it that reminded me of teachers from long ago.

  “You had plenty right to do so, and while you as herald should avoid combat, I'm sure any of your allies would’ve been keen and sufficient to complete the task.”

  “We approached this challenge as one for the future Order. Given that I anticipate we will face worse provocation in the future, born of both ignorance and calculated antagonism, it seems better to set a standard that will help us in the future.”

  “Too much mercy leaves you open to being seen as weak.” Her eyes watched me carefully, the grey eyes of the Artoss scanning my face. I held myself together.

  “Equally, responding to each insult permits our enemies to bait us into unnecessary fights that could wound us. Words are just words. We are a group taking action while others talk themselves in circles. That said, if Spendlove had taken action against us—tangible actions—then we would’ve responded.”

  “Tangible actions. The kind of thing that might make a House or Order look petty, no matter the outcome of a duel. While words can be quibbled over, actions are clear signs those institutions are targeting knights conducting the most ancient duty.” She didn’t smile, nod, or give any implication as to whether she agreed or disagreed with the approach. Just left the air open, as if there was more to explain.

  “Indeed.” I took a risk and just agreed with her.

  “And is that the actual reason you didn't duel him?” There was now the faintest hint of a smile on her lips.

  “I must confess I believe the constant dread of knowing I could demand a duel at any time is a superior punishment to a quick beating.” I answered, and this time I definitely saw her smirk.

  “Now I see why Pellinore likes you, bard.” As she said that, I heard Lucan squeak and turn to stare at me in abject horror. I gave him a reassuring smile.

  “Alright, this might just work. Let me introduce myself properly. I am Lady Rowena of Artoss, and I, along with Lady Rensleigh and Lady Elaine, will be taking a tour of the mountain passes to keep an eye on this little experiment. It will fall to us to answer any challenges beyond Iron that you or the other groups might incur.”

  “Other groups? I'm sorry?” My forehead creased.

  “Ah yes, has no one mentioned? The Order of the Round Table has, of last count… how many requests to join, Lady Tiffany?”

  “Two hundred and seven.”

  “What?”