C H A P T E R   III

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LIKE A KALEIDOSCOPE of splendour, Camelot's assembly hall was a rainbow of satin gowns in every conceivable colour, as maidens danced with handsome gentlemen on their arms, serving as fine company on that magical evening. The ball was truly the epitome of grandeur, and guests from kingdoms far and wide marvelled at the sheer decadence of it all.

Semelé too found herself marvelling at the pure majesty surrounding her, roaming the halls in gleeful awe. Though she did not possess the wealth or name of a Noble, her gown was certainly worthy of royalty. Semelé held her head as high as any princess in the room, clad in a dress that glistened like opal moonlight; the silk fell loosely from her shoulders and cascaded down her back in pleated waves of satin. The gown had been a generous gift from a former employer, and Semelé couldn't help but smile to herself as it earned many adoring glances that night.

King Uther and his son remained stationary for the majority of the evening, though they had been approached by many young women eager to share a dance. Semelé glanced over at Arthur, squinting past the crowds of guests twirling around the hall. He cut quite the fine figure in his crimson cloak, flowing majestically from his broad shoulders and bearing the proud symbol of Camelot in lustrous gold stitching. He also sported a ceremonial crown for the occasion, a band of glistening silver to frame his blonde locks.

Pacing the halls once more, greeting men and women the same with a smile and a cordial dip of the head, Semelé found herself nearing the only voice that could be heard above the instruments. This voice was not a particularly pleasant one — it dipped up and down distressingly, like a lyre out of tune — and belonged to a tall, skeletal lady. She was an older woman, and she stood amongst a small circle of guests, waving a boney arm about theatrically, as she recounted some fickle gossip like it was gospel truth.

"How on earth are we supposed to respect these modern knights when we've all seen them cheat in the melee?" The lady harped on, chortling, "I heard they all switch their blades for longer, sharper ones before the competitions begin! It's rather obvious once you know."

"Excuse me," Semelé stepped forward, fragmenting the woman's audience, "But that's not exactly true. All blades are measured and checked against one another before the duels."

The woman's head jerked sideways to face Semelé upon her sudden intrusion. Her face was scorching scarlet, like she had been scrubbing her skin with chainmail instead of soap, and held a mortified expression. Looking archly back, Semelé's lips broadened into an obnoxiously cordial smile at the lady she had just demeaned.

Stepping back from the other guests, the woman addressed Semelé separately, unable to mask the bitterness in her tone: "And who might you be?"

"Semelé."

"Semelé of..?"

"I'm not 'of" anything." Semelé confessed with an unapologetic shrug, "I live here in Camelot as a training physician."

This roused an odd chuckle from the old woman, her slender eyebrows vaulting in a haughty breed of amusement. Semelé's stomach churned in vexation, and the idea of wrestling that old crone to the floor flashed behind her irises. But she simply smiled and nodded.

"A physician?" The lady pursed her lips, "That seems rather unlikely, given that you're not only a woman but a commoner at that."

Semelé wasn't sure what exactly had led the woman to categorize her as a 'commoner'. Perhaps it was her accent, which bore no attachment to any one kingdom, but rather an amalgamation of various places she had lived in previously. Semelé was quite fond of this accent, as it carried fragments of all her beloved travels. Or, perhaps it was her mannerisms. Her playful stride, her boisterous smirk and the arch of her brow that hinted at invincibility. Either way, Semelé's character had apparently been decided: she was nothing more than a commoner, playing pretend in pretty ball gowns.

"Unlikely, yes, but not impossible." She retorted with a brazen lift of her chin, her lips curling, "And who might you be? If I may ask."

"Queen Muriel of Brookshire." The woman returned, with a voice like a razor, "And this is my daughter, Estella."

Muriel leaned back on her gaunt heel, and a young woman suddenly appeared at her right. Despite her delicate features, Estella had a striking face. Strikingly beautiful, that is. Her cheeks bore a sprinkling of light freckles, softened by a natural rosy blush. A tumble of auburn waves spilled elegantly down her shoulders, drawing attention to the jewel-encrusted neckline of her satin gown. Her pale eyes met with Semelé's for a fraction of a second, but her gaze then instantly dropped to the floor, as if Semelé's gaze had burnt her.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." Semelé assured. After all, her disdain for Muriel did not extend to her daughter.

"Come now, my dear," Muriel tugged Estella's arm, "Let's not spend all night making idle gossip with commoners."

The word stung Semelé's heart. And like that, Muriel and her daughter left, turning back to the crowds of dancing royals. Estella's gaze landed on the floor as they walked away, harnessing her plump lower-lip between her teeth.

"You didn't have to be so rude to that girl, mother." She said, weakly.

"Oh please, Estella." Muriel snorted, turning her heavy gaze on her daughter, "That girl was a mere commoner, she must've had some real nerve to pry on our conversations."

Estella contemplated this for a few empty moments, swallowing thickly. "I don't see what's so terrible about being a commoner."

The confession fell from her lips in a mere mumble. For a moment, the girl wondered if her mother had even registered it, over the crowds and instruments. But Muriel's gaze fell on her daughter once more, like a tonne of boulders, and Estella found herself suffocating under it.

"Estella, you are of royal blood. Don't ever be ashamed of that."

"I'm not ashamed." Estella's returned, so sharply that she found her words overlapping her mother's. Despite this, Muriel's jaw stiffened and her sunken eyes narrowed in acute disbelief. She gave a forlorn sigh, before averting her gaze ahead of them.

"We must get you acquainted with Uther's son, Estella." Muriel made a smooth transition to a new topic of conversation, before adding darkly: "Or else this whole night will have been for nothing..."

Semelé watched the pair slowly disappear, absorbing into the crowd. Though Muriel and her reproval were now far away, her words still lay heavy on Semelé's conscience. The thought of being seen as a 'commoner' didn't trouble Semelé, but Muriel's failure to recognise her knowledge and profession on account of not being royalty had certainly irked her.

"Don't take it personally, Semelé." Came a delicate voice from behind her.

Turning on her heel, Semelé was delighted to discover the voice belonged to Gwen, who smiled with a sincerity that suggested a natural incapacity for anything evil or depraved.

The serving girl looked as sweet as ever, the dark ringlets of her hair bouncing around her shoulders as she held a large, metallic wine jug in her soft, steady hands. The moment their gaze met, Semelé's former bitterness was drowned, and her expression brightened in an instant.

"I learnt the hard way that not everyone is as kind to the staff as the Lady Morgana." Gwen said with a coy smile, extending to the warmth of her irises.

Semelé lifted her eyes beyond the crowd to observe Morgana from across the room. She had joined Uther's side some time ago, and held herself with just as much composure and dignity as the King. She would not have looked of place among goddesses, clad in a seductive emerald gown that was sure to leave men falling hopelessly at her feet. Though, truthfully, Morgana would've looked striking in any gown; with her glorious raven waves and fair skin, smooth like rosewater. Morgana possessed a bold, fierce kind of beauty — a beauty that would stop any man or woman in their tracks.

"She is looking rather stunning tonight." Semelé confirmed, though it was hardly up for debate. "As are you, of course." She added promptly, turning back to Guinevere in one swift motion.

Gwen couldn't help but smile down at her feet at this compliment, but there was a quizzical tilt to her brow when she lifted her gaze again. "You don't have to flatter me to win my friendship, Semelé." she said.

It was obvious that Gwen was unaware of her own beauty, and would readily believe Semelé was lying, rather than accept her kind words as the truth. But Gwen was a beautiful woman. She was gorgeous in a modest way; the warmth of her heart radiated outwards into her smile and soft features. Her beauty was sincere, honest and genuine.

"I thought we were already friends?" Semele looked at her, archly.

"Oh! I mean, we are-"

"Well then, is one not allowed to compliment their friends?"

The pair then regressed into playful laughter, though Gwen shortly confessed that she must return to her serving work, with a forlorn little smile, and the promise that they would reunite soon.

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AS DUSK STRETCHED it's long fingers over Camelot, the halls had begun to clear, as dribs and drabs of tipsy guests prepared for departure. The space was now breathable, and the buzz of excitement from the previous hours lingered in the air; a pleasant afterthought. Semelé breathed it in, a deep inhale of contentment, as she observed how the room emptied out.

King Uther was occupied escorting the guests from the castle, making idle chat of how pleased he had been to see them and how desperately he hoped they would visit again.

This left his son wandering among the halls a little aimlessly, taking a leisurely trundle about the castle, as his magnificent cloak fanned out at his ankles. Sooner or later, Arthus's path intersected with Semelé's, and both parties were considerably more hospitable to one another than they had been upon their first encounter. However, a glint of mischief still sparked behind Semelé's pupil's as she lifted her gaze to meet the Prince's.

"I must say," She mused, a taunting curve to her lips, "You look a lot better now than you did this morning."

"Is that an insult or a compliment?" Arthur furrowed his brows.

"Whichever you wish it to be, my Lord."

Arthur could've laughed in that moment. Or, equally, he could've rebuked Semelé for her smart mouth and mocking tone. He couldn't quite decide. Semelé's jocular, easy-going temperament was peculiar to the son of a king, who had spent most of his life surrounded by attendants who worshipped his every word. But there was something to be admired in the girl's witticisms, her sharpness. A part of Arthur found her unapologetic, teasing demeanour oddly refreshing.

"What's your name?" He finally asked, realising they had not yet been formally acquainted.

"Semelé."

"Well, Semelé," Arthur lowered his impish gaze to her's, "You're much more pleasant when you're not trying to take my temperature."

"And you are much more pleasant when you are not sickly and bedbound, Sire." She returned with a wicked grin.

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THE NIGHT GREW old and weary, as summer nights do, and nobody in the royal court could rest before midnight. Even once the halls were tidied, swept and cleared, the air of exhilaration from the ball was unshakeable.

Semelé found herself restless, resorting to pressing her eyelids shut, in an attempt to force sleep upon herself. After a few hours of futile tossing and turning, a deep slumber engulfed her, and the details of that day faded into the haze of a dream.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE

gwen is such a sweetie 🥺

i haven't decided if semelé was lowkey flirting with gwen or not in this chapter tbh. i'll leave that one up to your opinion 😉

this was quite an important chapter in terms of establishing characters. i'm sure you all hate muriel just as much as i do 😤 (and i think we're all gonna hate her a lot more by the end of the story...)

i will fINALLY be introducing a certain character in the next chapter, i can't waiiiit 😈