Forcing herself to draw a deep breath, she began to pace, mind whirling with ‘what ifs’. The King of Camelot was a legend, indeed, already, but she knew little of him personally and had little reason to trust him. What gain would there be to him to help her, a noble’s daughter from out-kingdom? She formed mad plans of begging a sword from Sir Mordred, of simply waging a weeks-long campaign against the bandits herself armed with nothing more than her magic, but they all fell apart against reality — she had nothing now.
The conversation lasted a small while, most of the time spent with Mordred trying to come up with different excuses and reasons as to why Summer should receive some help. Eventually though, he returned to the hall to deliver the news, a small smile upon his face.
He looked over at the girl, before speaking, “He says he’s going to send out a party to track down the bandit camp,” he stated, “and that for the night you can take one of the spare rooms in the castle.”
“You,” Summer said solemnly, “are amazing. My debt to you increases.” She released a long, slow breath, then smiled mischievously. “Soon I shall have to become your servant just to have a hope of repaying you.”