Summer’s smile bent a little. “Go, speak for me, before I say something I’ll regret.”
Mordred nodded lightly, before retracting his hand and entering the room to speak with Arthur. Hopefully he would be lenient, otherwise Summer might have difficulty getting back to her people.
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.