Round Table Arthur Novels & Stories

Arthur struggled violently. “Destroy it!” Nobody listened. Margaret’s recording continued. “Jonathan Hale wasn’t a member of The Circle.” “He created it.” The room froze. Arthur stopped struggling. His breathing became ragged. Margaret’s voice remained calm. “Everything you know about Arthur Graves is only half the truth.” “Arthur never led The Circle.” “He answered to someone else.” Amelia slowly turned toward Arthur. His silence confirmed everything. “You lied.” Arthur closed his eyes. For the first time, he looked defeated.

Marcus waited, radiant. Arthur... Arthur didn't move. But his index finger, resting on the table, began to tap slowly. One, two, three times. And then he stopped. The fork didn't fall. It was placed. Carefully. Precisely. Like a weapon being set down before a duel. "Cheers," I said. And that was when Arthur Sterling spoke. His voice cut through the hall like a blade. Low. Calm. But each word weighed tons. "No." Absolute silence.

“And neither are you.” The doors opened before they could knock. They were led into a dining room that could have doubled as a cathedral, with a table so long it felt like they were in different zip codes from the man sitting at the head of it. Arthur Vance didn't stand. He didn't smile. He sat with a glass of red wine in his hand, his eyes two chips of frozen blue flint. “Three minutes late,” Arthur said, his voice like the scrape of a shovel on dry earth. “I trust the ‘Rossi’ sense of direction isn't as precise as our family's.”

"The crown must be protected from corrupt men." Arthur looked down at him from the high throne, a small, razor-sharp smile cutting across his beautiful face. "I am glad you agree, Duke Vance." Arthur picked up his gold chalice, raising it high into the air. "To Asterra!" Arthur declared, his voice ringing triumphantly through the silent hall. The court scrambled to pick up their glasses, their voices shaky and fragmented as they echoed their monarch. "To Asterra!" Arthur’s golden eyes moved slowly across the hall, locking directly onto Vance, watching the Duke over the rim of his chalice as he spoke his final words.

I looked at my watch and shot Eileen a quick message, telling her I miss her before I made my way to the meeting room. The space was small, only able to hold four people at a time, but the glass was sound proof. I entered the cabin and found Arthur resting his head on the table, seemingly asleep. The bottle of water that had been offered to him was empty and scrunched up, laying on the floor. It told me everything I needed to know about him. I knocked on the table. His head shot up and he glared. “Took you long enough.” I sat opposite him and waited. “Go on.”

"No need. We'll be here soon." The only people who attended the simple banquet were those involved in the fight against the traitors, namely all of Gabriel's close friends. Especially for all his friends, sitting opposite the Queen, Gabriel, and Charlotte. Meanwhile, King Arthur sat in the middle of the dining table. The waiters served a variety of side dishes on the table, which tempted Violet to look at him. Like the appetizers, main dishes and desserts are very classy. "Thank you for the food, Your Majesty," everyone said in unison.

ARTHUR Ideally Arthur should have left, but somehow he could not. There was a charm in this room, a mystical energy that resonated with Mila. Arthur was lying down on Mila’s bed when he heard commotion outside. It was as if a lot of people were surrounding the place. Arthur jumped out of bed and looked around. Things from the Keats clan palace were scattered around. Arthur hurried and cleaned up the place, dumping everything under Mila’s bed and hiding it with a ragged bedcover.

Once we are completely dressed, her in the velvet robes of a high priest and paladin, a short sword belted and sheathed at her side, and I in my gown, a circlet on my brow, we head downstairs to the main hall. There is a large circular table of hardwood in the center of a larger round room as we pass. Eight people in armor sitting around the table, the empty chairs between them casting a haunted feeling that fills the room with a heavy gloom. I walk in, Devona at my side, and they all stand, their heads bowing in reverence as we enter. Except for one. Arthur. He doesn't say a word as he rushes around the table to lift me off the ground, pulling me tightly into his arms.

he added. Zodiac warriors seated to the arthingale chair they feel relaxed and comfortable with so did the King and Prince Arthur. Not too long, they smelled a scent of food. Then lower-ranking servants wearing cheap robes of russet arrived with foods, pitchers, and bottles of red wines. They put meat pies, venison pies, roast rolls, lamb shanks, chicken drumsticks, quiche, and pitcher on the table. They also filled the fancy glasses with red wine before leaving the area.

And ten minutes later, we found ourselves standing outside a large room. Voices drifted through the doorway. Laughter. Conversation. Life. Elara peeked inside first. Then immediately froze. I looked over her shoulder. And understood why. Arthur stood at the front of the room. Not sitting. Standing. Animated. Energetic. Twenty people surrounded him. Some elderly. Some middle-aged. A few surprisingly young. Everyone listening. Everyone smiling. Everyone engaged. Arthur held a photograph. An old one. Faded around the edges. And he was telling a story.