The Cambion Duke
By Anita Noelle Green
“Cambions are abominations. The seed of a vampire. A curse upon all sapientkind.”
(Lancelot 2:13, KotRT)
So it is our books of old tell us. What was I to think when I first met Arthur?
None of us ever ask to be born the way we are. I never understood why society shunned those of us who are different. I say “us” because beneath our physical exteriors and natal circumstances are not we all so very similar? At least, that’s how I choose to see it. At the same time, I recognize there is much privilege associated with me sharing my candid thoughts considering I am an archduchess.
I’ve come to recognize those of us born into privilege have a duty to use our privilege responsibly. Do not let my portraits fool you. I very much prefer the casual clothing most women wear over the garish garments you may associate with me.
“Appearances matter. Besides, dear sister, you look quite lovely in green,” I recall our queen telling me—my sister.
Had she not been born into royalty, I have little doubt the fates would have thrust her into the royal court in some other manner. Beautiful, boastful, but above all, benevolent. That is how I would describe my sister—our queen. If I had it my way, royalty would be altogether abolished (a rather brazen wish given my position, I know), but as it were my sister was fair in every sense of the word. Truth be told, had it not been for her, I would not be here to share with you our story.
Praise, adoration, notoriety, my sister loved to be loved. Not me though. Constantly being closely followed by an ostentatious guard “for my own protection” and barely taking five steps before someone stopped to shower me with their affection grew tiresome especially when I didn’t do anything to earn it.
“It’s an honor to see you m’lady.”
“‘Tis a true blessing to have you take a moment out of your busy day and come to my humble shop.”
I just like to buy my own food. What’s so special about that? Are you proud your taxes go towards feeding my entitled tush?
###
At my unrelenting insistence, my sister would allow me to ride my noble steed from time to time. Riding miles away on horseback was my rare solace from that opulent and quite honestly boring life. The way the wind used her ethereal fingers to unfurl my tightly knitted braids. The way she caressed my face like a loving mother welcoming her child home. This is where I belonged.
Was it the wind guiding me or perhaps fate wending me to a creek I had never spotted before? Perhaps it was all just chance. Whatever the case, my horse came to a sliding halt tumbling me forward into a frigid, shallow creek. Slurping soon followed. I guess nature overrides even the most noble and trained equine.
A chuckle erupted from some nearby brush.
“It’s not funny!” I shouted. To be fair, I probably would have laughed too if it didn’t happen to me. Actually, even though it did happen to me I was fighting a curl forming from my lips.
There was a rustling of leaves as soon as I spoke.
“Show yourself!” I demanded.
I bolted up, took a couple steps forward and just as I was beginning to march after my mocker I slipped. Can I make it any more clear that I’m not as graceful as my sister?
My leg collided with an erect jagged rock. Blood was gushing from the open wound. I hollered in pain. I managed to thrash myself out of the running water, but I could do nothing more than cradle my leg. The ruckus I caused must have scared off my horse.
“This is your fault, you know!” I hollered at the creature.
“Here, let me see,” a booming voice hummed from behind me.
I immediately turned around and flinched instinctively.
“Yeah, I know. I’m ugly. But I ain’t gonna hurt ya. Let me see.”
But he wasn’t ugly. Not in the slightest. His skin was coquelicot in color—like that of a poppy flower. He was brawny with muscles that appeared almost sculpted. His jaw was square and chiseled. His features were as sharp and defined as his horns. Yet, his most prominent feature was the gentleness he exuded. His demeanor stood in juxtaposition to his otherwise intimidating appearance. He was a cambion.
“You just startled me is all,” I said apologetically.
He managed to stop the bleeding and made a rather impressive makeshift bandage.
“I’ll try to get your horse for ya.”
She wasn’t far. I could see she only scampered a few yards away. When the stranger walked towards the beast she didn’t startle or move away. Rather, she walked towards him and let him take the reins over to where I was helplessly sitting.
“I can help ya up if ya need.”
He held out his hand and glided me onto my horse.
“Do ya think ya can manage from here?”
“I’m not sure. I think my leg is broken and I think I hurt my hand too.” While that was true, I did just describe him to you.
“I’ll ride with ya as close into town as I can, but then I gotta go.”
“I understand.”
But against both our better judgment, he did accompany me all the way into town. He gripped my waist ever so slightly tighter the closer we got. Though we were met with gawks and murmurs, perhaps the commoners weren’t as common as I once thought.
Arthur met my sister and she too took the time to understand. Could it be the once pompous princess I had always known had influenced her fiefdom to choose peace?
It wasn’t long after that Arthur Pendragon became the first cambion archduke.
Bio: Anita Noelle Green (she/her) is a transgender woman. She has a BA in Sociology. Her work has been featured in Brian’s Bookcase, Exclamation Mark and Literary Garage.
Author’s Note: The story of Arthur Pendragon has been told and retold time and time again. This is my unique twist on the classic tale. I felt inspired to write this story in a succinct manner that modern audiences can relate to while incorporating timeless messaging that calls for reflection on our own humanity.
