Steve slept well that night—far better than he had expected. It wasn't something he had truly realized until now, but the world of today was never really quiet.
It was only here, in a city without cars, without electricity, that he noticed just how quiet it could be at night.
It was like sleeping outside, in a forest, on a mountain, somewhere far from civilization—yet here he was in the heart of it: Camelot, the Heart of Albion, and so peaceful.
So when he went back out that morning, he was refreshed and happy, ready for a new day of exploring this place and meeting its people.
…
Eventually, Steve found his way to the grand plaza in front of the castle itself, looking up at the tall tower that seemed to stretch into the heavens.
He wasn't alone; plenty of people came here to take pictures of the castle up close, and he could see why. The castle was truly magnificent, a piece of art crafted from stone.
Statues so lifelike he half-expected them to suddenly start waving, details so precise he would expect them on a diamond, not a castle.
Truly, a marvel to behold.
"Quite a sight, isn't it?" a female voice came from behind.
Steve turned—and froze. Recognition hit him immediately.
"You… I remember you. From Leeds."
She chuckled lightly. "Yeah. That was rather embarrassing, letting you catch me like that. But you took me by surprise, sitting where you did. I thought for sure you'd pick the other side."
Steve's eyes narrowed. No denial. No excuses. She was admitting it outright.
"So you were watching me. Guess she knew I was here all along." He nodded toward the towering castle. He didn't have to name who he meant.
"Nah," the woman said easily, as if they were discussing the weather. "She only learned you were here when you walked through the gates. She's got bigger things to worry about than shadowing one man.
But come on—no way we weren't going to notice Captain America wandering through Albion." Her grin widened. "And I gotta say, you look pretty good for someone old enough to be my great-grandfather."
Steve wasn't entirely sure how to respond to her; the casual way she handled the situation threw him off.
He had expected someone to react very differently when called out for spying on him—not just admitting it with a shrug.
"So, who are you?"
She laughed at his question, loudly enough to draw curious looks from people around them. "That's your question? You honestly expect the big bad spy to tell you her name? What next—my three sizes?"
Steve didn't rise to the bait. He just folded his arms, expression steady. "Names go a long way toward building trust."
Her grin softened for a moment before she pulled it back up. "Fine. Guess it's only fair since I do know your name—and your sizes. All of them. Yeah, I know, all your sizes. SHIELD really measured you well while you were out cold."
The way she said it, the way she looked down at his crotch while dragging her words, made him feel self-conscious—and made him curse SHIELD in his head.
"You still didn't give me your name," he pointed out, ignoring her attempt at misdirection.
"You sure you aren't more curious about what the report says about you? Or what the people who cared for you said? Only one of the nurses claimed to have seen a man bigger than you." The woman continued to tease, making it hard for Steve to focus.
He wasn't used to this kind of thing; this almost flirty behavior really threw him off.
Steve cleared his throat, forcing his focus back to the woman's eyes. "Your name," he repeated firmly.
She tilted her head, a smirk lingering like a cat toying with its prey. "Helen. I'm Helen, and I work for the king. I'm her hand in the shadow—her secret police, if you will."
Steve absorbed her words carefully. Her hand in the shadow. That was no small claim.
He had been briefed on them: the so-called Veiled Hand, a group of former elite all-female assassins who had joined Arthuria early on. They were among the best of the best—and the most dangerous of all.
Their hands dripping with blood, as deadly as they were beautiful. Experts in using their looks to make targets lower their guard. Just her teasing had unfocused him, and he wasn't just anyone.
Steve's jaw tightened. "So this was your assignment? Shadow me. Size me up."
Helen's smirk didn't falter. "What can I say? You're a hard man to miss. America's golden boy wandering through our streets. Not to mention your connection with SHIELD. You aren't just a normal tourist, so yeah—we kept an eye on you."
Steve couldn't really disagree; he could understand why they would want to keep an eye on him, but that didn't mean he liked having assassins shadow him. "So why show yourself now?"
"Why else?" she asked back, a wide grin on her face—a face that could make men's hearts skip a beat. "To meet the king. That's why you're here, right? To ask the big bad King of Knights to end her reign of terror."
Steve frowned. "Reign of terror? That what you call this?" He motioned toward the city—the families taking photos, the children laughing as they darted between fountains, the merchants opening their stalls with practiced ease. "Doesn't look like terror to me."
Helen's grin widened, though her eyes flickered with something sharper. "Well, I'm just repeating what I hear. Everyone talks about how evil the king is, how much her people suffer, her foolishness—at least if you follow American news, no?"
Steve knew she was right; he, too, had heard all that and had come seeking answers. And so far, the truth was entirely different from the rumors. "Fine, that's on me. But still… the king wants to see me?"
He would be lying if he said he wasn't interested. He did want to meet her, to ask her questions. He just didn't think he would really get the chance… despite everything, he was just Steve, not someone who dined with royalty.
Helen arched a brow, watching his hesitation with something between amusement and curiosity. "Of course she wants to see you. You didn't really think you could walk through Albion, poking your nose into every village and market, and not end up on her radar, did you?"
Steve gave a faint shrug. "I figured I was just another face in the crowd."
"Captain America?" Helen leaned in slightly, her smirk returning. "You've never been just another face in any crowd. You might not be a leader, a ruler, or a god—but you are a man out of his time. That's something you have in common with her, isn't it?"
Steve's jaw tightened at that. She wasn't wrong, but hearing it put so bluntly felt strange. "That doesn't mean we're alike."
Helen tilted her head, her grin softening just a little. "Maybe not. But it does mean you'll understand her better than most. She doesn't give her time easily, you know. People wait months for an audience. You?" She flicked her fingers toward the keep. "She wants to see you today."
Steve glanced up at the towering gates of the castle, then back at Helen. "Just like that? I get marched in front of a king because she's curious?"
Helen's smirk sharpened again. "Oh, don't act so surprised. She is the king. She gets what she wants. If she's curious, she can meet with anyone, do anything. That's what it means to be king—to be selfish."
"From everything I've seen so far, she doesn't seem all that selfish," he said, shaking his head.
"Well… she's still working on it," Helen replied, as if that made any sense.
"Honestly? I think it's better if the leader isn't selfish." Steve looked up at the grand tower once more.
Helen didn't press him further. She simply turned on her heel with a swish of her hair, and Steve realized she expected him to follow.
The gates opened for her without a word, heavy iron and oak groaning as they swung wide. Steve stepped through into the castle proper—and for a moment, he almost forgot to breathe.
The scale was staggering. Marble pillars climbed like trees into vaulted ceilings carved with constellations. Sunlight streamed through stained-glass windows in hues of sapphire, emerald, and crimson, casting living color across the stone floor. Statues lined the hall, knights of legend rendered in stone so lifelike Steve half-expected them to step down and march alongside him.
Every detail radiated power—not the sterile polish of a modern government building, but the awe of something ancient, timeless, made to impress upon anyone who entered that they stood in the presence of something greater.
Helen led him deeper. Servants and armored suits—the Enforcement Knights, Steve realized—moved in silence, part of the rhythm of the place. They hardly spared him a glance, and yet he felt the weight of unseen eyes at every step.
Finally, she stopped before a set of double doors inlaid with gold and traced with runes that seemed to shimmer faintly in the light. "Wait inside," she said simply, her grin flashing for a brief moment. "Someone will come for you." Then she pushed the doors open and left him to step through alone.
The chamber beyond was quieter, smaller than he expected. Not the throne room, but a waiting hall, furnished with carved chairs, tables bearing goblets of water and fruit, and banners heavy with the crest of the golden dragon.
Steve wandered, his boots echoing faintly in the stillness. His eyes caught on the painting that dominated the far wall.
A woman in gleaming white armor stood tall amid smoke and fire, her banner raised high as soldiers rallied at her back. Her hair was golden, her face pale—and for a heartbeat Steve thought it was Arthuria.
But no, not quite. The eyes were wrong. The hair, too—a shadow of gold, not the true shade. The similarities were undeniable, but so were the subtle differences. The face was her face… but it wasn't her. Not Mordred either.
"Who…" Steve murmured aloud, almost to himself. "Who is she?"
"She is Jeanne," came a voice from behind him—firm, clear, and unmistakably regal. "Jeanne d'Arc. Saint of France, and a good woman. Noble and fair, far more so than I could ever be. Even as a fellow ruler, we were as different as night and day."
Steve turned sharply.
Arthuria Pendragon stood in the doorway, the King of Knights herself, framed in light as though the castle had been waiting for her entrance. Her emerald eyes lingered not on him, but on the painting, softened by something Steve couldn't immediately place—reverence, perhaps, or kinship.
"She wasn't a ruler," Steve said—and instantly felt like an idiot. He had been shocked by her sudden appearance, by her presence, her aura. It was beyond anything he had ever seen before. She wasn't just human. She was something more.
And that had made him fumble—his first words to her a clumsy correction. Even Steve Rogers felt embarrassed.
"Oh, but she was. She is. Some would even call her the Ruler. But that is a story for another time. Welcome, Steve. Welcome to Camelot."
She answered with a wry smile, one that seemed to speak of knowledge she possessed and he did not.
(end of chapter)
Support me at patreon.com/unknownfate - for the opportunity to read up to 30 chapters ahead.
Or on boosty.to/unknownfate