“Camelot,” Lancelot said as Vera gaped in awe.
She raised her eyebrows. The stories had gotten the name right.
Lancelot led her through yet another gate into an expansive courtyard. There were stables to the left, and Vera smelled the horses before she heard them or turned to see their heads and hooves poking out above and below stall doors. One other structure in the vast field was jutting out on her right. It was the same pearl stone with a high peaked roof, but with one primary difference from any other structure. The door was flanked by a stained-glass window on either side and a triplet set of windows above.
Differently shaped glass panels in sea greens, evening blues, greytinged white, and a sharp, stark red were chunked out by thick ribbons of some sort of dark clay between them. It didn’t form a picture, but the effect was a pleasant mosaic of colorful, shining pebbles. A squat stone cross was at the topmost point where one side of the roof met the other.
Beyond the chapel opposite Vera and Lancelot was the castle proper’s main entry. Lancelot dismounted his horse, and Vera followed suit. She hadn’t noticed the sleepy stable boy behind them until he handed her the satchel from the back of her saddle and led both horses toward the stable.
“It’s nearly midnight.” Merlin’s voice cut through the silent courtyard, sounding cross. He stood expectantly in the doorway to the castle. “What took you so long? You’re two hours later than I expected.”
“Pardon my chivalry,” chided Lancelot, hands at his hips. “You brought a woman through a thousand years and didn’t bother to ask if she was hungry.” He conveniently avoided any mention of their run-in with the thieving boys on the road, and Vera didn’t chime in either. She couldn’t tell for sure from where she stood beside Lancelot, but she thought he might have given her the tiniest hint of a wink. He palmed his light ball, which faded to darkness before shrinking to the size of a plum. Lancelot pocketed it as naturally as one might tuck away a five-pound note.
Merlin sighed. “I’m sorry, Guinevere. It’s been quite a day.”
She followed the two men into an entry chamber with high vaulted ceilings that made the echo of their footsteps louder than the steps themselves. There was a door on each side—one to the left, one to the right, and a grander door straight ahead on the opposite wall. With a flick of Merlin’s wrist, the fixtures along the walls filled with light.
“Is he … ?” Lancelot asked.
“He’s coming,” Merlin said quickly, but uncertainty colored his voice. “Wait right here.” He hurried off toward the grand door opposite them.
A flutter rose in the lowest part of Vera’s belly. She was suddenly very conscious that she’d been on a horse for hours and had her face pressed against it. She straightened her circlet, making sure the moonstone rested in the center of her forehead, and she tried to flatten her dress around her legs.
“Do I look all right?” she asked without thinking, then felt immediately stupid and wished she could take it back.
Lancelot, however, answered without hesitation. “You look beautiful.”
A flame of affection warmed her chest again. His Adam’s apple bulged with a heavy swallow. He was anxious, too.
Through the open door where Merlin had disappeared, a faint sound from the hall beyond grew louder and more distinct. It was the sound of footsteps. Vera stiffened. She wished she could hold Lancelot’s hand for support. She glanced down. His hand nearest her was poised on the pommel of his sword, a stance he seemed to take out of habit rather than a defensive posture. He, too, watched the doorway but took a small step toward Vera so that his bent elbow grazed her arm.
Merlin rounded the corner first with another man on his heels. He had to be Arthur. His eyes were trained on the floor in front of his feet. He didn’t wear a crown or any finery and was dressed simply in an off-white shirt and dark trousers. And he wasn’t a small man. He towered over Merlin. Everything about Arthur was more intense than Lancelot; his shoulders were broader, and his hair much darker. It looked like it came to his chin but was pushed to the back of his neck, and it had the slightest curl, making it hard to tell its exact length. The wave at its ends may have made him seem boyish if not for the severe line of his mouth. He stalked across the room behind Merlin and stopped three steps away from Vera and Lancelot before looking up.
Vera hadn’t expected a tearful, joyous reunion, but she was still shocked. She took a reflexive half-step back before stopping herself. Arthur’s face was a cold slate, humming with anger, though he held his features in a way that felt determinedly expressionless. He might have been handsome, but Vera couldn’t see past his barely contained rage.
His eyes were a hazy grey when the light hit them right. They shone, a little watery, but not as if he were teary, more like … more like he’d been drinking. Fear prickled at the back of Vera’s neck as Arthur stared at her. She knew she must look exhausted, and she wondered if she looked afraid, too.
Merlin also watched her, expectant. Hopeful.
She shifted her gaze back to Arthur and tried, really tried. But there wasn’t a single thing that was familiar about the man before her.
No one asked Vera for confirmation. Her silence spoke volumes.
Merlin sighed. “It’s not unreasonable that remembering His Majesty will take time.”
Then Arthur looked away from her and spoke for the first time, his voice deep and with a low growl that made him sound frightening.
“That’s not her,” he said to Merlin.
Without a word or even a gesture to Vera, he turned and left through the same door he’d entered.
Lancelot had been as still as a statue the whole time, but now he moved quickly. He shifted his hand to Vera’s elbow. “I need to—” he said, his jaw clenched as he took a step toward the door. “But do you want me to stay here?”
Vera did, but she shook her head. “Go.”
“I’ll find you tomorrow!” he called as he hurried after Arthur.
The heart-thumping nervous energy that had pulsed through her all congealed and lodged as a lump in her gut.
“What now?” she asked Merlin.
His eyes were closed, and he took a breath before opening them. “This isn’t going how I hoped.”
“No shit,” Vera mused, letting out a bitter chuckle.
He smiled and cocked his head to the side like Vera was a painting (or an oddity) he was seeing for the first time. “I think many of us would be served well by a second chance at childhood with parents like Allison and Martin. It has clearly done your spirit good.”
Vera couldn’t help but feel gratified by his praise. And she’d only thought of Vincent once in the hours since she arrived, which was a far cry better than any other day since his death. Even as she congratulated herself, she pushed his memory away, afraid that she’d catch the virus of pain in this time, too, if she let his name linger in her thoughts.
“I thought Arthur would have responded more stoically.” Merlin patted her arm. “I’ll show you to your room. Your chambermaid will be there to help you. She’s helped run castle matters while you were away.”