In her rustling around, she hadn’t heard Arthur get up and cross to the fireplace. He knelt there, feeding logs onto the smoldering embers and stirring the flames back to life. She avoided looking in his direction, telling herself she wanted to give him privacy as he dressed for the day. Mostly, she was afraid that she’d find the shell of him from before if she saw him too closely. She knelt on the cold floor, folding her dress from last night and trying to fit it back in the bag without making a mess of things.
“Guinevere?” Arthur said from behind her. She jumped at his voice and played it off as she stood to face him. Anxiety flooded her: there was his masked stare. “I … had more to drink last night than was wise. I apologize.” He didn’t offer any more explanation, and a pit dropped in her stomach at his apology. They’d been so close to being something more than two people forced to share space—very nearly friends.
And now, she’d lost him.
“It’s all right. We both did.” Vera said.
He gestured to the laces hanging down on the back of her gown. “Would you like me to—?”
She didn’t. It was too reminiscent of last night, of what they were now calling a regrettable mistake. But it would also be nice to be ready and not face Matilda or any uncomfortable conversation that might stem from their interaction.
Arthur was careful not to so much as graze her skin.
When they left their lodgings and stepped outside, the harsh wind stung Vera’s face as she belatedly realized that she’d packed away her cloak. Arthur draped his over her shoulders. They didn’t look at one another.
She’d let herself be foolishly swept up in her own fairytale, and now all that was left was a steady and subtle nausea churning in her stomach. He had deemed their embrace an act fueled by drunkenness and requiring an apology.
But there were bigger concerns. Truthfully, the prior night was a near-perfect model of what was happening in the kingdom; a sheen of happiness when all felt right for Yule—but it was a superficial layer atop a more sinister reality.
Their departure from Glastonbury was delayed as village leaders discreetly called on Gawain to repair a lengthy list of magical issues. And Vera overheard the report that Lancelot brought Arthur: another attack. This one was farther north along the French coast, much closer than the previous. Combined with the late night of celebration and the less hospitable weather, it made for a subdued journey to Camelot.
After Vera and Arthur’s silent trek to their chamber, Vera was ready to crawl under the covers and sleep all day. She anticipated that Arthur would retreat to the side room, but he didn’t. He unfastened his sword belt and hung it by the desk. Then, he just … stood there, staring at the floor and worrying at his chin with his thumb and forefinger.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I don’t know how to tell you—”
There was a knock at the door.
Arthur let out a low exhale before he went to open it.
“May I have a word, Your Majesty?” Was that Gawain’s voice? Vera leaned forward so she could see. Neither of the mages came into this tower. Yet there he was.
“Not now,” Arthur said. “I will come to your study when—”
“No,” Gawain said. “No. It must be here. Immediately. It’s about the curse and the queen’s memory loss. We cannot risk being overheard.”
Gawain turned sideways and scooted past Arthur into the room without invitation.
Vera and Arthur shared a glance. She nearly cracked a smile before she remembered that he wasn’t the one she could share that with anymore. Her face fell, and she swallowed.
The three of them sat near the fireplace, Vera leaving plenty of space between her and Arthur, and the young mage leveled his blank stare at them.
“I have my doubts about the nature of magic’s demise, and I wonder if pursuing the queen’s memories is the wisest course. I’m not sure if the queen told you about our conversation—”
“She did.” There was a note of defensiveness in Arthur’s voice that bewildered Vera. “She told me right away.” It was true. She had told Arthur all about her interaction with Gawain. But that had been before last night.
Gawain barely nodded before he launched right in. “I’m guessing there’s more to your memory loss than I know … more than Merlin is willing to tell me, I’m sure. From my observation, it seemed the potion had fostered some of the hoped-for attraction between the two of you but without any results on your memory. Am I correct?” he asked Vera.
Arthur had moved, his hand half raised as if to stop Gawain. But the words had already been spoken. Words that Vera didn’t quite comprehend, but a singe rose over the surface of her skin—like she’d touched a scorching oven burner, but her mind hadn’t yet recognized the damage.
A potion. For attraction.
Gawain had to be mistaken.
There hadn’t been any potion. Well, except for the one for the memory procedure and that was only for the procedure, wasn’t it?
But …
She’d never asked Merlin what was in it. And her attraction, that … desire, that need for Arthur was new.
Fuck. Her head swam. Her feelings for him had come from the potion. Did Arthur know? Did he know that Merlin had drugged her into desiring him? Her cheeks flamed with the shame of it as she tried to think through how pathetic and desperate she’d behaved with him. He’d certainly reciprocated, though. And it wasn’t as if he’d had a potion.
Wait.
There’d been the package from Merlin. The one Arthur had grimaced at. The one his eyes shot to in their room when Vera had been drinking the apple wine.
No. No, no, no. He wouldn’t lie to her about that. Gawain was mistaken. Or … Arthur didn’t know. He couldn’t.
She expected his denial or outrage, but he stared back at her, still as a statue.
Vera’s field of vision narrowed. Her ears started ringing.
“There’s another route we could …” Gawain was still saying something, but his words melted in with the ringing and became noise, and noise only. Vera’s breath sped up, and her rage expanded with each moment Arthur held her stare and silently admitted his complicity.
“Are you going to say anything?” she said, interrupting an oblivious Gawain mid-sentence.
Arthur cast a fleeting glance at the mage. “It’s complicated.”
Vera was so angry she could hardly see straight. “Oh. It’s complicated,” she repeated, drawing out every syllable.
Gawain glanced warily between them as he shifted in his seat. “I am unsure what is happening.”
“I will un-complicate it,” Vera said as her muscles began to shake with tension. She wished that she could have screamed at him, but she’d never felt smaller. “Stay away from me.”
She didn’t want to be near him for another second. She stumbled out of her seat, nearly losing her footing as she rushed for the door. She was in the back courtyard before she realized her feet were taking her there. The water tower loomed ahead of her. Merlin’s tower.
She wasn’t even sure the mage was here. He’d wisely avoided her since the day with the procedure—and the potion. But the door to his study was open, so she stormed right in.
Merlin sat at his desk and looked up from the assortment of potion bottles in front of him, the shock at her entry shifting from a smile of greeting to concern as he saw her face. It all flickered through his features in the space of a second. “Guinevere?” He stood, keeping his fingertips on the desk below him.
“Is that it?” She pointed at the bottles on his desk.
“What?” Merlin’s bewildered stare followed her eyes. “Oh, this,” he said. He picked up the smallest bottle and walked toward her, holding it in front of him. “This is a brand-new potion I’ve developed for—”