“We have theories. We talked about them.”
Guinevere waved that away. “And all her little tests. Earlier today she was quizzing me on things our father said to us. Then she tricked me into that absurd bow and arrow competition. If I had shot, it would have proved I was not the real Guinevere. She knew she could not expose me outright. I confronted her and told her to leave, so she changed tactics. Now she is proving to everyone that she is better than I am at everything. Being friends with the important ladies. Taking over the harvest festival. Making all the knights love her. Flirting with you.”
“She was not—”
“She was.” It had taken Guinevere months of marriage to get Arthur to even kiss her. Guinevach doubtless could have done it much faster. Perhaps she still would. “It is all deliberate. After she has shown everyone what an amazing princess she is, she will reveal that I am not Guinevere. She is trying to replace me!”
Arthur leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face wearily. “Even if that is her goal, it would never happen.”
“Why not? If she revealed that I am not who I say I am, why would they not want a real princess of Cameliard instead?” Guinevere laughed bitterly. “She would probably make a better queen than I do anyway. She has all the education and training and manners for it.”
Arthur’s answering frown was immediate and worried. “I do not care about that.”
“You do not care about much of anything as far as your queen is concerned!” Guinevere held up her hand to cut off his protest. “I did not mean to snap. But it is true. I do not know how to be a queen. All this is pretend. I am pretend. And the one thing a queen should do—that everyone in the kingdom is waiting for, whether you notice it or not—is something you do not want.”
Arthur’s quick, guilty glance toward her midsection—a glance she received from everyone she passed whenever she was out among the people—indicated he knew exactly what she was talking about. But he did not live with the glances and the whispers. She did.
“Do you really want a baby?” he asked, not meeting her eyes.
Guinevere sat across from him and slouched. “No, not yet.” Maybe not ever. She had not really considered it. And she had to admit Arthur was right. She was only seventeen. Or was she sixteen? She did not know, not really. Regardless, there was time. And she was not ready. “I am tired, and I need you to understand this is every bit as real a threat as possessed wolves or vengeful forests or even armed, expanding Saxons.”
“You really feel threatened by her?”
“Guinevach is so good at all of this. And I am pretending every moment of every day.” Even with those closest to her. Even with herself.
Arthur took her hands in his and locked eyes with her. “Guinevere. I think you are looking for a threat where there is none because you are afraid. Not of magic or the Dark Queen, but of your place here. There does not have to be danger for you to matter. No one can replace you, because you are who I want at my side. For both the dangerous moments and the dull days.”
Tears burned behind Guinevere’s eyes and she did not know whether she was angry or hurt or happy, or an impossible mess of all three. Then, to her surprise, Arthur closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to hers. It was a kiss like a fire on a cold afternoon. Warm and soft. Familiar, even. Longer than their last one. It was both comfort and exploration. When he finally pulled away, they were both smiling.
There was a knock on the door. Arthur stood and opened it to find a guard with several letters. Arthur had work to do this night, and so did she. Buoyed by the kiss, carrying the feel of his confidence and assurance with her, she used the guard’s distraction with listening to Arthur and slipped out the hall door to the exterior walkway. She wound up and around the outside of the castle, stone on one side and a plunge into darkness on the other.
Whether or not the Lady of the Lake was malicious, she certainly had little regard for safety when she made Camelot.
Guinevere did not realize she was heading to the alcove until she was almost there. It was time to check for magic again. It had been too long. Maybe Guinevach would be burning like a torch and Guinevere would have an excuse to banish her. Or maybe the Dark Queen would be tumbling toward them like an avalanche that only Guinevere could protect Camelot from.
It might not have mattered to Arthur whether Guinevere had something to fight, but it mattered to Guinevere. She needed something to push against, otherwise she was worried she would be…nothing at all.
She needed work. Something to occupy herself. Maybe this was why Arthur kept himself so busy, why he was always out riding to check on things or to see to a threat. If he was always doing, he did not have to be thinking. Thinking about ladies and queens, or, worse, about Ramm and King Mark.
As she neared the alcove, Guinevere’s breath caught. There was a flicker of candlelight. Someone was already there. The only person she had ever seen there was Mordred. He had already appeared to her twice. Was it such a stretch to imagine he could find a way into the city?
And what would she do if it was him?
The last few steps felt like an eternity. “Hello?” she called, her voice soft and tentative.
“Oh! My queen.” Anna, Guinevach’s maid, answered. She turned, a hand pressed in surprise against her heart. “I am so sorry. I did not know anyone came here. I will go.”
Guinevere was disappointed. No. She refused to be disappointed. She was relieved. Of course Mordred could not get into the city. Not without her knowing. “There is no need to go. What brings you here in the dark?”
Anna shifted to let Guinevere in. The candle illuminated the small space, which now included a cushion and a bag of supplies. “I love the princess, and her young maid is very…earnest. But they are both energetic in ways I occasionally need some space from. If I have to hear one more ranking of the knights in order of handsomeness and wealth, I will stick my needles through my ears.”
Guinevere snorted an inelegant laugh. “I can imagine it would be a trial to be paired with two such young women.”
“You are not so old yourself, my queen. But you seem much…”
“Wiser?” Guinevere suggested, hopeful.
“More burdened.” Anna smiled to soften the word. “I get the sense you see much more of the world and its complexities than young Guinevach does.”