“It was for the best. Magic and Camelot cannot exist in the same space. Magic—even good magic—thrives on sacrifice and chaos. Pain.” He reached out and touched her lip once more. “I am sorry it must go.
I have seen wonders and miracles. I have been given gifts unparalleled. The Lady of the Lake…” His voice went distant, and a spike of jealousy pierced Guinevere. Because here, finally, she saw what Arthur looked like when he longed for something. And she knew he would never long for her that way.
She did not need him to. Or even want him to. She was simply tired. That was all.
Arthur cleared his throat, back beside her instead of far away in a memory of magic and wonder beneath the waters of a lake. “She passed the mantle on to me. It is man’s time. And I will do whatever it takes, no matter how difficult, to build the kingdom my people deserve. I will always choose what is best for Camelot, no matter the cost. Nothing comes before peace and order. Not even myself.” He smiled fondly. “But you understand. Thank you for your service to my people.”
She had only come here for him. But Arthur was his people.
Arthur was Camelot.
* * *
After a few fitful hours of rest, she was ready to finish it and be done. It was the middle of the night, the castle sleeping around them as Arthur took her from door to door. Where there were guards, he laughed about taking Guinevere on a midnight tour of their home.
* * *
When the last seal was affixed on the bottom of the last door where it brushed the floor and no one would ever see it, Guinevere was done. And she was done.
Fortunately, they had ended up back at the exterior door nearest their rooms. Guinevere could hardly stand. She was no longer connected to the iron the way she would have been with the lesser magic done with her hair or breath. The cost was paid up front. And it was steep. Arthur opened her door and lifted her into her bed, leaving her to the darkness with a whisper of thanks and the soft press of lips against her forehead.
* * *
It was late in the day when she finally pulled herself from the suffocating confines of sleep and sat up, bleary-eyed and light-headed.
“Good morning,” she said to Brangien, who was sitting next to the bed, sewing.
Brangien dropped her embroidery and rushed to Guinevere’s side. She pressed her hand to Guinevere’s forehead, then held a goblet of watered wine to Guinevere’s lips. Guinevere laughed but drank willingly and deeply. Her throat was dry, her stomach cramping from emptiness.
“I slept so long! The day is nearly over.”
“You have been asleep for two whole days, my lady.”
“What?” Guinevere lifted a hand. It trembled weakly. That would explain her hunger. She had felt so strong at Arthur’s side, so inspired, that perhaps she had pushed it too far. Merlin would not have broken a sweat accomplishing something similar. It was unfair. She had mere child’s tricks compared to the elements he commanded.
But her tricks could sneak beneath the notice of Camelot. His power never could.
Brangien placed pillows behind Guinevere’s back, helping her sit up. She was fussing too much, but Guinevere let her. As she ate the plate of food Brangien had waiting, she asked what she had missed.
“Ever so much gossip. But it is all about you, so I suppose you did not miss anything anyone would have said to you.”
Guinevere dropped her bread. “Gossip? What?” Had someone seen her alone with Mordred? She knew she should not have agreed to that!
“All about your purity. They are dreadfully impressed that you are so virtuous and delicate, one night entertaining the king in his bedroom requires two days of rest.” Brangien lifted an eyebrow wryly.
“They are saying that? Arthur’s bed is really the topic of so much discussion?”
“Everyone is very invested in the girl who finally found a place there. Many have tried over the years. This is pure vicious gossip, mind you, but I have heard from more than one source that Dindrane, Sir Percival’s sister, once paid a servant to sneak her into Arthur’s bedroom, where she waited…alone…in his bed…with only the clothes she was born in.”
“No!”
“Yes!” Brangien’s eyes twinkled in delight. “But our king is as virtuous as he is strong and kind. He asks nothing of others that he would not do himself. Thus, to wed a virgin, he himself was a virgin.”
Guinevere knew very little of men. Merlin hardly counted as one. She did not know what to make of this information about Arthur. She changed the subject. “I might love Dindrane now. Is that odd? How brave she must be, how bold to attempt such a direct attack!”
Brangien laughed, handing Guinevere another goblet of watered wine. “You are a surprising lady. But she has nothing and therefore nothing to lose. Be careful what you say or do around her. We will avoid her whenever possible.”
“Thank you, Brangien. I would be lost without you.”