“Then when it comes within Camelot’s boundaries, we will face it.”
“Why wait, when we know where she is? When we know she works with the patchwork knight?”
Finally, the exhaustion showed in Arthur’s face. His smile lines disappeared, and his eyelids drew lower. “Because I refuse to be a warlord king. Not like my father. I will leave my borders to defend innocents, but never to attack.”
Guinevere hung her head. She could not argue with him on this. But she did not agree with allowing his enemies the time they needed to build an attack. Arthur was generous and noble.
She could not afford to be. She would take care of it alone. She would fortify Camelot, and, when she got the opportunity, she would do what Arthur could not and would not.
Was this how Merlin made his decision? She cringed at the thought.
“Did you hurt your hands?” Arthur asked.
“Oh.” She look
ed down where she had been unconsciously kneading them, trying to counterbalance the fierce ache. “No. Well, yes. But for a good cause. Magic always has a price.”
Arthur took her right hand between his. His hands were big and calloused, but his fingers worked with precision as he began massaging her palm in circles. Guinevere stifled a small gasp.
Arthur froze. “Did I hurt you?”
“No, it feels—it feels nice.” It felt more than nice.
Arthur tugged her hand, gently guiding her to his side. She leaned against him and he worked the numbness and pain out of both her hands. His skin on hers was like magic.
She wondered what the price would be.
“It is such a relief to be able to touch you,” Arthur said, startling Guinevere from where she had almost dozed off against his shoulder. “I have to be so careful with women. There are a lot of rules. And people are always watching.”
“Yes, I have noticed that. And I have missed you. Every day is filled with lying about my very self. When I am with you, I do not have to.”
Arthur’s motions paused, then became softer as he massaged down each of her delicate fingers. “Keeping secrets is like a thorn beneath the skin. You can get used to it, but it is always there, festering.”
She opened her mouth to ask him about Merlin, about what he had done to Igraine. But she did not want to bring that much darkness and violence into this fragile, safe space they had.
Besides, it was Merlin who had kept the truth from her. Arthur had no blame in this.
With the pain in her hands lessened, Guinevere felt heavy and dull with exhaustion. She wanted to curl up right here. “Where should I— Where am I sleeping?”
Arthur sat up straight, dislodging her from his shoulder. “I am sorry. I have kept you too long. You could—” He paused, and she leaned forward, wanting him to invite her to stay. But something closed off in his face and he cleared his throat. “Tonight there is a tent for you and Brangien.”
She had half thought—perhaps even half hoped—that she would be sharing Arthur’s tent. But she needed to rest. And so did Arthur, of course. The price of the magic of his touch was revealed: it left her wanting more, craving something she had not known she needed until she had it.
He stood. “Brangien can help you tonight and tomorrow morning, but she cannot accompany us past this point. I will not risk her.”
Guinevere smiled that she herself was not considered something to be risked—she was a strength, not a weakness. “I can manage fine on my own. I am not so spoiled that I cannot live without a maid.”
Arthur laughed. “You may yet get there.” He led her to the tent next to his. Brangien was already inside, bustling about. Guinevere entered and Arthur closed the flap.
Unfortunately, the tent was not thick enough to block out several low laughs and whistles, and one shout of “How was your reunion with your queen?”
“Get some sleep,” Arthur shouted back. “That is a command!” But he did not sound angry or upset. He sounded playful. He was not going to discourage them from thinking that he had a normal relationship with his wife. After all, the legality of their union depended on it. She shoved away the dangerous thought that she would have preferred to stay in Arthur’s tent, and not just to bolster their ruse.
She was curious, was all. Increasingly so.
Brangien scowled. “They are distasteful and stupid. Obviously nothing happened because Arthur could not have done your laces back up by himself. Idiots.”
“Oh, that reminds me!” Guinevere rushed to cover up her embarrassment at both the men’s assumption and Brangien’s insight. “Can you teach me how to do it on this dress? You are not coming with us tomorrow.”