Arthur gestured toward the sittin
g area of his wide, stone-walled room.
Guinevere was grateful to move in a direction away from the bed. “You should not have asked what to call me when we were in the cave. What if Mordred had heard?”
Arthur leaned back, stretching. “Many men have special names for their wives. What if I called you your real name as a sort of endearment?”
For a moment, the idea of hearing her name in Arthur’s mouth was more tempting than any delicacy at the feast. Maybe then she would feel at home here. But no. If she was to be Guinevere, she would be Guinevere all the time. “You may call me ‘My Queen.’ Or ‘Loveliest of Women.’ Or ‘Ruby of Unimaginable Value.’?”
Arthur laughed. “Very well, my sun and moon. Tell me, how is your father? I miss him.”
Guinevere squirmed, uncomfortable with thinking of Merlin as her father, just as she was uncomfortable in the chair. Fatherhood fit Merlin even more poorly than her body fit this seat designed for a much taller person. “How is he ever? Half the conversations I have with him leave me more confused than I was to begin with. But I am fairly certain he sends you his best wishes.”
“He sent me his best student and his only possession, which is better than wishes.”
She felt a blush, and prayed the dim candlelight would hide it. “I hope I am enough.”
“Banishing him was idiocy. I cannot believe I had to do it. I trust that he knows what is best, but pretending to hate him, allowing my people to hate him is…wrong.” He shifted in the chair, burdened by the invisible weight of the deception. Merlin had said Arthur was the most honest of men. The most true. Even though she had met him mere hours ago, she could feel that. It was as though she had known him before. Like if she reached deep enough, she would have memories of him.
But that was Merlin’s doing. His words were so laced with magic that even his tales created pictures. She knew Arthur because Merlin knew him. She trusted him because Merlin trusted him.
A threat is coming, he had said. We need more time. I need to give you more. But it is nearly here, and I dare not delay. You must go to Arthur.
But why me? she had asked. Your power is so much greater than mine. What if I cannot protect him?
You are afraid of the wrong thing, he had said. And then he had looked at her, the way he did when he was searching for something in her eyes. He never found it. He twitched into a smile, and then wandered away. I will find some horses. There is a convent waiting for you.
Guinevere sent silent anger and curses toward Merlin. That was all the preparation he had given her. Something was coming, it was nearly here, and she had to protect Arthur. Alone.
“We should talk about my role here,” she said. “I am sorry you had to marry me.” It was the only way for her to stay close to him, and to have access to the castle. To the people around him. To every threat that his knights could not dream of, that swords could not save him from.
Arthur was trying to carve a nation of ideals from the wild and hungry land, and the land was not giving up without a fight. Only someone who knew the subtle paths and seeping reach of magic could ever hope to protect him against it. She had seen his knights in the magical forest. Their terror gave her some hope. She was no Merlin and never would be, but she knew more than these men. She would see things they never could. Merlin had not told her what the threat was, but she would know.
“Do not apologize.” Arthur took her hands in his. She dampened her sense of him; it felt intrusive right now. She could control it, a little, if she concentrated and it did not catch her by surprise. “It is a great sacrifice you have made for me. And I needed to marry soon anyway. Percival has been arranging for me to unexpectedly run into his sister.”
“She is ten years your senior!” Guinevere coughed to cover up the force of her exclamation. “And lovely.”
Arthur grinned. “She is a jewel among women. But a lesser jewel. Perhaps more of a shiny stone. Certainly not a ruby.”
Now she was sure he saw her blush, because he looked away and spoke quickly. “Then there are the Picts to the north, who would have me wed one of theirs and use it as an excuse to expand southward into our lands. Better to have military treaties than marital treaties where the Picts are concerned. Besides, marriage to a distant king’s daughter renews my southerly bonds of friendship without any of my borders fearing I am trying to expand. It is ideal.”
“But I am not a distant king’s daughter.” She was surprised by the subtle longing in her voice. If she were really Guinevere, how much simpler her life would be. How different this night would be. Though she suspected she would have been just as terrified had the marriage bed awaited, rather than a discussion on how to keep Arthur safe from fey assassins and magical attacks. Perhaps those aspects of being a queen had been covered in the convent. If so, the real Guinevere had taken them to the grave. And Merlin certainly had not given her an education in romance. She was sixteen, and this was the first time a boy had held her hands. Rather than being thrilled by it, she was fighting magic to avoid invading his mind.
“You are Merlin’s daughter. And that makes you far more valuable than any princess.”
“I hope I am a better protector than he is a father.”
She meant it in jest, but Arthur’s face darkened. He nodded. “We all of us must be better than our fathers. At least Merlin leaves you nothing to atone for. Only to live up to.”
It was a relief to see how much Arthur missed Merlin. It confirmed Merlin’s stories of him, how much they trusted each other.
She tried to understand why Camelot would demand Merlin’s banishment. It was true that he was closer to the wild magic of the forest than to the orderly rule of Arthur. Merlin was not quite human, not quite other. He was inscrutable and confusing and often somehow absent even when he was right next to her. But he was also the reason Camelot existed. The reason Arthur was alive. If Camelot could reject that, what would they do if they found out she was no princess, but rather a simple forest witch?
Arthur was king because of magic—a magical sword, delivered by the Lady of the Lake. A life protected by a wizard. But his role as king was to push back magic in order for mankind to thrive.
Until magic was truly gone, it could threaten him. She would be the shield against any magic seeking to destroy what Arthur was doing here. As ill-prepared as she felt, she would not fail him. She would live up to Merlin’s legacy. “I am honored to serve you, my king.”
“And together, we serve Camelot.” He smiled wearily, leaning back and rubbing his face. “I am glad I do not have to get married every day. It is exhausting.”