Arthur had woken up on floors before, but there was rarely anybody other than Sidney curled up next to him. It was dark outside, with a stillness that suggested the later hours of the evening. Gwen seemed to be fast asleep in a deeply uncomfortable position, her cheek pressed against the stone floor, the well-chewed fingers of one hand resting next to his arm. He lifted his pounding head, confused, and realised he had been woken by Agnes, who at that very moment had given up on knocking on the door and opened it to peer inside.
‘Oh,’ she said. Arthur shushed her, gesturing over at Gwen. ‘I’m sorry,’ she continued, in a whisper. ‘I thought – it’s so late, I thought you’d be gone. Where’s Sidney?’
‘Outside drowning in his own vomit,’ Gwen muttered. Oh. Not sleeping, then. ‘I’d give him a wide berth if I were you, Agnes.’
‘Right,’ said Agnes. She was holding a tray with a pot of tea on it, and put it down on the side table. ‘I’ll just – er – I’ll leave you to it.’ She closed the door again.
‘She thinks we’re passed out after an evening of rapturous lovemaking,’ Arthur said, letting his head fall gently back on to the rug.
‘I like to think that either she’s not that stupid or she knows that I’m not that stupid,’ said Gwen, sitting up and pushing the blanket off her legs. ‘How’s your arm?’
‘What’s wrong with my …’ Arthur trailed off as he saw the makeshift bandage. ‘Oh.’
‘Oh is right,’ Gwen said, rolling her eyes. ‘You must have caught it on something during your climb.’
‘Yes,’ said Arthur. ‘Or perhaps during my daring getaway.’
‘Your what?’
‘Try not to think about it,’ Arthur said, turning over on to his side with a groan. ‘You’ll sleep better that way.’ It had actually been more of a pathetic getaway than a daring one – the innkeeper had threatened to have him arrested for loitering, of all things, but he probably wasn’t actually going to call the guards – so all that running and falling over things had likely been just for fun. ‘You don’t have anything to drink?’
‘Arthur, you are not in need of any more to drink.’
‘Oh, come on. It’s hair of the dog.’
‘It’s not hair of the bloody dog if you’re still drunk, it’s – I don’t know, dog of the dog,’ Gwen said crossly. ‘You can have some tea.’
Ignoring his protestations, she got up to fetch him some. Arthur used the time to sit up gingerly, assessing his critical faculties, and when it seemed safe to do so scooted slowly across the floor until his back was against the base of the large dresser. Gwen sat down next to him, handing him a cup.
‘Cheers,’ Arthur said despondently. ‘To a long and happy life together.’
‘Don’t say that,’ Gwen said, wincing and taking a sip of her own tea. ‘I’m already depressed enough as it is.’
Arthur tried the tea and found it surprisingly fortifying.
Gwen put her cup down on the floor between them. ‘It’s not healthy, you know. Drinking that much wine.’
‘Really? I had no idea.’
‘There’s no need to take that tone, Arthur, I’m just saying—’
‘Fine, yes, yes, I know. Forgive me for wanting to have a little fun before my life is over.’
Gwen shrugged. ‘It doesn’t really seem like you’re having fun.’
This was far too astute; it was true that Arthur had been partaking in more drinking than usual since his return to Camelot, and equally true that it didn’t really seem to help matters. He had only agreed to split a bottle with Sidney tonight because he was feeling maudlin about the crush on Gabriel he was now carefully cultivating, and things had gone steeply downhill from there.
‘Are you having fun?’ Arthur said. He was clutching his tea like a lifeline, even though it was scalding his fingers.
Gwen looked very tired all of a sudden. ‘Listen,’ she said, tilting her head back so that her hair tumbled over her shoulder, and fixing him with a very pointed look. ‘Our agreement still stands, yes? We keep each other’s secrets.’
‘I suppose so,’ Arthur said, feeling a very faint tug of guilt; he had kept Gwen’s meagre secrets, but he’d also been adding to his own collection with no intention of telling her any of them.
‘Your certainty is comforting.’ Gwen picked up her cup of tea, and then, rather confusingly, put it down again without having taken a sip. ‘I told Gabriel. I told him how I feel about Bridget. And he – well, he all but told me I was a horrific abomination, and fled. He’s not spoken to me since.’
‘Ah,’ Arthur said. ‘Did he now.’
‘Thanks for the moral support,’ Gwen said bitterly. ‘I’d have thought that you of all people might understand.’
‘Well,’ Arthur said slowly. ‘People aren’t always ready to know things when, er … when we need them to be known.’
‘Very philosophical,’ Gwen said. ‘But he’s my brother. He’s the best friend I’ve ever had – the only friend I’ve ever had – and I thought that even if it’s not what he’d choose for himself, he’d want me to be happy.’
‘Christ,’ Arthur said. He was too tired for this. It was one thing for Gabriel to be uncomfortable in himself – to run away, and hide, and try to pretend he didn’t feel things Arthur was almost certain he did feel – but it was another thing entirely to hurt Gwen in the same way he was hurting himself. ‘I don’t think he’s, er … coming from where you think he’s coming from.’
Gwen shot him a sideways glance. ‘Why are you talking like you know something I don’t?’
‘What? I’ve never known anything,’ Arthur said. ‘It’s well documented, you can ask anybody.’ He disappeared into his teacup for a while, trying to neutralise his expression. ‘Incidentally, why don’t you have any other friends?’
‘Oh, thanks,’ Gwen said, sounding so dour that Arthur laughed. ‘I suppose … I don’t want any. I always had Gabriel, and that seemed enough. All the ladies at court are dreadful anyway, blithering airheads busy transforming into exact copies of their horrible mothers. They all laugh at me behind their hands and think I’m odd.’
‘Er …’ Arthur said, raising his eyebrows. ‘Are you sure they’re not talking behind their hands because they’re terrified of you? Perhaps because you call them “blithering airheads”?’
‘They’re not, Arthur. I mean, you’ve been spending time with Agnes, I’m sure the two of you have had many laughs at my expense—’
‘Agnes would never say a word against you. Loyal through and through. And I think she actually quite likes you, when you’re not being impossible. Which I suppose must happen once in a blue moon.’
‘Agnes doesn’t like me,’ Gwen said, as if the matter were closed.
‘Well,’ said Arthur, stretching and then wincing as he knocked his injured arm. ‘I think you’re wrong. And you can hardly say you have no friends, now that you have Lady Leclair, your very special friend.’
Gwen let her head fall to her knees. ‘God, don’t. I don’t know if she thinks of me that way, and I – I feel awful about it all.’
‘Well, you shouldn’t,’ Arthur said. Gwen snorted into her kneecap. ‘I’m serious. You know, the more progressive cultists believe that in the days of Arthur Pendragon, it was perfectly acceptable for a man to love a man, or a lady a lady, et cetera. Problem is, there’s no proof. Probably because once Catholicism took hold they burned it all in a big friendly bonfire and pretended it had never happened.’
‘Really?’ Gwen said, her head lifting slightly. ‘I didn’t know that. Gabriel never said.’
Arthur almost swallowed his tongue in his attempt to look normal. ‘No? Strange.’
‘The thing is,’ Gwen said, muffled again against her dress, ‘I think I could love a man. I just … haven’t. I don’t notice many people in that way. And if I could love a man, then surely I should try. It would make everything so much easier.’
‘You could,’ said Arthur. ‘You could fall in love with a man, and know that you once liked Bridget, and neither of those things would change the other. They would both be true. But right now you do like Bridget. So I don’t think you should settle for a life that denies that particular truth.’
‘Well – aren’t we shining examples of living truthfully right now?’ Gwen pointed out, gesturing at Arthur with her teacup. ‘Could you … fall in love with a woman, do you think?’
‘No,’ said Arthur immediately. ‘Although I assure you that if I ever find myself on the turn, you’ll be top of my list.’
‘Much appreciated.’ There was a comfortable silence between them, during which Gwen sat up properly, leaning against the dresser and squinting up at the ceiling. ‘Bridget told me she courted a woman once.’
Arthur practically spat out his latest mouthful of tea. ‘Well – there you go, then! Why would she tell you that if she hadn’t noticed you desperately mooning after her and decided to give you some encouragement?’
‘I don’t know, maybe she was just telling me as a – a friend. And … I don’t moon,’ Gwen said sternly, before her expression turned to worry. ‘Do I?’
‘You moon, I’m afraid. But she must find it endearing. Can’t say I understand the appeal. I like my men emotionally repressed and unavailable.’
‘How many men have there been?’
‘When you say things like that,’ Arthur said airily, ‘you sound exactly like your mother. Look like her, too.’
Gwen narrowed her eyes. ‘There’s no need to get defensive. You’re clearly … experienced.’
Arthur winced. ‘Why does the word “experienced” sound like it means “an unstoppable harlot” coming out of your mouth?’
‘Well,’ said Gwen. ‘All those stories about you – I mean, they said you were with women, but I suppose that was some sort of cover – and then I’m sure you’ve been blazing a trail through the castle since you arrived—’
‘How many people do you think I’ve kissed since I got here?’ Arthur demanded.
‘Oh. Er. I don’t know. I don’t really know what a normal week is like for you, and it’s been almost a month. Five people, maybe? Six?’
‘It’s two,’ Arthur said. ‘Actually. And that’s been an uncharacteristically busy month, for me.’
‘Oh,’ Gwen said. ‘I suppose two is … Well, you can’t blame me for thinking it. I mean, the sort of things I’ve been hearing, you sounded as if you’d been very … busy.’
Arthur snorted. ‘If you want me to tally everybody I’ve been entangled with since last summer, excluding Camelot, I can give you a pretty good estimate.’ Gwen just watched him, clearly eager. ‘None. Zero. Nil.’
‘What?’ Gwen looked genuinely shocked. ‘Then … where did all those stories come from?’
‘I am a very effective wingman for one Sidney Fitzgilbert,’ Arthur said, with genuine pride. ‘I’m usually on distraction duty while he’s wooing some … I don’t know, some innkeeper’s daughter or married minor lady.’
‘And before that?’
‘Ah,’ Arthur said. He had done a relatively good job of not talking about this – barely even thinking about it unless he was in exceedingly low spirits and it managed to sneak around his defences – and it seemed a shame to break his record now. ‘I was … courting someone. In secret, obviously. Up until last summer. His name was Gawain – don’t laugh – and he was the son of one of my father’s friends. He never quite came to terms with himself, or with the idea of us, so it was all very dramatic. Pyramus and Thisbe, mulberry trees, that sort of thing. Anyway. That’s all over now, and he’s disappeared off somewhere – Normandy, I think – to ruminate on his sins.’
It almost opened the floodgates – Gawain’s smile, Gawain’s blond curls, Gawain kissing him with spiced wine on his tongue at a Christmas feast and then throwing him out into the snow ten minutes later when they were almost discovered – and Arthur had to push back very firmly to retain control of his senses. It had been a full year now, but Arthur supposed some hurts ran so deep that they became part of your foundations; he had been relentlessly optimistic about his doomed romance until it had lived up to its name and imploded spectacularly one June afternoon, leaving Arthur stranded twenty miles from home as Gawain rode away on his horse, and he still cringed whenever he thought about it now. How foolish it had been to get attached to somebody who wasn’t even particularly nice to him; how idiotic he must have looked to Sidney, the only person who knew, every time he returned from a clandestine rendezvous, going on as if he and Gawain were the romance of the century.
‘God,’ said Gwen. ‘I’m sorry. I had no idea.’
‘Well, of course you didn’t. I’m an expert at subterfuge,’ Arthur said, giving her a grim smile. ‘I’m a dreadful romantic, I’m afraid. Sidney gives me hell for it.’
‘I’m really … not. I think that’s why I’m feeling so … overwhelmed.’
‘You should just fall in love with me,’ Arthur said, in an attempt to lighten the mood. ‘I couldn’t love you back, but I might grow fond of you. I am partial to being adored.’
‘What an attractive proposition.’
‘Well, it could be considered a plus to be attracted to your fiancé. I wouldn’t know, of course, because everything in my life is completely backwards, but I hear it helps.’
Gwen tilted her head and studied him, as if willing herself to feel something for him. ‘It’s no good. You’re a swaggering idiot, and you think far too much of yourself.’
‘Ouch,’ Arthur said. ‘I’ll have you know that I have extremely broad appeal. I’m easy on the eyes, I’m very funny – plus, I’m a fantastic kisser. If you’d kissed me, you’d be singing a different tune.’
‘That’s not a tune,’ Gwen said. ‘That’s the sound of retching.’
‘You can’t knock it until you’ve tried it.’ He was just goading her, but as soon as he said it he noticed a slight shift in her expression, which was … interesting.
‘Shut up. I’m not going to kiss you,’ Gwen said, but she had gone a little bit pink in the cheeks, and as Arthur laughed she wet her bottom lip with her tongue.
‘It’s not a big deal, Gwendoline. People kiss each other all the time. I’ve kissed Sidney.’
‘You have? How was it?’
Arthur considered. ‘Very damp,’ he said. ‘Although admittedly, we were in the River Tamyse at the time.’
‘Of course you were,’ Gwen said. She shifted uncomfortably, putting down her cup. ‘I mean. I haven’t kissed anybody before. I don’t know how you do it. And I suppose there is merit in – practice.’
Arthur could see that she was suddenly very tense, although whether she was clamming up with nerves or girding her loins, he couldn’t quite tell. ‘Well. That’s the most erotic speech I’ve ever heard.’
Gwen was suddenly very close to his face. ‘Shut up.’
He did. Having made it this far she seemed reluctant to go any further, so Arthur rolled his eyes and grabbed her by the back of the head, pressing a kiss to her closed lips. Instinct took over as she opened her mouth; he leaned in, deepening the kiss, his hand slipping through her lightly perfumed hair. She tasted like sweet tea and lemons. It was perfectly pleasant, kissing her, but in the manner of a satisfying stretch or eating a well-baked bread roll. In other words – not quite earth-shattering.
Arthur pulled away first. ‘Well?’
Gwen bit her lip and then shook her head. ‘Nothing.’
‘No. Me neither,’ Arthur said. ‘Shame.’
‘How was I?’ Gwen said, trying and failing to sound casual. ‘At kissing, I mean.’
‘You’re a natural,’ Arthur said, patting her arm. ‘If only you had a beard, I’d have been swooning.’
‘I’ll work on it.’ Gwen climbed to her feet, placing her cup on top of the dresser. ‘I should go to bed.’
‘Right, right. Plied with me tea and had your way with me and now you’re done and I’m dismissed.’
‘You plied yourself,’ Gwen said. ‘And it wasn’t with tea.’
‘Oh, bore off,’ said Arthur, getting up too. ‘I’ll send Agnes in, shall I?’
‘If you can find her. She’s probably run off to find Sidney and nurse him in his time of need.’
‘Ah, yes. They’re truly disgusting, aren’t they?’ Arthur made his way to the door and then paused. ‘Night, Gwen.’
She gave him a small smile in return. ‘Goodnight, Arthur.’