Having already been unconscious once that evening, Arthur found himself in no hurry to do it again. He stood outside Gwen’s chambers for a while, listening to the distant sounds of the guards talking to each other in low voices, and then suddenly made up his mind – instead of heading for the stairs, he continued further down the corridor towards the rest of the royal bedrooms. He didn’t know exactly where Gabriel slept, but took a chance on the next door he came to, knocking softly with ill-gotten bravado and hoping he wasn’t about to come face to face with the king in his nightclothes.
It took a while for the door to open, but when it did, Gabriel peered uncertainly through the crack, his bright hair mussed and pushed back from his face.
‘If you tell me to go away, I will. I’ll go at once,’ Arthur said, holding his hands up in pre-emptive surrender. ‘I want to talk to you about your sister.’
Gabriel sighed, his hand on the door, seeming moments away from shutting it again – but then he stepped back, letting it open wider. ‘Come in.’
Gwen’s rooms had a couple of large bookshelves by the fireplace, but Gabriel’s seemed to be made entirely out of books; shelves obscured the walls, and stacks of tomes and papers cluttered every surface. There were yards and yards of used parchment on a desk by the window; Arthur couldn’t see into the bedroom, but he imagined it too would be more paper than furniture. There was an apple on the table with one bite out of it, the flesh browned, as if Gabriel had noticed his hunger for long enough to acquire it but then immediately become distracted.
‘Why are you ever in the library if your rooms look like this?’ Arthur asked, picking up the piece of parchment at the top of the nearest pile. ‘Siege supplies in the Battle of Badon, 501. Scintillating stuff.’
‘The books in the library have been passed down through generations,’ Gabriel said, rubbing his eyes and sighing. ‘They belong to the crown. These are mostly my own.’
‘I can see why you never sleep,’ Arthur said, sitting down in an armchair. ‘I too would lie awake worrying that my bookshelves would buckle, and I’d be buried alive by books about the proper amount of flour to bring to a siege.’
There was a sudden trilling and a blur of orange fur; Lucifer had clearly been sleeping, but he came rushing over to greet Arthur, who bent down to administer enthusiastic scratches behind the cat’s frayed ears.
‘What do you want, Arthur?’
‘I’m touring the castle giving advice to every member of the royal family I meet who has a conundrum,’ Arthur said brightly, as Lucifer headbutted his knuckles. ‘Lucky you, you’re next. If I’d bumped into your father, I’d be talking to him about tax evasion.’
‘Oh,’ said Gabriel. ‘So – so you’ve spoken to Gwen recently?’
‘I have,’ Arthur said heavily. He leaned back in his chair and the cat seemed to abruptly give up on him, padding over to the far wall instead and then leaping up on to the windowsill. Arthur watched its tail lashing, fiddling with the makeshift bandage on his arm as he considered delicacy and decided against it. ‘Gabriel. I know about her.’
‘What do you know about her?’ Gabriel said stiffly.
‘I know what you know, even if you’re pretending you don’t.’
Gabriel turned away but seemed to have no idea where to go next. He stopped by his writing desk, with his back to Arthur. ‘She doesn’t really know what she wants.’
‘Er – who does? I’m not talking about what she wants, I’m talking about who she is. She’s confused and trying to work things out right now, and you’ve made her feel like some kind of – well, like she’s done something dirty and wrong.’ Gabriel didn’t reply. ‘Come on – the two of you have always been irritatingly attached at the hip. Whatever you’re feeling right now, this isn’t about you. She told you something big – something important – and you turned it against her.’
‘I didn’t say she’d done something wrong,’ Gabriel said quietly.
‘It doesn’t matter what you actually said,’ Arthur said, raising his voice more than he had intended. ‘Jesus, Gabriel – why are you punishing her for who she is because you’re scared of who you might be?’
The silence from Gabriel suddenly seemed extremely loud.
‘I’m just saying,’ Arthur continued, ‘you should be happy that this is something you two can share. Not everybody gets to have family who might actually understand them.’
‘I don’t want her to understand,’ Gabriel said finally, his voice shaking a little. ‘I don’t want this for either of us. Not with our titles – what’s expected of us. It’s too difficult, it’s too—’
‘Well, hard luck,’ Arthur said. ‘I’m sorry it’s so abhorrent to you, so disappointing that you might be like me—’
‘I could never be like you,’ Gabriel said, turning to him, and Arthur was surprised by his furious expression. ‘You don’t … There are so many things about this that you can’t comprehend. My father trusts me with his legacy. He has worked so hard to win over the hearts of the people of England, to prove himself a worthy heir – everything he does is a careful balancing act, in the hope that he can create the kind of monarchy people can believe in. That’s the only future there is for me, because otherwise – otherwise we might lose everything.’
‘Well,’ Arthur said, taking a breath before cocking an eyebrow at him. ‘That’s certainly a convenient excuse for running away from yourself, but I’m afraid I don’t buy it.’
‘What?’ He seemed to have shocked some of the anger out of Gabriel, whose mouth was hanging open.
‘There are ways to do both, you know. To be king and also have what you want. And besides, has it never occurred to you that being king means you’ll have the power to change things?’
‘No,’ Gabriel said, red-cheeked and frowning. ‘It’s not that simple. And … it’s not what I want. Because I want to do this right.’
‘I don’t necessarily think that’s true,’ Arthur said, getting up and taking a step towards Gabriel, who shrank away from him towards the desk. ‘I think it’s what you’ve told yourself you want, to make it hurt less when it’s all you get in the end. I think you’d rather try to make yourself into an ideal than accept that you are a real person, because it feels safe. You’ll still be you, even when you’re king. So what do you want to do with your one slightly dull but nonetheless precious life?’
Gabriel flinched. He opened his mouth and closed it again, and then gave it another try. ‘I thought you came here to talk to me about Gwen.’
‘Well, if it were really about Gwen then I would have stayed on course, but I’m afraid it’s not at all, is it?’
‘How am I supposed to know what I want?’ Gabriel said quietly. ‘There’s only ever been room for what I’m … destined to have.’
Arthur sighed. If only both siblings could have had their crises in the same room, he could have halved the evening’s work. ‘Come on. You must have some idea about how you’d like to live your life. Very deep down, somewhere under about sixty layers of ink and parchment, you must have a beating heart.’
‘I don’t see how being rude to me is going to—’
‘Well, if you’d stop being so avoidant and just—’
‘Fine,’ Gabriel snapped, finally losing his temper. ‘Fine! If I got to choose … I’d like to do things differently. I’m not criticising my father, I’m not – I just think we have different priorities.’
‘Like?’ Arthur prompted.
‘Like … there’s this library at Tintagel Castle. It’s enormous. It houses the largest collection of books in England, including almost all of the remaining cultist texts, and there are academics who’ve been living and studying there all their lives. If it were my choice, I’d leave Camelot. I’d go there. And …’
‘And?’
‘It’s stupid.’
‘I’ll be the judge of that. I’m very familiar with stupidity.’
Gabriel sighed. ‘I want books to be available to everybody. Not just people like us. I want – I’d like to help educate people. To train academics at Tintagel, and send them out across England. Not just to … teach Latin and hymns to nobility. Do you know how few people can read and write in this country? I think – when people are given the chance to learn for themselves, they’re not forced to think that everything that happens to them is due to the whims of some higher power. They have real choices.’ He exhaled, half-terror, half-relief. ‘I’ve never told anybody that. Anybody other than Gwen.’
‘Well,’ Arthur said, briefly speechless for once. ‘That’s – that’s brilliant.’
Gabriel looked irritated. ‘It’s not. It’s not how things are done, and it’s unrealistic and idealistic and … foolish.’
Arthur snorted. ‘It’s how things could be done, if you just told somebody about it.’
‘What happened to your arm?’ Gabriel said, as if Arthur hadn’t spoken.
Arthur glanced down, surprised at the question; he had managed to forget about it. Gwen’s bandage was unravelling, coming loose at the end. ‘I fell. Or – I think I did, anyway. It’s all a little hazy.’
Gabriel shook his head. ‘You’re a careless person, Arthur.’ Arthur liked how his name sounded in Gabriel’s mouth, even if his tone was weary. ‘That’s not who Gwen and I are. We’re careful. And – I don’t want things to be difficult for me, or my sister. I want her to be happy.’
‘I don’t think doing a difficult thing and being happy are mutually exclusive, Gabriel. I think you could both have some of the things you want, if you’re brave enough to ask for them.’ He crossed his arms, feeling a bit combative. ‘Would I be invited to this giant library at Tintagel?’
Gabriel shrugged. He was leaning against his desk, fingertips pressing into the wood.
‘Are you really going to try to pretend that you haven’t thought about me at all?’
To Arthur’s great satisfaction, Gabriel blushed deep scarlet at this, and then shrugged again.
‘Come on. I’m waiting for a real answer. You can kiss me again while you consider it, if you think that might help swing it.’
The slightly choked sound Gabriel made at this was worth the risk Arthur had taken in saying it. It was starting to feel familiar to him now, how quickly Gabriel went from stern and distant to suddenly being very present – to seeming very aware of exactly how far apart they were standing from each other.
‘I don’t think I can,’ Gabriel said, his gaze hovering somewhere in the vicinity of Arthur’s shoes. It was far more encouraging a response than Arthur had been expecting.
‘You did before.’
‘Yes, but it wasn’t … premeditated,’ Gabriel said. He looked up and seemed unable to stop himself from glancing at Arthur’s lips, which were now quirking upwards into a smile.
‘Well, it was a kiss,’ he said, staying exactly where he was. ‘Not a violent crime.’
Gabriel opened his mouth like he meant to laugh, but no sound came out.
‘Do you need me to talk you through it?’ Arthur said, half joking – but Gabriel looked so genuinely at sea that he followed it up with, ‘Put your hand on my shoulder.’
‘Why?’
‘So I can flip you like a wrestler,’ Arthur said. ‘Why do you think?’ Gabriel looked wary, but approached anyway, looking as if every sensible bone in his body was telling him to jump out of the window instead.
‘I have thought about you,’ he said, in barely more than a whisper. ‘Not … just this summer.’ He reached out a slightly shaking hand and put it on Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur thought it was probably the bravest thing he’d ever seen Gabriel do.
It had the desired effect. As soon as they were touching it felt natural for Arthur to lean into him, to let Gabriel’s face blur out of focus as he half closed his eyes; he waited for so long that he thought he might need to open them again to give further instruction, but then he felt warm breath ghost across his lips. There was another pause. He gave an impatient little huff before bridging the last couple of inches between them to solve the problem himself.
He half expected Gabriel to pull away when he put an arm to his waist to press him closer, so that they could kiss without leaning across a ridiculous expanse, but he didn’t; he just kissed him back. It was gentle and uncertain at first, but then he seemed to relax into it, sighing into Arthur’s mouth in a way that made his nerves sing. It sounded like relief more than anything – the sound of somebody finally at rest after a too-long day – and Arthur was amazed that kissing could feel like that, like both a blessing and a comfort, instead of like the inevitable meeting of two people who were reaching desperately for something they couldn’t quite grasp.
Gabriel’s hand skittered down Arthur’s arm, as if it didn’t have permission to land anywhere but desperately wanted to, eventually deciding on Arthur’s wrist; Arthur felt Gwen’s bandage give up the ghost and flutter away to the floor, felt the sting and shivered as Gabriel inadvertently ran his thumb over the fresh wound there, but he didn’t flinch away. It occurred to Arthur as he tentatively lifted his hand to find the fine curls at the nape of Gabriel’s neck that this was the second royal sibling he’d kissed in one evening. It was potentially the sort of thing that might need declaring.
‘In the interest of full disclosure,’ he said, breaking away but leaving his hands where they were, ‘I actually kissed your sister tonight. About ten minutes ago, actually.’
‘You – what?’ Gabriel looked pink and breathless and absolutely baffled. Arthur was reaching for an explanation that didn’t make it sound ten times worse when they heard a shout in the corridor outside, followed by the clang of something heavy hitting the ground at speed.
‘What in the hell … ?’ Arthur turned to the door, his heart pounding. He still had one hand on Gabriel, and some part of his brain registered that if there was any danger it would almost certainly be heading in their direction. The next second he was pushing Gabriel towards his bedroom.
‘What are you doing?’ Gabriel said, flustered and struggling to keep his balance as Arthur bundled him in – floor-to-ceiling books, just as he’d predicted – and then left him there, rushing back to the main door. He listened for a second, glancing back at Gabriel’s red and very confused face, before wrenching it open.
‘Shit,’ he said loudly before he could stop himself, a hand flying to his mouth.
Lady Bridget Leclair was standing in the corridor, sword raised, shoulders heaving. On the floor at her feet lay a man who seemed to have recently been clutching a dagger. He had dropped it, largely due to the fact that he was dead.
Arthur considered his options, and then, with one hand braced against the door frame, bent at the waist and vomited.