Gabriel followed Gwen without complaint or comment, shrugging off his jacket once they reached his room and hanging it neatly off the back of one of the chairs, which he sank into with a very resigned expression on his face. It was only when Gwen sat down in the other and put a hand to her still-braided hair that it occurred to her to miss her lady-in-waiting.
‘I don’t know where Agnes is,’ she said, anxiety plucking at her chest. ‘I don’t – she went to find Sidney, but—’
‘Father said everybody’s fine,’ Gabriel said evenly. ‘They’re probably both being interrogated though, if they were loitering outside. About where they were. What they saw. Sidney might be a suspect, for all we know.’
‘Poor Sir Hurst,’ Gwen said, her pulse slowing. ‘I can’t imagine interrogating Sidney will be a particularly fruitful task.’
‘I don’t know,’ Gabriel said. ‘I’ve always found him perfectly pleasant.’
‘That’s because you’re a man,’ Gwen said bitterly. ‘He doesn’t talk to me as he should.’
‘Perhaps he just doesn’t know how to talk to you,’ Gabriel said, ignoring Gwen’s exasperated sigh.
‘Well,’ she said, crossing her arms. ‘That makes two of you.’
Gabriel ran a hand through his hair, starting to look like a bird that had misjudged the voracity of the wind, and seemed to be working up to saying something. Gwen fought her urge to press him and just waited, her fingers working steadily at a loose thread in the hem of her sleeve.
‘Gwen, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I said, I wasn’t – I wasn’t expecting you to tell me … what you told me,’ he said eventually.
Gwen just looked at him. She was always the one who spoke first; helped Gabriel fill in the gaps when he couldn’t find the words. It wasn’t her responsibility this time. He’d have to find them on his own.
‘I don’t want things to be more difficult for you,’ he said slowly. ‘For you to spend your life longing for something that you could never have in any real way. Isn’t it better to just … make peace with what you do have? Try to forget about the rest?’
‘What does that even mean?’ Gwen said despondently. ‘In any real way? What part of my life is real, at the moment? I’m betrothed to a man I’m not the least bit attracted to, and I know he feels the same about me. But I’ve been thinking … and, Gabe, if we might all be stabbed in our own beds at any moment, it seems … Well, there might be a way to let a little bit of my life be my own. Even if it’s secret, even if it’s hard, it’ll be mine. What’s not real about that?’
‘What do you imagine you’ll be allowed to have?’ Gabriel asked; it could have sounded confrontational, but he genuinely seemed to be asking her.
‘Well, I’ll marry Arthur, obviously,’ Gwen said, noticing the slight twitch in Gabriel’s hands as she did. ‘I’ll marry him and we’ll find a way to live together without killing each other, and then Bridget …’ And then what? She’d offer some tiny slice of herself to Bridget, who might not even want it?
‘Does she feel the same way about you?’ Gabriel said, seeming to read her mind. ‘Because there’s too much at stake if you’re not sure. I can’t even begin to imagine what they’d say about our family if this ever gets out. They might even come for our heads.’
Gwen glanced away from him to the floor, and then paused when she realised what she was looking at.
‘Gabe. Why was Arthur still in the royal wing?’ she said slowly.
‘I haven’t the faintest idea.’
‘I know that’s his bandage under your chair. I know because it’s actually a bit of my blanket, and I did a pretty good job of tying it. Why are you lying? What was he doing in here?’
Gabriel looked completely and utterly defeated; he glanced up at the ceiling as if he were trying to spontaneously vacate his body. ‘Oh God.’
‘Oh God what?’ Gwen pressed.
Gabriel was so red he seemed on the verge of erupting. He cleared his throat, still unable to meet Gwen’s gaze. ‘I … look, maybe there’s something I need to—’
‘No,’ she said, comprehension dawning. She thought of Gabriel putting on his very best jacket the night Arthur arrived at court, and looking thunderstruck every time Arthur spoke to him; the improbability of Arthur going to look at a bird with someone, without ulterior motives. ‘Wait.’
‘He started it,’ Gabriel muttered wretchedly, and Gwen let out an incredulous half-laugh.
‘You’re not serious,’ she said, as reality tilted on its axis. Gabriel looked like his face was imploding. ‘Oh my God. Oh my God.’
‘I’m sorry. Gwen, I’m so, so sorry. This was certainly not my idea, and I—’
‘But – you like him?’
‘Like is perhaps not the word,’ Gabriel said, looking utterly miserable, and Gwen laughed again, out of pure shock. The tension between them had broken, the air suddenly easier to breathe.
‘Oh. Oh. So that’s why you were so …’ Gwen trailed off, waving a hand at him. She had felt so betrayed. She hadn’t understood how he could be so terrible to her, but she was beginning to – because it hadn’t really been about her at all. Perhaps she still should have been angry with him, but watching him now as he stared anxiously at her on the verge of tears, she just felt sad for him.
‘I really didn’t mean to do it. It just … happened.’
‘Well.’ Gwen couldn’t tell if she was under- or over-reacting; the evening’s events had left her with very little remaining in her emotional repertoire. She supposed – why shouldn’t Arthur like Gabriel? Gabriel was wonderful, most of the time. And as for him liking Arthur – just because she hadn’t expected it didn’t mean that it didn’t make sense. In fact, it made more sense to her than it would to almost anybody else. When she took a deep breath and reached for his hand, he looked ready to collapse with relief. ‘God, Gabe. I’m sorry you felt you couldn’t tell me.’
‘You shouldn’t be apologising to me. Please know it’s not that I didn’t want to tell you, I barely even – I’ve tried very hard to make sure that you would never need to know. I wasn’t ever going to act on it. I know some people might be able to live one way in public and another in private, but I think the stress of it would kill me. It’s not like I need any more distractions if I’m going to attempt to lead this country.’
‘Oh, Gabe,’ Gwen said softly. ‘They’re going to be so lucky to have you. All of you.’
‘They’ll never have all of me,’ he said, and she squeezed his hand. They sat quietly with the weight of this, until Gwen let go.
‘So, just to be clear – did you kiss Arthur?’ Gwen said, and Gabriel winced.
‘Er … Yes. So did you, apparently.’
‘Ha! No. Well, yes, but we were just … trying something. Didn’t work.’
‘Oh,’ said Gabriel, letting go of her hand so that he could rub at his chin distractedly. ‘Well.’
‘But you … ?’
Gabriel looked pained. ‘It worked,’ he said. ‘But I can’t let it happen again.’
‘Great. So … you’re going to carry on as if nothing has changed. And you’re going to do exactly what everyone expects, and never have anything for yourself. And you’re going to be miserable.’
‘And I’m going to be miserable,’ Gabriel repeated. ‘But – I was always going to be miserable.’
Gwen sighed heavily. ‘Is there something in the water here?’ she said, raising her hands in exasperation. ‘Both of us?’
‘Perhaps we were cursed,’ Gabriel said, with an attempt at a smile. ‘Morgana’s revenge, for not tearing down the cathedrals and putting up temples in her name.’
Gwen didn’t laugh. ‘I don’t think it’s a curse.’
‘Sorry. I know. I’m sorry if I made you feel – if I made you feel how I feel.’
‘You were awful,’ Gwen said. ‘But you’re so rarely awful, Gabe. I think you’re allowed three days of being an unfeeling bastard, after almost two decades of being perfectly pleasant.’
Gabriel nodded solemnly. ‘You look shattered. You can take my bed, I’m going to sit up a while longer.’
‘I know you’re only saying this to stop me from asking you more questions … but yes. Bed,’ Gwen said. She was suddenly so exhausted that it took every ounce of her strength to heave herself out of her chair and walk the fifteen feet to his bedroom.
Despite the very real and present danger of men with knives lurking in the hallways, something inside her had lightened, and she fell asleep almost instantly.
When Gwen awoke, Gabriel was fast asleep in his armchair by the dying fire. She slipped silently out of bed, pulled on one of his cloaks and walked barefoot into the antechamber, making sure not to wake him. She studied his profile, the purplish smudges under his eyes and the frown lines that didn’t completely disappear even when he was sleeping, and felt a rush of fondness towards him.
Arthur had told Gwen to demand more for herself, once. She wondered if he’d told Gabriel the same thing. She had barely been listening at the time, so sure that no wisdom he could impart could possibly apply to her life, but some of what he’d said must have caught and held, because after the previous night’s panic and revelations Gwen had woken up feeling different. Reckless.
Brave.
It wasn’t quite day yet, the pinkish dawn light warming the flagstones as Gwen slipped on her shoes and then walked quietly from the room before she could think too hard about where she was going. The guards outside seemed mildly startled, but only watched silently as she passed them; she crossed through four more human barricades before she reached the stairs, and it was only when she reached the ground floor and walked out into the north-west courtyard that two of them peeled off to follow her.
It was almost like she had dreamed Bridget into existence, a light sword in each hand and her hair wild, wearing the same bloodied shirt and breeches Gwen had last seen her in; she was standing on the other side of the courtyard squaring up to a training dummy, her shoulders heaving. The dummy had been given a shield, and there was a small pile of discarded swords on the ground, as if Bridget had been working her way through them.
‘I’m fine,’ Gwen said to the guards, her mouth dry. She cleared her throat. ‘Leave me, please. I’d like some privacy.’ They fell back and out of sight as Gwen walked the rest of the way alone.
Bridget genuinely didn’t seem to have noticed her. She was pure focus, unrelenting as she ran her drills, her swords finding their target again and again, but as Gwen approached she could see the sweat curling the hair at the back of her neck, her breathing ragged with effort.
‘Bridget,’ she said softly, trying not to startle her; Bridget turned abruptly, her swords still raised, and for a split second Gwen thought she had miscalculated herself out of a face.
‘Gwen?’ Bridget looked bewildered at the sight of her, as if she found her entirely incongruous with the surroundings. Gwen supposed she sort of was, in just her shift and a borrowed cloak, with her hair loose and God knows what expression on her face. Bridget finally seemed to realise that she was holding weapons dangerously close to a royal throat, and lowered them.
‘I wanted … I wanted to come after you when you left last night,’ Gwen said. ‘I wanted to see if you were all right. Are you? All right?’
‘I’m fine,’ Bridget said – but as she spoke she turned to the dummy and lifted her swords again, as if she couldn’t bear to stand still for another second.
‘Have you been here all night?’
Bridget didn’t pause for breath. ‘Yes.’
‘Right,’ Gwen said, watching as she struck with renewed vigour, wondering if these were the actions of a person who was fine. ‘I mean … you know yourself best, after all, but—’
‘I’ve been – training,’ Bridget said, her words punctuated by the sound of sword on shield, ‘to fight – since I was young. I knew this day would come – and it has. I wanted to be a knight, I wanted – everything that came with it. And I got it. And I’m fine.’
‘Okay,’ Gwen said, taking a step back, her bravado leaving her. ‘Well. I suppose I’ll just—’
‘Shit,’ Bridget spat, a sword dropping from her grip and clattering against the cobblestones. She wasn’t wearing a gauntlet or gloves, and when she pulled her hand in against her chest Gwen saw that her knuckle had split, blood trickling down into her clenched fist. She stretched out her fingers, wincing, and then wiped the blood on her already ruined tunic before readying herself with her remaining weapon.
‘Bridget,’ Gwen said, alarmed. ‘Stop.’
‘Is that an order?’ Bridget said, as her sword found its target once again, hand still bleeding freely.
‘No,’ said Gwen. ‘It’s not. But I think you should stop anyway.’
If anything, Bridget only seemed to hit the dummy harder. Gwen’s gaze dropped to the discarded pile at her feet; she picked one up, and then without thinking at all about what she was doing, put herself squarely between Bridget and her target and clumsily raised the sword. The blow she caught seemed to vibrate all the way down to the base of her spine, but she managed to hold her ground.
‘That was stupid,’ Bridget said furiously from behind her guard. She didn’t lower her sword, so Gwen didn’t either; they stayed locked together, weapons crossed, neither willing to concede an inch. ‘I could have hurt you.’
‘You’re already hurt,’ Gwen countered. Bridget sighed, looking mutinous – and then gave Gwen a little push, disengaging them, and threw down her sword.
‘I’ve never killed anybody before,’ she said roughly, wiping her brow with the back of her unbloodied hand and addressing a point somewhere past Gwen’s shoulder. ‘It’s not something I ever wanted to do. Taking somebody’s life. It all just happened so quickly. He was going for my throat, and then I …’ She raised her fist and then let it fall again.
‘You only did what you had to,’ said Gwen. She was used to thinking of Bridget as older and wiser, but at that moment she looked exactly as she was: eighteen and shaken, too young to have watched a man die at the end of her blade; too young to have been the only thing standing between the heir to the throne and the knife meant for his throat. Gwen hesitated for a moment, and then reached out to touch Bridget’s face with her free hand, her thumb grazing her temple.
Bridget’s gaze snapped into focus. ‘What are you doing?’ she said.
‘I don’t know,’ Gwen said, wondering why her voice had dipped so low. ‘I thought it might help.’
‘Damn it,’ muttered Bridget, as if she had made an unforgivable mistake – and then she followed through by leaning forward and kissing Gwen so fiercely that Gwen made a noise of surprise into her mouth. She had just recovered enough to reciprocate – to close her eyes and let her hand fall to clutch at Bridget’s shoulder, to taste salt on her tongue and go in search of more – when Bridget broke off, briefly pressing her forehead to Gwen’s before wrenching herself away.
Gwen stared open-mouthed at her, then let go of the sword she hadn’t realised she was still holding, reached out and pushed her. Bridget looked suitably confused, but allowed herself to be pushed backwards until she hit the stone wall, where they were out of sight from any prying guards or passers-by.
‘Do you have any plan for what comes next?’ Bridget said, looking down at Gwen’s hands, which were still pressed against her collarbone. ‘Or did the forethought start and end at pushing?’
‘Shut up,’ Gwen said, surprising both of them. ‘I’m going to kiss you.’
‘All right,’ Bridget said. ‘Carry on, then.’
If she had been paying more attention to the finer details, Gwen might have noted that Bridget’s skin was slightly damp and hot to the touch beneath her fingers; that her hand was still bleeding, leaving tiny smears of blood on Gwen’s dress, and that her dark hair smelt faintly of smoke and leather.
As it was, her attention was primarily engaged elsewhere. Bridget’s muscled arms had immediately encircled her, fingers sliding up and coming to rest on her shoulder blade and the small of her back; she was kissing Gwen with a hunger that seemed entirely at odds with the careful way she was holding her, somehow both steadying and wrecking her all at once. Not even in her dreams had kissing Bridget been this good – she hadn’t been able to imagine that Bridget might reach up to slip her fingers into Gwen’s hair, wrapping a coil of it around her hand to draw Gwen closer and making a little humming noise of approval that made Gwen desperately curious about what else Bridget’s hands could do.
‘Um,’ Gwen said, breaking away, noting distractedly that even when Bridget’s eyes slowly opened, they lingered on Gwen’s lips. ‘Was that … okay?’
‘Okay?’ Bridget said, her gaze flicking up to meet Gwen’s. ‘Yes. Yes, that was okay.’
‘Well, that’s – I just …’ Gwen stalled. ‘I haven’t really done that before. I mean I did kiss Arthur, actually, but that was more of a joke than anything else, and I didn’t – I wasn’t sure if you liked me. I mean, I like you, but I didn’t think you’d … noticed.’
Bridget considered her, her head cocked slightly to one side. ‘I noticed. It just seemed … impractical. And unlikely that you’d ever do anything about it. It didn’t seem like a good idea. I suppose it still doesn’t.’
‘No. Well. I’ve done something about it now,’ Gwen said stupidly, as if Bridget may not have realised.
‘Yes,’ Bridget said, with a hint of a smile. ‘You have. You are, in fact, quite proficient at doing something.’
A door opened on the other side of the courtyard and Gwen jumped about a foot in the air; Bridget had reversed their positions in an instant, pressing Gwen into the wall and craning her neck to assess the intruder. It was just a servant attending to early-morning duties, whistling their way towards the Great Hall.
Gwen tried not to look too disappointed when Bridget released her.
‘This is all … very odd,’ Bridget said, reaching up and brushing the tiniest smear of blood from Gwen’s jaw. ‘I’m so tired. It feels like a dream.’
‘It’s not a dream,’ Gwen said. ‘Trust me. In the dream, you’re always on a unicorn.’