After her birthday, Gwen seemed to vanish from Arthur’s life.
He ascertained that she had been swallowed whole by wedding planning, which had yet to touch him; apparently for ladies it was an all-consuming occupation. He occasionally caught glimpses of her being frogmarched somewhere by her mother, and caught up with her at dinner once or twice, but she wasn’t free to entertain him in her room by night or watch the tournament by day. Arthur and Sidney attended the latter frequently, Sidney pretending not to know that Arthur was primarily there to try to catch glimpses of Gabriel, who had been studiously avoiding him; unfortunately the men of the royal family were also busy, locked away in endless conference as their soldiers marched north, and Arthur was getting antsy.
‘What the hell is going on here today?’ he said one afternoon, feeling short-tempered, as he and Sidney wandered the busy courtyards, having already attempted to go into the city for lunch and found it so packed with people that it was entirely unnavigable. He was convinced that it had never been like this in the summers of his youth, although he had to allow for the fact that he had been quite small and not particularly observant.
‘There’s some … thing tonight,’ Sidney said reluctantly. ‘According to Agnes. A parade of England’s most eligible daughters, specially imported for the prince to ignore.’
‘Right. Well. Fantastic,’ Arthur said, pushing a door open so hard that it made an ominous cracking sound against the wall. ‘Good for him.’
‘So you’re going to come to the orchard with me and Agnes, right?’ Sidney said doubtfully, following him through the doorway. ‘And we’re going to play cards and frolic and enjoy ourselves, and not get all pissed off and punchy and do something foolish. Right, Art?’
‘Mmm,’ Arthur replied distractedly.
‘I need you to say it.’
‘Ah – actually,’ Arthur said, gazing down the corridor as if he might find some solution to his restlessness at the end of it. ‘I’m going back to the rooms. To get changed.’
‘Of course you are,’ Sidney said with a sigh as Arthur departed.
Lucifer had been sleeping on Arthur’s bed at least every other night, and he had apparently been making himself at home in their absence; when Arthur entered he discovered that there was a smear of fresh blood on the flagstones by the window, probably the last remains of an unlucky mouse, and the stacks of books and papers that had been sitting on the sill since they had been delivered from Maidvale had been tipped unceremoniously on to the floor.
‘Bastard cat,’ Arthur griped, leaning over to pick them up. The heaviest and most dull-looking of the obscure Arthurian books Mrs Ashworth had included in the package had fallen open, some of its ancient pages bent beyond repair, and when he lifted it a few fell out and fluttered to the floor.
He was just going to leave them where they’d fallen, but his eyes landed on a beautifully scrawled line of Common Brittonic. He started translating despite himself – and then froze, staring down at what he was sure he must have misread. He gathered up the rest of the pages, his heart thudding in his chest, then spread them out on the bed and hunkered down to read.
An hour later, he was doing exactly what Sidney had been trying to warn him against.
It was none of his business, of course, if Gabriel wanted to ignore him and to go along with this charade, maybe even marry one of the poor girls. Arthur could hardly hold it against him, with his own wedding on the horizon. And besides, Arthur had done this before – had found himself caring too much about somebody, somebody who thought the only thing they could be together was a mistake – and look where that had landed him.
Completely, utterly none of his business … so it was difficult to say why he was still walking towards the Great Hall. He wasn’t dressed for dinner, but he didn’t care; he felt hot and itchy all over, determined to rid himself of this mood by taking a more direct course of action.
Peering through the doorway, he found the trestle tables full of the usual motley assembly of lesser nobles, although there were far more women present than usual. He had to argue quite sternly with the guard to even be let in, as apparently there was some sort of guest list that he definitely wasn’t on.
Gwen wasn’t sitting at the royal table, which meant he couldn’t really approach it.
Gabriel was.
He looked beautifully exhausted in light, silvery blue, his curls combed and carefully arranged, a hand wrapped so tightly around his goblet that it looked as if his knuckles might be about to rupture. He didn’t look up when Arthur entered, so Arthur just stood there and watched him – saw him duck his head and nod seriously as a pretty young brunette in violent shades of crimson said something in his ear, observed the way his brow furrowed and his teeth caught on his lower lip as he tried his hardest to look interested.
‘Well,’ Arthur said to nobody in particular. ‘Great.’
He sat down and found himself looking at an unattended cup of wine; he hesitated for a moment, thinking of Gwen’s remonstrations about his drinking habits, but one glance back over at Gabriel obliterated his self-control.
‘Bad night?’ said a rather reedy young man sitting next to him, sounding glum. ‘Join the club. That’s Lady Clement of Lancaster sitting next to him. She was supposed to be my betrothed. I’ve known her since we were children. I used to write her poems.’
‘Chin up,’ Arthur said, knocking his cup against the morose lad’s. ‘Perhaps he won’t want her after all, and you can – you know – snuffle up his leavings.’
‘Fat chance,’ he said, ignoring the unkind framing. ‘I mean – look at her.’
Arthur did. She was slight and pretty, and her eyes were darting around in a way that indicated actual shyness rather than affected timidity for Gabriel’s sake. In another life, perhaps she would have been perfect for him. In this one, Arthur had to concede, she might be too – albeit in a very different way.
He drank steadily until it was time for the music, ignoring the little voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Gwen and was telling him to slow down, and then watched as Gabriel very much did not ask Lady Clement of Lancaster to dance. There were two other ladies at the royal table with him, and plenty more vying for his attention even from the cheap seats; when Gabriel finally stood, all of them froze, and there was a silence so ridiculous that Arthur wanted to laugh.
He only realised he actually had laughed when all of his neighbours’ eyes turned to him. He didn’t have time to regret it – he was looking at Gabriel, who was finally looking back.
Arthur didn’t think he imagined the flush that crept into Gabriel’s cheeks, or the way his hand shook ever so slightly when he gestured for the music to resume. The prince awkwardly made his way over to Lord Stafford, deftly side-stepping his mother, who was clearly attempting to corral him towards the dancefloor.
Arthur put down his drink, then picked it up again and finished it. He loosened the collar of his shirt and looked around, half expecting Sidney to appear and stop him from doing whatever he might do next. When nobody intervened, he felt his mind had rather been made up for him. He approached Gabriel with a pleasant smile affixed to his face, as if they were simply old friends, and certainly not two people who had ever had their tongues in each other’s mouths.
‘Nice-looking girl, that Lady Clement,’ Arthur said to Gabriel, who was trying very hard to avoid his gaze. ‘Just your type.’
‘Arthur,’ Gabriel said quietly, barely moving his mouth. Lord Stafford was wearing a hideous lime velvet jerkin and frowning at them both. ‘This really isn’t the time.’
‘I’m just being friendly,’ said Arthur, picking up a fresh cup of wine from a passing tray and raising it. He knew he was being belligerent, but he was so full of directionless energy, it was hard to stop. ‘I’ve been wanting to speak to you, but you’ve been strangely difficult to track down.’
‘Gwen said you weren’t drinking,’ Gabriel said, looking pointedly at the cup. Arthur sighed and put it back down.
‘Come outside with me? I need to show you something.’
Gabriel looked horrified; he glanced at Lord Stafford, shook his head and walked away, as if Arthur were a complete stranger who needed taking care of.
Arthur couldn’t pretend that didn’t sting.
‘Lord Delacey,’ Lord Stafford said, with a painfully false smile on his face. ‘Is there anything I can help you with?’
‘I’m not the one who needs help,’ Arthur said, wiping some wine from his chin. ‘I’m fine. You know – you’re the one who’s supposed to look after them all, aren’t you? That’s your job. Steward of the whatsit. He’s too afraid to tell you, but he’s got some bloody brilliant ideas about how to run this country, if you’d just be willing to listen.’
‘Right,’ said Lord Stafford, looking baffled. ‘Such as?’
‘Such as – Tintagel!’ Arthur said, not entirely sure he was getting the point across, but feeling that for Gabriel’s sake, it was very important that he tried. ‘Like … like putting all your gold into education instead of endless soldiers marching up and down the place, and – he’s going to move to Tintagel and make it a school for teachers, and … you should know all this, if you were any good at your job.’
‘Tintagel Castle?’ Stafford said, still minutes behind.
‘Sort it out,’ Arthur said, pointing an accusatory finger at Stafford before going to seek more chaos.
Lady Clement of Lancaster happened to be standing alone, looking crestfallen.
When he asked her to dance she agreed easily enough, although she did glance over at an older woman who Arthur could only assume was her mother. Clement was a good dancer, light on her feet and clearly relieved that somebody had finally asked her. He saw her look to Gabriel a few times, checking to see if he was watching.
Arthur only looked once. Gabriel was standing with his goblet still clutched tightly in his hand, ostensibly talking to an elderly man, looking deeply concerned as he tracked them across the room. Arthur felt a pang of something dangerously close to guilt, so he resolved not to look again. The edges of the room began to blur, the dancers speeding up and becoming nothing more than vague shapes in his periphery, Clement’s pink face the only thing he could still see clearly – and then the music paused and another, equally excellent idea occurred to him. If Gabriel wouldn’t come to him, maybe he just needed a little encouragement.
He leaned in close to Clement’s ear and asked her if she wanted to step out into the courtyard for some air. He expected her to say no, but she was flustered and overheated from all the dancing, so she nodded and allowed herself to be escorted away across the hall and out.
‘Thank you,’ she said, smiling earnestly at him. ‘I’m supposed to be talking to the prince. My mother … Well, I don’t know why he wouldn’t just ask me to dance. He was looking. He kept looking. He wasn’t dancing with anybody else. I don’t understand him.’
‘No,’ said Arthur grimly. ‘Me neither.’
‘We shouldn’t go far,’ said Clement. ‘I’m not supposed to be alone, and people might think …’ She trailed off, blushing. Arthur suddenly felt extremely tired.
‘Don’t worry. I’m engaged to be married. Although – you could kiss me, if you like,’ he offered half-heartedly. ‘Might … I don’t know. Make him jealous?’
‘Er – no, thank you,’ she said, patting him awkwardly on the arm. ‘Thanks anyway, though.’ She turned to go, and in that moment her face lit up. He followed her gaze and saw Gabriel, standing in the doorway with the light from the hall glowing behind him, casting his face in shadow.
‘Your highness,’ she said, with a half-curtsy. ‘Lord Delacey and I were just—’
‘I’d like to speak to Arthur alone, if you don’t mind,’ Gabriel said, his voice clipped. Arthur watched Clement visibly wilt in front of him, before ducking her head and hurrying back into the party. ‘What are you doing?’ he said, when they were alone.
‘Invading Normandy,’ Arthur said flatly. ‘Come to help?’
‘This isn’t funny,’ Gabriel said, ignoring him. ‘You shouldn’t have come.’
‘You shouldn’t have come.’
‘It’s my feast,’ Gabriel said incredulously. ‘They threw it in my honour.’
‘Well, you seem to be having heaps of fun,’ Arthur said, leaning against the wall, partially to look as if he didn’t care but partially out of necessity. ‘If you got any more lively you might reach the vivacity of a plague victim, or a recently deceased mouse, or – or—’
‘Arthur,’ Gabriel said, suddenly standing in front of him. ‘Go to bed.’
‘Make me,’ Arthur said, hating himself a little bit for sounding so sneery. Gabriel looked all pinched and piqued; it was exactly the sort of expression he always wore just before they kissed. Hardly a good sign, but regardless, it was making Arthur’s fingers itch.
‘Go to bed,’ Gabriel said again, and suddenly Arthur was at his limit.
‘Leave with me,’ he said. ‘Come on. Do something you actually want to do for a change.’
Gabriel let out a frustrated huff that was half-laugh, half something else, and stared up at the star-strewn sky as if he couldn’t bear to look at Arthur for another second.
‘What?’ Arthur said, knowing he sounded petulant and not even the slightest bit alluring. ‘Is that really so mad a proposition?’
Gabriel looked back at him, entirely serious, and suddenly Arthur felt a bit sick. ‘What makes you think that leaving with you would be what I actually want?’
‘What?’ Arthur scoffed again, but his certainty was wavering. ‘You’re not going to pretend—’
‘You’ve been drinking. You’re making a fool of yourself, and – you’re making things too hard. I’m going to stay here, where I’m supposed to be. And I know you probably can’t fathom this, but I thought I’d made myself clear – I don’t want you here.’
Arthur felt something akin to a fist clenching in his chest, wringing the breath out of him and then releasing him just as suddenly.
‘That’s a shame,’ he said, tilting his head to the side, knowing that his smile was more cruel now than anything else. ‘Because I really do have something for you. A present.’
‘I don’t want it,’ said Gabriel, shaking his head. He turned to leave, but before he could, Arthur grabbed his arm and pressed the thick wad of folded parchment he’d been carrying all night into Gabriel’s hand. He half expected Gabriel to open his fingers and let it all fall to the ground, but he didn’t.
‘Had a book sent from home,’ Arthur said, noting that his voice was trembling slightly and trying to temper it. ‘It’s been in my family for a very long time – I can only assume that my father never actually read it, because there was a little something extra inside. I know he certainly wouldn’t want these getting into the wrong hands. Mine, especially. Go on. Read them.’
‘What is this?’ Gabriel said, not looking at the parchment, choosing to stare at Arthur instead. ‘I don’t have time for this.’
‘I think you’ll want to make time,’ Arthur said. ‘Because it’s something you’ve missed, in all your research. Something everybody has. Such interesting letters our fair Lancelot used to write to the great and noble King Arthur.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Read them,’ Arthur said, shrugging. ‘And then tell me if you’re still ready to be a king as bold as Arthur Pendragon.’
Arthur left before Gabriel could, knowing that he was still standing in the courtyard, gaping after him, with secrets hundreds of years old crumpled in his shaking fist.