She supposed not. She’d never heard anything about Gawain being a mage. And certainly, the round table wasn’t in reference to poker.
Lancelot kissed Vera’s cheek. “Night, darling. Lock your door. Arthur has a key.”
“I know. Thank you, Mother. See you tomorrow.” But she watched Lancelot’s back as he left. Her intuition hummed that there was something odd in her interaction with him, but she couldn’t place what.
Vera didn’t need help changing, but she wanted to talk to Matilda. She crept over to her door and listened carefully for a minute, not wanting to interrupt if Randall was there. After a stretch of quiet that reassured her, she knocked. No answer.
If Matilda wasn’t here and she and Randall left at the same time … Vera giggled alone in the hallway. What a conversation that would be tomorrow. She couldn’t wait to tell Arthur.
She changed and got into bed. It had been a splendid evening, the kind that led to things like pining lovers finding one another’s arms.
The unbidden image of beautiful Marian with her lips inches from Arthur’s ear came to Vera’s mind. Her eyes shot open. What if he didn’t come back at all tonight? Maybe he’d go to Marian’s bed. He was allowed to, after all. Vera had no claim on him. He made it clear that she could pursue whoever she wanted, and he had the same right.
They were friends, and she was leaving soon. In fact, it would be better if he ripped off that bandage tonight and found intimacy elsewhere. As much as he emphasized not wanting Vera backed into a corner, he was stuck, too. She wasn’t the only one being fed a potion to manipulate her feelings.
Something could have already happened between Marian and Arthur. She acted awfully comfortable with him. There was that year-long gap after Arthur had already witnessed three versions of Guinevere perish. He didn’t even want Merlin to bring Vera. Why shouldn’t he have found pleasure or even love in that time?
Vera wanted to throw up.
She lay in bed, trying not to think about it and finding that she seemed to have no other thoughts. After at least an hour, she was nearly asleep when the faint sound of metal clinking came from the lock. She opened her eyes just enough to see Arthur’s distinct silhouette in the door. He took care to shut and secure it quietly. He didn’t even change his clothes. He took off his shirt and crawled into bed.
Vera was infuriated to notice that she was so relieved she was nearly in tears. She rolled over toward him and laid a hand on his bare chest, surprised by her own bold familiarity. He didn’t wait to pretend to be asleep. He reached up and covered her hand with his own.
She shivered. Vera wanted to lay her whole body on top of him, and her heart heaved at the thought of it.
He traced his thumb over the back of her hand. “Goodnight, Vera.”
“Goodnight,” she said.
The only jousting tournament Vera had attended was at the Glastonbury Abbey’s Medieval Faire, where there was also a man dressed as a jester who juggled one-handed while playing a plastic recorder through his nostrils. Camelot’s festival was short a juggling nose musician, and the jousting was a far cry from the staged reenactments at the Faire. Those entailed graceful unhorsings that ended up in choreographed sword fights on the ground.
Sitting on the sidelines with Arthur in the raised suite for royalty and nobility and watching bout after bout of real jousting had Vera alternately clenching her eyes shut or with them shocked wide, unable to look away. Lances exploded into splinters, collisions sent riders flying from their horses, and there were plenty of injuries. In Wyatt’s first bout, he took a lance right to the face shield of his helmet. While there wouldn’t be any lasting damage, he was far worse for the wear. Vera gripped the arms of her seat tightly as each run began, shrinking and cringing like she could sink through her chair if she pushed back hard enough.
Arthur noticed her tension and kept a firm hold on her hand. He distracted her with trivia and jokes. It was barely mid-morning when a server appeared at Vera’s side with a glass of wine. She took it out of politeness but was confused because she hadn’t asked for it.
“I thought it might help to take the edge off.” Arthur winked. The playful gesture was so handsome on his often-serious features.
There was no doubt to be had: Percival was the best jouster in the tournament. Barring an accident, he would win. He unhorsed his current opponent in one pass.
Tristan and Lionel fared well, too. Wyatt struggled after his unfortunate start to the day. He’d lost two matches now. Vera was sweating by the time Lancelot showed up near the lunch break.
“You aren’t jousting,” she said.
“No,” Lancelot said with distaste. “Jousting is stupid.”
“He’s not very good at it,” Arthur said. Lancelot rolled his eyes but otherwise ignored Arthur.
“I have an idea.” He drummed her chair’s arm with his fingertips, his eyes glinting. “An activity for all the folks who aren’t soldiers to do after the lunch break. Can you help?”
Vera grinned. What could he possibly have in mind?
She had none of Guinevere’s memories of Lancelot during the war, but Arthur had once said something that stuck with her. “If it seems like I carry a heavy burden now, that’s how it was for Lancelot throughout the war. He was a different man then. I wasn’t sure the person I grew up with would ever return.”
But Lancelot’s appreciation for peace only served to bolster his spirit. When it wasn’t war, much of life was a game to him, from annoying Merlin to taking Vera to the pit after her first morning run to roping in a new knight to their party. So, Vera should have had some inkling of what to expect.
She and Lancelot set out to start the first ever rock, paper, scissors tournament in the history of the world. They built a single-elimination bracket and spread the word that the people should gather. Camelot liked games, evidenced by the pit’s popularity, and that was where they held their tournament. It was conveniently close to the training-field-turned-jousting-stadium for the festival.
How often did the beloved king’s general, the war hero, Sir Lancelot, serve as emcee and referee for a brand-new tournament specifically for non-royals, non-nobility, and non-knights—a tournament for regular, ordinary villagers and travelers?
