“It doesn’t make sense to start with the queen. The risk is high. It’s far too high.” Gawain appealed directly to Arthur. “There is the likelihood, perhaps the certainty—”
“Gawain,” Merlin warned.
Gawain didn’t stop. He spoke louder. “That further intervention will cause her mind to break. She might survive but wouldn’t have enough brain function left to swallow food.”
“Enough!” Merlin slammed his fist down on the arm of his chair.
Gawain’s characteristic scowl was nothing to the wrath that marred his features. “What good would it do if she dies before she can tell us what happened? It’s prudent we go to the mages first and only push Guinevere’s mind as a last resort.”
Merlin began arguing, but Arthur held up a hand. “We’re going to the mages.”
It was decided. Merlin and Gawain, Arthur, Lancelot, Vera, and two other soldiers.
“I think we should also bring one more knight with Guinevere coming,” Lancelot said. “Percival would be best.”
“No. Percival will stay as king regent,” Arthur said. “We’ll bring Tristan.”
Lancelot nearly hid the glimmer of a scowl, but Vera saw it. “Why not Randall? Or Marian?”
Arthur shook his head. “I want them in Camelot. Tristan is the right choice.” He didn’t elaborate; it was not up for discussion. Lancelot stiffly crossed his arms over his chest, displeased.
They would leave this evening under the cover of darkness.
Arthur and Vera went straight to their quarters to pack. She shoved her running trainers and socks into a rucksack, deliberating what to say to him. The memories were right there. She’d had a real memory. The rest couldn’t be far behind. But that brought up another issue entirely that Vera hadn’t had time to reckon with: she truly was Guinevere.
Before she could work up the nerve to speak, Percival and Tristan were at the door. Percival dutifully reported the city’s status: calmer than before but fortifying itself in preparations for the barrage of refugees.
“They responded to Percival well,” Tristan added, clearly impressed. “Almost how they’d respond to you.”
Percival shrugged off the compliment. “What news from the mages?” he asked.
Arthur was honest. There was plenty he couldn’t say, which Percival readily accepted. He only balked when Arthur relayed their travel plans. “You’ll stay in Camelot,” he told the young knight. “I need you to serve as king regent.”
Percival drew back before his brow furrowed, making his scar the dominant feature of his handsome face. “The queen should be in charge,” he said.
Arthur shook his head. “She’s coming with us.”
“Why?” Percival asked. It was a fair question, and there were plenty of reasons. Because she wanted to, for one. Because Arthur knew the safest place would be with him and Lancelot. And because if something happened with her mind, they needed mages there.
Instead, Vera said, “I want to go,” at the same time that Arthur said, “I will not leave her.”
To her surprise, that was justification enough for Percival.
“Tristan,” Arthur looked to him, and he dutifully stepped forward, “I need you to come on the road as the queen’s guard.”
Vera jolted. She hadn’t realized that was the additional knight’s purpose.
“I’d be honored, Your Majesty,” he said, his eyes lighting up.
“Arthur, I don’t know how to act as king,” Percival said.
“Of course you do.” Arthur crossed the room to the desk. He collected a stack of parchments and handed them to a stunned Percival before he paused thoughtfully. “I’ll show you a few things. Come on.” Vera began following him to the door. Arthur stopped her. His eyes flicked to Tristan for the length of a blink before resting on her. “Stay. Finish packing.”
“I—” she stammered. “All right.”
“Should Tristan—?” Percival began.
“No,” Arthur said. “He can stay.”
