“He’s—a villain in our stories,” she said.
She had no more words. She couldn’t even follow the conversation that continued in murmurs around her. Her thoughts were dominated by fear and, above all, the determination to make sure that version of events never came to fruition. She went back and forth at war with herself over what to do with this information until she landed on a decision: she would tell Arthur when they got to their room. There would be no secrets between them. She had to tell him everything—including about Tristan.
By the time they went their separate ways from the chapel, Vera was itching to say it. She launched in as soon as the door closed behind them.
“Arthur, something happened earlier.” She anxiously twisted her fingers as she sat on the foot of the bed. “I looked across the throne room and saw Tristan, and then I—”
Arthur came and sat next to her, stilling her fingers by covering them with the comfort of his own. Vera’s heart raced, but this time, trepidation and not attraction drove it.
“I remembered him,” she blurted. “A whole childhood of friendship and, erm, growing up together.” She wouldn’t breathe aloud the feelings that came with those memories, but they weren’t the point anyway. “They were my memories. My childhood, even though it feels like they’re from so long ago. I—I am Guinevere. I’m sure of it.”
His face remained determinedly passive. “Do you remember what happened with Viviane?” he asked in a quiet way that raised goosebumps on Vera’s neck.
“No.”
He nodded, and she saw the muscle in his jaw begin its flex-relax cycle.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. This was what she needed to say most, the part that had her stomach in knots. “This means that I am the one who betrayed you. That was me. I did it.”
“It’s all right,” Arthur said half a moment too quickly. “I don’t blame you for any of it.” His face was the mask again, and it made her want to cry.
“Do you mean that?” she managed to ask without her voice quaking.
“Yes.” He gave her hand a squeeze before he stood and crossed to his bag. “And we both need sleep.”
They were fine. She decided to trust his word because soon, mere minutes from now, she could crawl into bed with him and rest in the solace of his arms for a blessed few hours.
But Arthur wasn’t fishing in his bag for a change of clothes. He’d picked up his saddle bag and slung it over his shoulder.
“Are you going somewhere?” she asked.
“There’s an open room at the end of the corridor. I’m going to sleep there.”
Her heart plummeted. “Arthur—”
“Gawain told me about the potion we’ve both been receiving. I think …” He pushed his jaw forward and addressed Vera’s shoulder, not meeting her eye. “We’ve been fooling ourselves into wanting what’s between us to be more than magic, but it wasn’t like this before she was—you were—gone.”
Vera gaped at him, the only expression she could manage that didn’t involve yielding to the prickling ache of tears and the rising lump in her throat.
“Tristan can stay with you if you want,” Arthur said. “I’m fairly certain he’s still in love with you.”
At first, his words landed as gibberish. “What?”
“You like him. I can tell.” Arthur shrugged. How was he saying this so casually, as if talking to her about the weather? “Those feelings are untouched by magic. You haven’t remembered with me—”
“I remembered the dance steps,” Vera interrupted, knowing she was grasping at straws. “And during the procedure—”
“The procedure was magical intervention,” he said. “And the other was body memory. Not conscious. You remember Tristan. Real memories.”
His determined, even voice incensed her. “Let me get this straight. You don’t want me to feel cornered with you. But it’s all right for me to be cornered into having sex with Tristan?”
It stung him as she’d intended. He avoided looking at her. “You don’t have to, but you can. You’ll be leaving soon, so you’re running out of opportunities. You’ve always liked him. Maybe loved him.” She heard the underbelly of bitterness. “Do whatever you want. And if that includes being with Tristan, all the better. You might remember. I’d sure as hell love to know what drove you to betray our people.”
And there it was.
“You’ve been biting that one back for a long time, haven’t you?” Vera said.
Arthur grimaced. “That was unfair. I’m sorry. I’m tired. I’m going to go.”
