“No. Go on. Say it. Say all of it. Tell me what you think of what I did.”
“Vera,” he said with forced patience. “You didn’t do anything—”
“I did. I’m her. I did all of it, whether I remember it or not. Say it.”
He stared at her with that cold mask from their early days together. It stoked her fearful rage to erupt.
“Say it!” she demanded.
Arthur breathed heavily through his nose. He was almost there. She could tell. One good shove …
“What kind of a king shares his bed with a woman who tried to destroy his kingdom? I was meant to be the one who killed you. And you knew that before Yule. Merlin told you that. What do you want, Arthur? What’s the fucking end game here? To let me finish the job?”
Arthur’s breath came faster. “I had no idea how much you hated me. The depths of betrayal that you went to are unthinkable. To bring war on our people? To give up the secrets of our security? How could you do this? Why didn’t you talk to me?”
Vera laughed. It was thick with scorn. “Talk to you! You think you could have fixed that kind of broken through conversation? Imagine how well that would have gone if you’d given me the same statue-faced bullshit you pull with everyone else. Do you wish it had been like this? Screaming at each other?”
The control of his face shattered into unbridled fury. “It was never once at all like this.” He spat each word like it was venom. She hadn’t expected that to be what enraged him the most. “I would have done anything to make it better for you. I was ready to let another man take my place in our bed, and it wasn’t enough for you!”
“Then nothing’s changed,” Vera said savagely. Oh, God. Why was she doing this? It was pouring poison on the pain of his rejection. It soothed at the moment to hurl words she knew would hurt but would rot her later. Shocked, Arthur took a step back. “You’re still putting my comfort ahead of your kingdom. You’re still the fool sending another man to your wife. That’s what you’re doing right now, isn’t it?”
“Jesus, Vera,” Arthur said. “Nice.” He looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time, and he’d found an enemy. She’d done it. She’d effectively severed whatever affection he had for her.
“I thought you were leaving. Go on, then. Glad it’s at the other end of the hall. Don’t want to hear him fucking me, do you?”
His eyes went wide. For a moment, it seemed he might pull the mask back into place, but he stared at her with abject, open disgust.
“What is wrong with you?” he snarled as he crossed the room and ripped the door open.
Vera threw her hands in the air, a mad laugh jumping from her lips. “That’s the question, isn’t it?” she shouted as Arthur slammed the door behind him.
She stared at the door, waiting for him to come back for a full minute before she crumbled to the floor, landing hard on her knees. She’d have wailed if she wasn’t afraid that Arthur might be in the corridor to hear it. Vera sobbed; her mouth contorted in the shape of a scream with no sound. He was done with her, and it was probably best. Arthur was right. She remembered more with Tristan in a few days than she had with anyone in nearly half a year. Maybe she should go find him.
But not tonight. It was the last thing Vera wanted.
When she was out of tears and felt like an empty shell on the floor, she dragged herself into the bed and slept fitfully until there was a hand gently shaking her shoulder after far too few hours. She forgot not to hope it was Arthur waking her. It was Lancelot. If he knew what had transpired between Arthur and Vera, he didn’t let on.
The morning was young as they set out. They’d only stayed to sleep for four hours. It worked in Vera’s favor; no one was especially talkative, so the stiff silence between Vera and Arthur fit right in. She actively avoided him, riding on the opposite side of their travel party, opting to stay near Gawain, who didn’t expect any conversation from her.
As they settled into the steady rhythm of bouncing along in their saddles, Vera hissed at the harsh rub of leather against her sore thighs. She wasn’t used to riding all day and then hopping back on to ride some more. Gawain reached one hand in her direction and mumbled quiet words. Then, Vera’s saddle felt like it was covered with an invisible soft blanket. She blinked up at him. He offered a flash of a smile and rode ahead.
Tristan found Vera around lunch when they were all more awake. She cast furtive glances toward Arthur. When their eyes met once, they both quickly looked away. She tried not to think about him because the longer she spent in Tristan’s company, the more she realized Arthur had been right about more than just her memories.
She did like Tristan. He had an easy way about him and a levity of spirit that distracted her from the overwhelming obstacles ahead. Vera shivered as the rain began to fall. Gawain and Merlin could shield them from getting drenched with an invisible cover traveling above them, but the air went unseasonably cold. She couldn’t easily get to her cloak, so Tristan unfastened his and passed it over to her without pausing his story. He didn’t mean for it to be a noble act worthy of praise, simply a gesture a decent knight guarding his queen might do, which made it that much more endearing.
And he loved making her laugh. She could tell by the giddy way his eyes glimmered and his smile broadened when she found his comments particularly funny. Lancelot, oddly enough, spent most of the day sequestered at the rear with Merlin. A pity, as Vera was hoping to get a word with the older mage.
She had her chance when they stopped midafternoon to water the horses. It seemed he’d been waiting for the opportune moment as well. When Arthur and Lancelot bent their heads close in conversation, Merlin sidled beside Vera at the river’s edge.
“In the end, it is your choice, Guinevere,” he said, moving his lips so little that she wasn’t sure he’d spoken. When she looked at him with surprise, he went on. “If you’re willing, I will try the procedure.” He studied a nearby tree as if he and Guinevere were talking about a bird perched on its branches and not a dangerous magical procedure.
Vera smiled idly at the tree, though her heart gave a flutter. “Can you do it on the road? If I meet you tonight … ?”
Merlin nodded. He let his casual pretense drop enough to meet Vera’s gaze with heavy, sorrowful gratitude.
She thought of nothing else for the rest of the day. If there was any chance that Mordred was going to kill Arthur, Vera had to stop it. It was better that they weren’t speaking and that he’d drawn the line of distance from her. If she disappeared into nothing, being on poor terms would make it easier.
They bunked down at an inn in Faringdon, not far from Oxford. After a few hours’ ride in the morning, the journey would be done. Arthur had separate quarters again, and Vera’s decision was made. She would not wait. She had noted the location of Merlin’s room as they entered, and, as soon as she was sure everyone was asleep, she rose from her bed, took two quick shots for liquid courage from a bottle Percival had given her a while back, and tiptoed to the door, determined not to lose her nerve—for she was afraid.
