Vera dragged the metal bolt free from its lock. There was no quieting the rake of steel against wood, though she did try. She waited in the following silence for a breath and, hearing nothing, opened the door enough to slip out. Instead, she saw the unmistakable glow of two eyes and the dark, hulking shape of a man not three steps from her. Vera gasped and stumbled backward.
“It’s me! It’s all right!” Tristan rushed into her room after her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Jesus!” Vera lay a steadying hand on his arm. “What were you doing out there?”
“I’m on guard,” he said. “What were you doing?”
“Oh …” Vera thought quickly. He didn’t know about the memory situation. “I, er, wanted to speak with Merlin about tomorrow. And get a potion to help me sleep. I’m … anxious,” she said and was struck with an idea, albeit a weak one. “You could walk me, and then no need to stand guard because I’ll be with a mage. I’m sure you’d like to get some uninterrupted sleep.”
Tristan shifted. “I can’t do that.”
“Why?” Vera asked, eyes narrowing.
He scrunched his face awkwardly. It might have made her laugh another time. “You’re going to be angry. I’m—not allowed to let you leave your room. It’s an order,” he added, as if that made it any better. He at least had the decency to look embarrassed as he told her.
“Fucking Lancelot,” Vera growled. It was exactly the sort of overprotective bullshit he would pull. “Go get him. I’m going to throttle him with a fire poker.”
“It wasn’t him.”
She stared blankly at Tristan, though she knew who that left.
“The king told me directly,” he said.
Vera was tired. She was already furious with Arthur and more hurt than she could put into words. Her ass hurt from riding in a saddle all day. Her plan to help was thwarted, and now the liquor for bravery left her aimlessly tipsy. Otherwise, she might not have let out the profanity-laced string of insults that followed. They began at a mumble, but as her anger rose, her voice did, too. Tristan, his eyes wide and hands rising defensively, hurriedly shut the door as he shushed Vera.
“Did you shush me?” She ripped her elbow from his attempt to soothe her.
“Do you want me to go get him?” he asked, eager to divert her fury.
Vera huffed. “No.”
“Why, er,” Tristan began warily, “why isn’t he with you?”
She didn’t answer.
“Why did he know you’d try to see the mage? And why doesn’t he want you to?”
“You’re full of questions.” Vera turned abruptly back to the bottle of liquor on her bedside table. “I have one. Do you want a drink? Is that allowed?” she added with no small measure of disdain, already pouring one for him.
When she turned back to him, Tristan’s face stopped her mid-step. It wasn’t the hopeless horror she’d seen from Arthur the night after her broken memory, but it was in that family.
“Why did you want to see Merlin?” Tristan asked more pointedly.
“I can’t tell you that,” Vera said, the only honest answer she was prepared to give.
Tristan sighed and sat down on the foot of her bed. He fidgeted to get his sword situated beside him, got frustrated, and took his sword belt off in a huff. Vera sat beside him and passed him a cup half filled with liquor.
“Were you about to do something self-destructive?” he asked quietly.
Vera started. It took her a second to cover the flash of guilt at how close to the mark it hit. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Having not missed any shadow of her expression, Tristan nodded. He turned his goblet in his fingers as Vera threw hers back like a shot and let it sting down her throat.
“You tend to do that,” he said. “I don’t know how many times you took the blame for things we did as children. Falling on the sword has taken on higher stakes as queen, though.”
“Well, in this case,” Vera murmured, her words running together at the edges, “I forged the sword that will destroy all of you. Do you think someone else should fall on it?”
“That doesn’t make any sense.” Tristan shook his head and downed his shot, too. “I hope you know I would give my life for Arthur a hundred times over,” he said. “I don’t think there’s a better ruler in the world, and I’ve met a fair few, but … he’s a fucking idiot when it comes to you.” He set his goblet aside, and as he put his hand back down, he laid it on Vera’s thigh.
