She seized the opening. “Would you like to sit for a minute?” Vera gestured awkwardly to the sitting area.
Arthur smiled. “I’d love to sit.”
He took the chair across from her, resting his elbows on his knees as Lancelot had done last night. It was funny to know them both so well now. One didn’t bear any resemblance to the other, but they were so similar in mannerisms, kin in a hundred tiny ways.
“How are you?” he asked.
She exhaled a laugh. “I don’t know where to start. Thank God for Gawain.”
Arthur nodded emphatically, his face serious. “Without him, I’m afraid you would have gone ahead with the memory procedure.” He smiled fleetingly and seemed to take an interest in the rug between his feet. “I’m glad it’s not on your shoulders anymore, and we can get you back home soon.”
“Oh,” Vera said. “Right. Yes, that’s good.” Her throat tightened. She willed her chin not to quiver as tears threatened from the back of her eyes.
“I should go … let you enjoy your evening how you wish.” He stood and collected his bags. His words were perfectly cordial, but Vera felt the meaning. Arthur meant Tristan.
“Stop,” she said before he’d made it more than a step. “I don’t—” Her voice caught and broke.
Arthur settled back into his seat and leaned toward her. “What’s wrong?”
Vera shook her head, questing for what to say, for how to cover this moment. A strange clarity took her. Arthur saw it and sat up straight, bracing himself. The stone mask slid into place across his features. Her tears cleared from her throat, and she began speaking before she had a chance to think better of it.
“I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want Tristan. I want you, and it is driving me mad that you can be not fifty feet away and believe that I’m fucking him and be—” she gestured frantically at him, “and be fine with it!”
He listened to her, keeping his eyes trained on her and his face unreadable, barely moving a muscle. She had to watch closely to see his chest rise with his breath.
“Is that what you think?” Arthur asked in a whisper.
Vera nodded.
“Do you want to know what I think?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. A tear found the corner of her eye and slid down her cheek. She flinched toward brushing it away or trying to hide it but stopped herself.
Arthur rose and pivoted away from Vera, his hand rubbing hard over his mouth. He turned back to her abruptly, and his face had transformed. No longer were his features the pool of calm. His face grew dark, clouded with an intensity of rage and passion.
“I am not fine with it,” he growled. “I did not sleep the night I thought you might be with him. I paced the room, and it took every ounce of control within me not to burn all that kept me from you to the ground.
“And the next day, I smiled at him when I wanted to rip his throat out for even daring to think of being with you. I promised never to trap you, but I’m a selfish fool, and I cannot let you go.”
Arthur knelt in front of Vera and pinned her forearms to the chair’s arms with his hands. “I want you with every breath that enters my body. I want—”
He stopped, tilting his chin down. Vera turned her arms underneath his hands so that her palms faced upward and clasped his wrists.
“Tell me,” she whispered, hope igniting a spark in the depths of her belly that she hadn’t dared to let herself entertain.
There was fire in his eyes. “I want to untie your dress without pulling my hands away when they touch your skin. I want to rip your gown from your body without looking away. I want to hold you without pretending to be asleep. I want,” he paused and leaned closer, his eyes boring into her, “to please you and to hear your pleasure on your lips. I want to take you right now and throw you on that bed and make love to you until the sun rises.”
Vera’s insides leapt, though she hardly had a thought to spare for her elation. It all crushed together in a swell of desire. She freed one of her hands, sliding her fingers up his arm and further along his neck into his hair, delighting in how the bit of curl at its ends twisted around her fingertips. He closed his eyes at her touch and turned to catch her palm with his lips. This kiss sent a ripple through Vera’s body.
“Why don’t you?” she asked.
It nicked the tension enough for Arthur to exhale a laugh which, on his features, burning with passion, made him look so young. “We’ve made it this far and kept your mind intact. I won’t risk that.” Arthur slid his hands to her waist, dropping his forehead into Vera’s lap. Her fingers roved back into his hair, massaging his scalp as she pulled him tighter to her legs.
She could just barely feel his hot breath on her thigh through her skirt and swallowed to keep herself from sighing with pleasure. It was Arthur whose sigh emerged as more of a moan. He lifted his head. “Though don’t misunderstand me, Vera. I want to. Very badly.”
A bell chimed from Vera’s tent door. She and Arthur’s eyes both snapped in that direction. She hadn’t realized the tents had doorbells. Who could possibly be coming at this time of—
“Oh. Shit,” Vera said as she remembered the plans they’d made. “It’s Tristan.”
