Arthur released her hand and held her thighs apart as his tongue dipped inside Vera. Her back arched, pulsing her hips toward him, her mind going blissfully blank as everything save for this disappeared from existence. His lips closed around Vera’s most tender point, and she yelped.
“Is this all right?” Arthur asked, pausing only long enough to utter the phrase.
“A little more pressure,” Vera managed to gasp, anxious he might mistake her direction for displeasure.
But he obliged. “Like this?”
Vera reeled backward. “Yes,” she gasped.
Reality narrowed to only this bed, her body writhing and Arthur’s mouth exploring her. Vera’s muscles tightened with the building ecstasy. Her elbows gave out beneath her, and she gripped the blankets in clenched fists as the sensation pulsed at her base, building until even sound dulled in her ears, and the frenzy peaked in the most sensational pinnacle of physical joy. All her tensed muscles released.
“Oh my God,” she panted, covering her face with her hand. Arthur climbed up to lay next to her and kissed her hand. She rolled onto her side to face him, ready to reciprocate, tracing her fingers down his torso, finding the ties of his waistband—but he caught her fingers.
“No,” he said. “It’s not a transaction.” He kissed her softly on the lips, and Vera’s every insecurity melted away.
They fell asleep, enfolded together in bliss. She heard the ethereal words; this time, they were the drumbeat of her dreams through the whole night. One perfect and quiet night.
Vera nestled against Arthur’s side, relishing the heat of his skin through her nightgown. Though he’d held her through the dark hours of many nights before, this was different. This time, there’d been no pretense, no tension or wondering. She felt his steady breath on her neck and knew he was still sleeping.
She carefully slid out of bed and changed into her running clothes in the dark as she had so many mornings. She was three steps from the door when he called out in a groggy voice, “Where are you going?”
She glanced back. He was propped up on an elbow with bleary, halfawake eyes.
She went back and sat on the bed beside him, smoothing the hair away from his forehead.
“Running with Lancelot,” she whispered, pausing to kiss his brow. A hum of contentment rumbled low from his throat. “Keep sleeping.”
He laid back down, and she stayed there, admiring his handsome features freely: the sharp line of his jaw and his perfect lips, eyelashes splayed delicately onto his cheeks. She stroked his hair, and he opened one eye, accompanied by a raised brow.
“Having second thoughts?” he murmured.
She was. She’d loved the hours lying next to him. But Vera laughed as she stood and threw a pillow on his face. Arthur smiled and hugged it to his chest as he rolled back over.
There was only a faint hint of a glow on the horizon’s easternmost point. Lancelot hadn’t yet emerged from Gawain’s tent, so Vera sat on the ground and stretched, debating whether or not she should wake him. She didn’t want to disturb Gawain, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to let Lancelot keep sleeping. This run had been his idea.
He came out not a minute later. She started getting up to go to him, but Gawain followed. She had no place in this moment.
Vera couldn’t hear what Gawain said. She only heard Lancelot’s laugh in reply, an uninhibited sound as he turned back to Gawain and lay a hand on his cheek, gazing tenderly at him. Lancelot tipped his forehead to rest on Gawain’s and then kissed him. It was as natural as if they’d shared such a kiss hundreds of times before—because they certainly had.
But it wasn’t for her to see. She wished she could sink into the earth. Hiding wasn’t an option. If she got up, the movement would only draw attention to her. Gawain went back into the tent. He hadn’t seen her.
As Lancelot turned toward the soldiers’ tent, his eyes landed directly on Vera. She froze. The easy joy melted from his features. His shoulders slumped as he tucked his chin to his chest and ducked into the tent.
Vera scrambled to her feet. She was still trying to decide what to say when he reemerged. His hard, blank expression stopped her. He didn’t look at her as he said coolly, “Ready?” sounding nothing like himself.
They ran in stiff silence. Vera let it simmer for a few miles until they reached a grassy hill, and her steps stuttered to a stop. Lancelot ran a few paces further and reluctantly stopped, turning to face her.
“Let’s take a break.” She didn’t wait for him to agree. She stepped off the path and plopped down on the ground. For a minute, it seemed Lancelot would stand there, staring into the distance by himself. But he dropped to the ground next to her, leaving more space between them than he usually would.
She couldn’t let this stand. “Can I just say that you are both a great and a good man?” Vera said. “Has anyone told you that lately?”
His eyes were cast determinedly at the ground between his feet. “There’s something wrong with me.”
“Huh.” Vera shook her head. “There are so many things about this time that aren’t as I thought they’d be … but of all the things to be exactly as backward as I expected, this has to be the one.” She sighed. “I disagree. I don’t think there’s a damn thing wrong with you.”
Lancelot looked at her, a glimmer of hope in his eyes that snuffed itself out within a heartbeat. “Well, you are in the minority.”
“It won’t always be this way, you know. In a lot of the world in my time, it’s not this way. You get to be who you are. You could get married if you wanted.”
