“No one,” Arthur paused for a breath, “is to lay a hand on a member of this castle’s staff nor to raise their tongue in undue cruelty. To do so against a stable boy is to do so against me.”
Lord Wulfstan tilted his chin down, appropriately cowed.
Arthur turned to Vera after another stretch of quiet. “Would you like to say anything else on the matter?”
She wasn’t sure if he was asking her to apologize. Vera searched for any ripple in the still waters of his face and found no hint of what he expected from her.
“Yes,” she said.
Wulfstan’s smirk curled back into place. He certainly thought an apology was coming, which was a shame as Vera had genuinely been considering it until she caught sight of his smug face. Rage boiled anew within her.
“My lord,” she started, impressed with herself at how calm she sounded, “I should never have used such unladylike language, especially not in the presence of a gentleman.” She meant Grady but resisted the temptation to clarify that. “I am heartily sorry. It was not my place. I should never have informed you that you had manure on your face.” It took everything in her not to add, I should have let you leave it there and smell it the whole ride home, but Vera allowed the statement to hang in the air and speak for itself. She didn’t dare tear her focus from Wulfstan, keen to see if he was mollified or if he caught the thinly veiled insult.
Arthur stared quickly at the floor between his feet. Was that a smile he hid? He’d caught Vera’s meaning and started speaking before the nobleman could catch up. “There we have it. You have apologized to our stable boy, and your queen has offered her apologies.”
Wulfstan bowed his head. “I suppose that settles the matter for me,” he said, somewhat begrudgingly. He made to leave, flicking his wrist to signal his attending servants, but all motion stopped when Arthur spoke.
“Not for me, I’m afraid.” Goose flesh rose on Vera’s arms. Arthur sounded perfectly blasé, dangerously so. “Sir, have you yet apologized to your queen?”
Vera sat so still that she even held her breath. Did Arthur really say that? Lord Wulfstan spluttered meaninglessly, the color rising again to his cheeks. “I—pardon me?”
“To your queen,” Arthur repeated slowly. “The language you used in her presence was untoward at best. By your standard, you owe an apology. Surely you wouldn’t hold yourself to a lesser expectation of conduct than the lady. Did you apologize?”
“I did, sire,” he said hastily. “As soon as I realized she was present.”
Arthur looked to Vera for confirmation. She stared blankly back. She didn’t remember what he’d said in those seconds right after he struck Grady. She’d been too angry.
“He did not, Your Majesty,” Matilda cut in. “Pardon me, but he did not.” She then spoke directly to Lord Wulfstan. “My lord, you said you did not realize the queen was there. You did not apologize.”
Arthur turned back to Wulfstan. “Additionally,” he said, “you came to the seat of this throne with full knowledge of the expectations of how you are to treat our staff and, believing you were alone with our youngest member, knowingly defied those rules. When called out by your queen, you deigned to argue with her. The queen’s authority is equal to my own.” The venom was potent in Arthur’s every word.
“I—I am sorry, Your Majesty—” Arthur’s cold glare stopped Wulfstan mid-sentence.
“Do not apologize to me. Apologize to Guinevere.” His tone remained even, but his voice was noticeably more of a growl, and there could be no doubt that Arthur was livid.
Wulfstan physically stepped back and clamped his mouth shut as he swallowed heavily. “I beg your forgiveness, Your Majesty. I was wrong to disrespect you. I—I am sorry.”
“I accept your apology,” Vera said.
Arthur gave a curt nod. “Very well. Let us be done with it and move forward.”
Wulfstan’s eyes cast toward the floor. He bowed stiffly, turned on his heel, and stalked out of the chamber, his servants fumbling and hurrying to follow his less-than-ceremonious departure.
Vera didn’t give herself time to think about it before she reached out to gingerly touch Arthur’s arm—only long enough to draw his attention. Still, he flinched and stared down at her fingers.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I should have controlled my temper, I—”
“I’m not angry,” Arthur said tersely before he looked away.
Then what the hell is wrong with you? She almost asked it out loud. Say it, she told herself. Go on. But the words never came. How could he defend her and go right back to this?
“This is horse shit,” she muttered under her breath. The only reason Vera could see in it was that Arthur defended the throne and its authority, the kingdom’s delicate balance, and not her. She crossed her arms and leaned back in her seat, feeling rather like a petulant nuisance and wondering for perhaps the hundredth time why her presence in this world even mattered.
But court wasn’t over yet. There was already another person entering the throne room, and it took Vera a moment in the wake of Wulfstan’s departure to realize that something was amiss. A uniformed soldier bearing the king’s coat of arms emblazoned in red upon his chest ran the room’s length. Lancelot and Percival stood, their hands instinctively moving to their swords.
“Your Majesty,” the soldier said. He did not wait to finish bowing before he continued. “There’s flooding. Word has spread quickly. We need aid.”
“Where?” Arthur said.
