She was alarmed to notice that Percival had shifted his focus to Lancelot, too.
Lancelot actually laughed. “Oh, come on. She is allowed to have friends.” He knew better than anyone in this room that their particular friendship, though it wasn’t romantic, wouldn’t be seen as innocent by any suspicious party.
“She is always with you,” Percival said, his voice carefully even. Vera slumped in her seat.
“She’s also always with Matilda,” Lancelot shot back. “I don’t see—”
“That’s different.”
“Of course,” he drawled sarcastically, “because two women have never taken up—”
“Stop it,” Matilda said sharply. “Right or wrong, it’s different. And you’re behaving like a child to act like it’s not.”
Percival’s face reddened as Lancelot, not ready to give in, rolled his eyes and went on. “She’s with Arthur plenty, too. Every court. All the meals. For the Gods’ sakes, they go to the same chamber every night.”
“But she’s happy when she’s with you!” Percival barked back, his volume mounting with his frustration. “That’s what’s really at the heart of this. The queen—” He seemed to remember himself. Percival looked at her, then at Arthur, who’d listened in cold silence.
“Go on, Percival,” Arthur said with infuriating calm. “Tell me.”
Percival inhaled to begin but stopped himself.
“I mean it,” Arthur said. “Give me the truth. All of it.”
“She—” Percival paused and instead addressed Vera directly. “You look terrified at the king’s side. And Your Majesty,” he shifted to face Arthur, “you look like you’re being tortured. The people watch carefully. They watch everything you do carefully. And they have taken notice of your apparent displeasure with the queen. The people love you, and they will follow your lead when it comes to her.” He swallowed hard. “They have followed your lead.”
Arthur’s face changed for a shade of a second. From sitting by him, listening to him, diligently observing him all these weeks, Vera realized that she’d begun to be able to read the minuscule breaks in his carefully crafted exterior. She recognized the expression that rippled across his features. It was the same one she had seen her first night when she asked him if the water was safe to drink.
Arthur was ashamed.
Good, Vera thought with a savagery that only reached as deep as her hurt and perhaps was merely a placeholder for it.
“And there’s the accusation that she’s a witch,” Percival added.
Vera scoffed and surveyed all their faces. None of them took it lightly.
“But … aren’t there witches everywhere?” She’d assumed, apparently incorrectly, that any woman with a gift would be considered a witch. It was probably something she should have known. Percival’s raised eyebrow was confirmation enough.
Arthur covered it. “You use a different term in the north. In the south, a ‘witch’ is a woman who uses dark magic. Unsanctioned magic.”
Percival nodded. “The coincidence that the harvest’s wreckage came on the heels of the queen’s return …”
“Shit.” The light of Lancelot’s laugh and indignation was gone from his eyes as they fell on Percival. “There’s no way around this, is there?”
Percival shook his head.
“Arthur,” Lancelot said quietly, “ten years ago, maybe even five, that would have been enough evidence. She would have already been burned for it.” He looked to Percival, and Vera realized that they’d begun talking to Arthur in tandem. They were working to persuade him about something but what? To burn her? The thought had barely crossed Vera’s mind before she tossed it aside. It may have been naivete, but she trusted Matilda and Lancelot completely and was surprised to realize that she trusted Arthur not to harm her, either.
“I wish I could say this wasn’t an issue, Your Majesty,” Percival said, taking the thread of conversation he’d been passed, “but this belief goes deep. For some, it started while the queen was gone and festered there. Few gave it merit. But it planted a seed, and our current reality gave it roots. The people who believe this aren’t small in number anymore. And that man attacked her today. He meant to disfigure her.” Percival gestured to Arthur’s injured hand. “He told me a witch should be as ugly as the harm she’s inflicted.”
She didn’t need to know that. Vera’s head swirled. She’d begun to reckon with the hardship she’d brought on the kingdom, but she hadn’t understood before now that her life might actually be in danger, too.
“I have to do it,” Arthur finally said.
Lancelot let out a sigh. He and Percival had succeeded, though neither were pleased. “You do.”
“It should be done today,” Arthur said. He’d never looked like he carried a heavier burden than right now. “Belaboring it will only draw more of a crowd. I want to send a clear message without stirring up undue fear.”
“What are you—” Vera’s words came out so quietly that no one heard her.
