“No,” he said firmly. “It was the fumes from the Venovum. The cursed object that man threw at you. That’s what made the baby sick. Gawain already had the potion ready from treating my hand. She’s going to be fine.”
“She is?” Her voice quivered. “You’re sure?”
“Look.” Arthur held his left hand up so Vera could examine it. The bandages were gone. It was only faintly pink in a few spots. “Gawain is good at what he does. The baby started improving immediately.”
“Oh. That’s good. That’s—” Her breath came in a lurch. Push it away. She tensed her muscles. Don’t think of it. Vera took three deliberate breaths and swallowed heavily.
She was about to say, “I’m fine,” when Arthur slid his left arm around the back of her shoulders and wrapped the right around the front of her shins, encircling her balled-up form in his arms. Perhaps it was the mere shock of encountering such tenderness from him, or perhaps the rickety barrier Vera had constructed to hold the horror at bay within her simply snapped, but a gasping sob ripped through her. She didn’t know where relief stopped, and fear and sadness began. They might have all been the same, and they crested out in her tears. She dropped her forehead onto his shoulder, heedless in that moment of what his care meant or why he’d given it, only knowing that it felt safe, and she wept. She wept every tear that she’d been swallowing since the day she left home—and some from before then, too.
There’d been no place for them. Vera had floated like the misty specter from the Tor, and Arthur’s arms had somehow caught her and given her a shape, a container she could collapse into. He didn’t utter a single word. It was only when her tears slowed that she began to question it. It was too intimate, especially with him. Vera sat up, and Arthur pulled his hands back to his lap.
“You don’t have to do this.” She swiped her fingers beneath her eyes, a fruitless effort to erase the evidence of her tears. “I’m grateful you’re talking to me, but I don’t want you to pretend to like me.”
“I’m not pretending. I’m—I’m quite fond of you.”
“No you aren’t,” Vera protested, though she wanted to believe him. “Maybe you were fond of her, but I’m not her.”
“You don’t need to be her. Be you.”
Vera glowered at him, which, for some reason, drew a fleeting half smile from Arthur. “I sort of tried that. It didn’t go well before.”
He nodded. “I was a colossal prat before.”
Vera nearly laughed at that. She hadn’t yet been able to hold his eyes like this nor see him so unguarded. “I don’t know how to do this,” she said.
“I don’t either.” His hand flinched, and she’d thought he might have been about to reach for her, but now he seemed hesitant to touch her. His face went rigid, and he dropped his eyes to her chin. “I’m sorry. I owe you many apologies. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I have to fix this. I don’t see any other way than, at least publicly, I’ll ask you to endure my affections … to spare you from poor treatment and for the good of the kingdom. And—” She was relieved when he met her eyes again, even though sadness marred his face. At least it was real. “And privately, I would offer you friendship if you’re willing to entertain it. I wouldn’t blame you if you’re not.”
“That’s all I’ve wanted from you. This whole time, that’s all I’ve wanted.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
He rubbed his right hand where his knuckles were swollen and awfully red. Vera hadn’t realized the boils left such swelling. But it was his left hand that he’d caught the egg with. It bore only light pink spots where there’d once been blisters.
“What happened to your hand?”
“Oh. Erm …” He tried to hide it at his side, but Vera gingerly grabbed it.
His knuckles were so terribly swollen, especially by his index finger, that Vera could feel the bulge of it at a cursory touch. “What happened?” she asked again.
He pursed his lips. “Well. I, er, lost my temper. With your father.”
“How would that—” Oh. Her lips formed the word, though she didn’t say it. “You punched him?”
He slid his hand free and tucked it back by his side. “Er. Yes.”
“Hm.” She tried to suppress a grin, the same tingling sense that she’d felt at his protective affection with Wulfstan blooming in her chest before she remembered that it was about his rule. Not about caring for her.
He must have noticed the way her expression changed. “Does that upset you?”
She didn’t know how to answer. “That was the first time I ever met my biological father.” She wasn’t sure why she was telling him that, except it felt important that someone knew. “Is he always like that?”
“I’m afraid so. He’s …” Arthur shook his head. “He’s an ass. Guinevere told me that her childhood was not a happy one.”
“What did he say?” Vera asked.
“Hmm?”
“What did he say to make you take a swing at him?” She forced her voice to be light, but she craved to know.
