“Oh, goodness no,” Maria said curtly. “His Majesty is fully occupied until after your arrival. Sir Lancelot shall—”
“No he’s not,” the makeup artist casually interjected as she packed her tools into a leather roll.
Maria blinked at her uncomprehendingly.
“The king,” said the makeup artist. “He’s outside the door … said he’d wait there … until we’d finished …” Her voice trailed off as Maria’s expression transformed into one of horror.
“You left the king sitting in the hallway to wait?” Maria said, each syllable like a truncated slap. The makeup woman withered. They exchanged anxious glances, rooted to the spot before Vera rolled her eyes and marched to the door herself.
“Wait!” Maria called as Vera unceremoniously threw it open. Arthur leaned against the wall opposite. Maria groaned from behind her. “So much for a reveal,” she said.
Vera grinned as his eyes met hers.
Arthur wore a much finer belted tunic than usual with threads and toggles that complimented Vera’s gown. His dark hair was pulled into a knot at the top of his neck which, Vera decided in that exact second, was her favorite way he wore it. He stood up straight as he saw her, and with the pleasant, crooked smile he fixed upon Vera, something in his prematurely weathered face looked boyish.
“Hi,” Vera said breathlessly. “You look very handsome.”
Arthur blushed at the compliment, and Vera was thrilled by that. “Thank you,” he said, his eyes roving over her. “You’re stunning.”
Maria had no choice but to send them off with minimal fanfare, mollified only by the assurance that they were planning to lead the opening dance. Arthur offered Vera his elbow, and they walked to the festival grounds arm-in-arm, where they found their friends seated at the same table as before.
Lancelot rushed over to them, clapping a hand on each of their shoulders. Then he turned his attention to Vera and kissed her cheek. “Guinna!” he said. “You look gorgeous. Is this the dress Randall made?”
“Yes. And thank you.” She shoved her hands into the slits in the sides of her skirt, eager to show someone who would appreciate the best bit. “It has pockets!”
“Hell yeah,” he said appreciatively.
She felt the heaviness of Gawain’s stare before she saw him. Lancelot noticed and shrugged. “I think I’ve cracked him. He’s actually pretty funny.”
There wasn’t time to argue Gawain’s merits. Maria was already beckoning them to the front for the dance. It all happened very quickly. One moment, they were standing around a table with their friends, and the next, it seemed, they were out in the dancing area alone—with hundreds of Yule revelers’ eyes on them. Vera’s breath hitched.
“Are you nervous?” Arthur whispered.
“A bit,” she said.
Arthur and Vera began the dance when the musicians beside the stage started playing. Her movements were stiff as she focused all her energy on not screwing up, but during the first part, where she and Arthur got closer, she heard his deep voice softly singing and looked at him, wide-eyed in her surprise.
“I made up lyrics, too,” he said.
She shifted her focus to him, straining to hear the deep quiet of his voice following the melody.
“The king agreed to teach a dance, but His Majesty was full of shit,
And when the festival was ruined, Maria had a massive fit.”
Vera threw her head back and laughed.
“Not exactly a masterpiece,” Arthur said as he and Vera drew close to spin, but he smiled at having pleased her so thoroughly. The rest of the dance was looser and, unbelievably, even fun. The audience melted from Vera’s periphery, and she saw only Arthur. Each time they came close enough to whisper, one or the other would mutter the made-up name for the next move. She was almost sad when the song ended.
Next came the presentation of the Yule crowns. It wasn’t Maria who processed onto the field for this, but a band of four children. The two youngest were at the front, a girl and a boy, each carrying a crown on a pillow, reminiscent of ring bearers. They were at the end of their toddler years and had an older child attendant accompanying them to keep them on task when they wanted to wander or shy away from the surrounding crowd.
Vera squatted down to be at eye level, and Arthur followed suit. She smiled encouragingly, emboldening the little girl to close the gap.
“Happy Yule, my queen lady!” She held out the Yule crown to Vera. The beautiful and earthy things were made with quartz sticks and gold wrapping them together. The older attendants placed them on Vera’s and Arthur’s heads. His was simpler: woven wire with one dark, round crystal at the center. Vera’s was a radiant eruption of crystals.
“Can we wear these every day?” she asked Arthur.
She was kidding, but Arthur said, “Yes,” though his eyes more plainly said, whatever you want.
