Surprised, I stumbled back a step, my ears feeling as if they would burn right off of the side of my head if I remained in such close vicinity to the woman in front of me. “No, your majesty, nothing is on your face.”
Guinevere puffed out her cheeks in irritation. “You keep doing that. I want you to at least call me Gwen when we’re alone.”
“It is difficult for me,” I told her, avoiding her gaze. “I was always taught by my mother to treat women—especially women in higher positions than me—with the utmost respect.”
“Sounds like she’s a smart woman,” Guinevere said dryly, crossing her arms over her chest as she tossed her dark curls over one shoulder, sending a wave of her perfume in my direction. “But did she also tell you that when a woman asks you to refer to her by a certain name that you probably should do that or face her wrath?”
“No,” I murmured, my voice so soft that she had to lean in a bit to hear it. “I am afraid she died before she could reach that lesson.”
Guinevere blinked before her cheeks flushed pink. “Oh shit, I’m sorry. Jeez, it seems I can’t seem to have a conversation with any of you without putting my foot straight into my mouth.”
I was unfamiliar with the saying, but I understood the gist. “It is no matter, she died when I was still a young boy.”
“That just makes me feel worse, Gawain,” Guinevere said, her hands coming up to give her hair a tug. In the few moments we had been speaking face to face like this it had become obvious that, when the omega was nervous, she tended to not know what to do with her hands. They always seemed to flit and flutter about like anxious butterflies looking for a place to land. “It’s like when I first met Bedivere and I didn’t see he only had one hand. I asked him why he wasn’t a knight anymore and he just held up his empty sleeve.”
She put her face in her hands, but a surprised laugh bubbled out of me at her words as the image of Bedivere’s face when she asked that question rose unbidden into my mind.
Truthfully, the alpha likely appreciated her question—too often his missing hand was the first thing many noticed about him. For Guinevere to speak with him as if he was still whole would have definitely endeared the omega to him.
“I am sure Sir Bedivere was not upset with you,” I told her, still chuckling. “He is not one to hold grudges.”
“Still, I know so little about any of you. All of the stories didn’t really tell me about your personalities they were all about—” Guinevere’s words stuttered as her lips pressed together and she rolled her eyes, letting out a closed-mouth huff.
“Will the gods not let you say anything about our future?”
Guinevere shook her head. “No.”
“What of other things about the future?” I asked curiously, trying to imagine what the world of the future was like.
This time she just shrugged. “I can say some things—I haven’t really tried it. Every time I try to say too much I get a divine sucker punch from the powers that be.”
I was steadily growing accustomed to Guinevere’s odd way of speaking as she began to chatter about what sounded like a completely separate world from the one I knew.
The firelight was visible as we strolled slowly in the direction of our camp. I was hesitant to quicken my step, afraid I would lose out on my moment to have Guinevere all to myself. I slowed, nearly to a stop, forcing her to keep pace with me.
“And we have things like cars and planes and trains which makes thingssomuch easier than horse travel,” Guinevere continued, chattering about things that I had no basis of comparison for.
“Did you not enjoy riding on Breac?” My horse was the most docile in the castle stables—even most of the other knights would comment on how smooth a gait he had.
“It wasn’t that,” Guinevere hurried to reassure me. “He is a nice horse—but bouncing around on the back of a horse is a very different experience to the cushy seat of a car—especially ones that are heated.”
Her words were foreign to me, but I nodded along anyway.
“Cars aren’t the only amazing thing in the future. Music has come a long way too! You like music, right? I heard you play on the lute at my wedding and it felt like I could just close my eyes and melt into it.”
I found myself preening under her sudden praise. My music was too-often seen as a silly talent that was useless to most of the knights of Arthur’s round table—though there was none who enjoyed it more than the knights during our long nights around acampfire. They were the first to request I play and they were also the first to make a jest about my love for music.
But none had ever complimented me without also telling me that it was a useless skill for a knight to have.
Guinevere continued, oblivious to the sudden shine in my eyes and the warmth in my chest. “We have cool instruments too like pianos, guitars, and even some brass instruments—”
She stopped, her eyes wide as the tops of her cheeks turned pink. “Am I rambling? People always tell me I ramble when I get too excited about things.”
“I do not mind rambling,” I told her with a soft smile. “I have always admired people who can say what they are feeling at any moment and believe they are much stronger for it.”
Guinevere’s steps stuttered and I reached my hands out to catch her, worried she had tripped over one of the stray roots underfoot.
When her face turned up to me I could see the sparkle of unshed tears glittering in her eyes.
