“We wanted you to know, but we would also deeply appreciate it if you could keep our arrangement to yourself,” Mordred finished for her, like they had practiced for the conversation.
Galen looked from one of them to the other, his face impassive save for one raised brow. “So you two aren’t going to be lying about, moaning with lovesickness when one has to go away?” he asked. “You’re not going to steal the best apprentice I’ve ever had for romantic moonlit walks and leave me to birth twins on my own, or what have you?”
Mordred and Nyneve exchanged a glance, and she couldn’t help but notice how good it felt to be on the same side. “No,” she said with a firm shake of her head. “No, Galen, it changes nothing. Beyond whatever extravagant wedding the king might wish to have, everything remains the same.”
Galen considered this. “Oh,” he finally said with a bright smile. “In that case, many congratulations to the happy couple!” He moved past them, toward the large chest of stores, patting Nyneve on the shoulder. “I will be godsdamned livid if I hear as much as a peep, but if you must...exercisethose passions ofyoung love, the cottage is much more private than the knights’ quarters, and safer, too.”
“Galen!” Nyneve barked at the same time Mordred muttered a curse under his breath.
Stooped over the chest of stores, Galen threw one hand in the air. “I prefer to be realistic, Lady Nyneve,” he said, his voice muffled as he sorted through the tins, jars, bandages, and splints for whatever he was after. When he surfaced, he turned to meet Nyneve’s gaze. “If I thought you’d any interest in marriage, I might’ve picked this one for you myself,” he said, gesturing to Mordred.
Nyneve’s face went red.
“Lovely conversation,” the knight said with a stiff bow. “I am afraid I must take my leave, as the king has urgently called me to his side.” Without another glance at Nyneve or Galen, Mordred strode out of the cottage, pulling the door shut behind him. Perhaps it was only the wind that snuck in, but Nyneve was surprised to find she felt colder in his absence.
“No one made you do this, eh?” Galen asked without looking up from the tincture he was decanting into the smaller bottles.
“No, Galen, nothing like that,” Nyneve said, grappling for the back of her chair and leaning forward, letting some of the blood return to her head.
“Should’ve known when you gave him that first token,” the physician said, squinting to line the dropper up with the bottle’s mouth. “It was all over your face.”
Nyneve straightened in surprise, trying to disguise her reaction by walking to the south-facing window and opening the heavy wool coverings. Light pooled across the worktable.
“What was all over my face?” she asked slowly.
Galen turned to look at her, the dropper poised over a bottle. “That he made you feel something you hadn’t felt before,” hereplied. Then he shrugged. “And for people like us, sometimes that’s the closest we get to love.”
Nyneve returned to her chair, her tongue pressed against the back of her teeth. She’d tried to ask Galen about his life before Camelot a thousand times, and he’d never given her anything but noncommittal statements. “Is that the closest you ever got to love, Galen?” she asked the physician, sinking into her chair.
He finally looked at her, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Clever girl,” he said appraisingly. Then his expression folded in on itself, the strength of his features waning. “No. I got close to love, I’m afraid. Too close.” He sighed, filling another bottle. Nyneve held her breath, not daring to speak. “I’m not sure I recommend it.”
She laughed at that, more a release of the building tension than anything else. “I’ll let you know what I think, if I ever get there,” she said, beginning to bottle the dosing tinctures.
Galen’s eyes slid to meet hers again, an expression on his face she could not quite place. “Oh, silly girl,” he sighed, sitting back in his chair. “You’re already there. Or so close that there’s no longer any going back.”
Nyneve was already in a foul mood when the head kitchen maid asked if she might take the same medicinal brew administered for Guinevere’s migraines to a chamber in the section of the castle reserved for visiting nobles.
“The lady always needs a few days to settle in before announcing she’s here,” Molly said with a wave of her giant wooden spoon. “Causes quite a stir every damn time, and this year she’s arrived a few months early. I know you can keepyour mouth shut, unlike my kitchen girls.” She said the last part loudly, looking about the kitchen with a stern gaze. The maids exchanged glances, a few of them hiding smiles.
Nyneve sighed. Night had fallen a few hours ago. She still hadn’t slept or eaten more than a heel of bread and a few of the carrots Galen had been pickling. She wanted a hot goblet of cider and the sheepskin-lined chair by the cottage’s fire. But she was rather fond of Molly and her big laugh, and how she’d seen that very spoon wielded against men with hands that wandered toward her staff.
“Of course,” Nyneve said, reaching out for the tray a serving girl offered. “Only because I like you, and because you can make sure there’s a big, steaming cider waiting for me when I return.” She beamed at Molly, hopeful.
“Aye,” the kitchen maid replied with a weary sigh. Then she straightened, her expression brightening. “Oi, congratulations are in order, aren’t they? I hear you’ve bewitched the most handsome knight in Camelot.”
Nyneve’s face burned, but it was only because the kitchen was hot, she told herself. “I wouldn’t use the term ‘bewitched,’” she said cautiously, a nervous chuckle escaping her mouth.
“But heisthe most handsome man in Camelot, that’s for sure,” the girl chopping parsnips at the big table said, looking toward Nyneve with a sly little smile. “Makes sense, as you’re very beautiful, my lady.”
“Back to work!” Molly shouted, banging her spoon on the counter, but she smiled as Nyneve balanced the tray and headed up the back stairs. Belatedly, she realized the linen work apron layered over her kirtle was not the appropriate attire for serving a visiting noblewoman, but she was far too tired to do anything about it. She drew in a deep breath at the top of the stairs, steadying herself before turning into the corridor. It was busier in this part of the castle—every damn chamber had a full retinue.
“Many happy days, Nyneve!” whispered a passing handmaiden.
“Thank you,” she replied in a hushed voice, forcing a smile. They’d only announced their intentions to Arthur early this morning, and she already found herself greeted with congratulations left and right. Only a few hours ago, Lady Alis had been positively delighted to hear the news despite her badly sprained wrist. The noblewoman had beamed at Nyneve, saying she couldn’t believe the two of them made everyone wait so long. Nyneve still didn’t know what Alis was talking about.
It surprised her how well everyone took the news. Both she and Mordred were worried they would have to fight to convince the court of their relationship—that they might even need to recruit Guinevere and Galen to spread stories of their courting. But everyone she spoke to seemed to think she and Mordred becoming betrothed was some kind of inevitability.
Nyneve paused at the visiting lady’s door, shoving that little tangle of confusion into the recesses of her mind. Steadying the tray against her hip, she knocked thrice and announced herself.
