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“Thank you for your hospitality,” King Nechtan said. Guinevere had not known he spoke their language. Arthur communicated with him in Pictish. Maleagant offered no such courtesy. “I am very…curious about this new development.”
“Time for that later. Tonight we should celebrate! We three happy kings, sharing borders and a meal!” Maleagant turned toward Guinevere. She did not need perfect sight to be unnerved. If the leaf in the devouring forest had teeth, Maleagant’s gaze had tentacles. She could feel it crawling over her. “Arthur, you brought a pet. Younger than I remember you liking them. Introduce us.”
Arthur did not respond to Maleagant’s command. He turned back to King Nechtan and resumed speaking in Pictish.
Guinevere felt Maleagant’s eyes like a burden. He was angled to watch her as he ate, as he drank, as he laughed and interrupted Arthur and King Nechtan’s conversation. Guinevere’s hands twitched beneath the table, longing to cast her blindness knots at him if only to force him to stop staring. She startled as another hand found hers under the table.
Arthur squeezed her fingers. He did not turn toward her or react to Maleagant, but he noticed. His steady warmth and strength coursed through her. Rather than looking away from Maleagant, she stared—unsmiling, unblinking—at his silhouette. She did not turn away or blush or do anything that a girl would be expected to do. She was no pet. She was no queen, even. She was a secret weapon.
Maleagant laughed. He raised his goblet in a toast to her.
“Best not to draw his attention,” Mordred whispered at her shoulder, pretending to lean closer to hear something Arthur was saying.
“And how do you recommend I avoid it as the only woman at this table?” She turned toward Mordred with a smile. “What should I do instead?”
“You are tired. You wish to retire for the evening.”
She was and she did. She hated the idea that Maleagant would think he had driven her off, but she trusted that Mordred would advise her well.
“King Nechtan,” she said, “it has been an honor to dine with you. But I am afraid the journey here was wearying. I should like to retire for the evening.”
Arthur stood. King Nechtan did as well. Maleagant leaned back, stretching his long legs. “I can escort her if you would like, Arthur.”
Arthur took Guinevere’s hand and pressed his lips to it. His kiss felt like a shield. “Sir Mordred, would you see my queen to our tent? I still have much to discuss with King Nechtan.”
Mordred bowed. King Nechtan nodded at Guinevere in farewell. She had not taken two steps when Sir Tristan was at her other side. Sir Gawain and Sir Bors both fell in step, as well.
It had the opposite effect of making her feel safe.
She wanted an excuse to visit the horses. If she could get to Maleagant’s horses, she could knot weakness and sleepiness into their manes. But surrounded by knights, she could do nothing. Cross and nervous, she was taken directly to a tent.
* * *
Arthur did not join her until the middle of the night. The tent was small, the ground covered with furs. Guinevere had been sitting in there, alone. She had not undressed for fear she would have to run or fight at a moment’s notice. Several times, she had peered out to find Mordred, Sir Gawain, Sir Bors, and Sir Tristan all still outside the tent.
“Is he gone?” she asked as Arthur sat next to her and rubbed his face wearily.
“Yes. An hour ago. Then I had to spend time making certain King Nechtan would remain on my side should Maleagant get aggressive.”
“Will he?”
He lay back. “I do not know.”
“Maleagant was one of your father’s knights?”
“One of my own, too.”
“What?”
Arthur closed his eyes. “He was my earliest supporter. Besides Merlin. He helped me plan the campaign against my father. I did not see then that he was using me to get Uther out. He thought me young and naïve enough that I would be an easier opponent. And in a way he was right. I banished him when I should have had him killed. It has haunted me ever since.”
“You cannot blame yourself for his actions.”
“I can, and I must. If he threatens Camelot, it is because I allowed it. Oh, I wanted to strangle him tonight.”
“Was he difficult during the discussions?”
“No, I mean when he would not stop staring at you.”
