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She smiled as playfully as she could manage. “I will try not to have too much fun defeating her without you.”
Arthur laughed. “Leave some heroics for the rest of us.” He drew her close in an embrace. “Please be careful this time.”
“We know we can handle the Dark Queen,” Guinevere said, placing a hand on the back of Arthur’s neck. “There are no threats in Camelot that we have not thwarted. The biggest risk is that I will be bored waiting for you.”
“Here is a wish for boredom, then.” Arthur drew back and, with a surge of impulse Guinevere felt like a flush from his skin, kissed her. It was like a patch of sun on a cold day, warm and bright and welcome.
The memory of his lips lingered on hers as she rode toward home, where she would rule as queen.
By the time they arrived at the pier at the bottom of Camelot, Guinevere’s head ached and her still-healing shoulder was stiff. They had pushed to make good time back, having no reason to delay. The trip across the lake felt exceptionally cruel after so much travel. She did not even have Arthur to cling to and draw strength from. Lancelot, Brangien, Isolde, and Dindrane formed a barrier around her, blocking both the lake from her view and Guinevere from the view of anyone who might criticize how badly the queen handled water.
When she stepped off the ferry, Guinevere put her queen face firmly in place. Regal. Responsible. Not a girl who was terrified of water, nor one who did not know her own history, nor one who had left a path of damage and destruction and death in her wake from a simple trip to a wedding.
Arthur had commanded her to leave it in the past, and she would do her best.
No one had expected them back this soon, but the citizens who noticed them waved and bowed. Guinevere smiled graciously in acknowledgment. Tonight she could rest, but tomorrow she would have to speak with Sir Caradoc and Sir Gawain about what had been done for the harvest in her absence and what still needed to be accomplished. And she would inquire how Guinevach had acted when Sir Gawain escorted her out of the kingdom. Though that threat was averted, now that Guinevere was back home, she was curious to know what the threat had been. Innocent, or deliberate? Guinevach’s attitude about being kicked out might offer some clues.
When they reached the castle gate, Guinevere lowered her hood. Isolde craned her neck to stare up at the castle carved straight from the mountain. Guinevere remembered her awe seeing it the first time, too. “Home,” she said, squeezing Isolde’s arm companionably. “Welcome to it.”
“As soon as you are rested, you must all come visit me,” Dindrane said, pointing to Sir Bors’s house, which was prestigiously located very near the castle. She smiled in satisfaction. “I can host you whenever we wish, in my own rooms. All the rooms are my own.”
Lancelot was speaking with the guards, giving instructions. The castle’s grand main entrance, a large wooden door reinforced with scrolling swirls of metal—and with a hidden iron knot that undid any magic crossing the threshold—opened. Guinevere blinked in confusion as her tired brain processed what she was seeing. Sir Gawain, as pleasant as ever with a smile on his round, ruddy face as he gazed, besotted, at his companion.
Guinevach.
“Oh, Guinevere!” Guinevach smiled blandly, dipping into a curtsy. “How wonderful that you are back.”
Dindrane, unaware of the tension, embraced the girl. “Guinevach! You stayed. I wish you had been able to come to my wedding. It was wonderful. You must visit me, too, of course.”
Guinevach returned the hug, staring at Guinevere over Dindrane’s shoulder. “I could not go home, not without spending some time with my beloved sister.” Her hair shone with the last rays of the sun, but her gaze was as cool as the coming evening.
They had underestimated her.
“Call on me tomorrow morning, Dindrane,” Guinevere said, then swept inside the castle past Guinevach and Sir Gawain. “Sir Lancelot, please follow.”
Brangien and Isolde flan
ked her, and Lancelot covered their retreat.
“She was supposed to be gone. Arthur arranged it,” Guinevere hissed as she hurried up far too many stairs to their level of the castle.
Brangien huffed, pushing open a heavy door on the second floor and glaring at a guard posted there. “You might want to go ahead of us and open all the doors instead of simply standing there like decoration!” The guard looked terrified as he scurried in front of them. They usually took the exterior staircase, avoiding the narrow interior flights and the unwieldly doors. “Yes, well,” Brangien answered, now speaking to Guinevere, “King Arthur is a king and a man and when he tells people to do things, he assumes they will be done.” The guard was lingering next to Guinevere’s door when they got to the fifth floor. “Yes, thank you, now go fetch food and drinks for us.”
“But I am not a—”
“You are not willing to do whatever your queen asks of you?” Brangien’s tone was the verbal equivalent of a swat on a naughty child’s bottom. The guard practically ran. “Honestly,” she said, undoing her cloak and throwing it onto the dresser, then unfastening Guinevere’s cloak and collar and carefully putting them in their place.
Isolde stood in the center of the room, looking around. She had no idea who Guinevach was, or why it was troubling that she was still there. “It is remarkable,” Isolde breathed, eyes wide. She danced to the window and pressed her face against it. “So high!”
“Brangien can take you to explore.” Guinevere had anticipated a little bit of pampering—she had gotten spoiled—but now she wanted to be alone so she could quiet her mind, currently buzzing like a disturbed hive of bees. And she needed to speak with Lancelot, who was waiting in the doorway. “Come in,” she said, gesturing.
Lancelot strode into the room, taking up a position in the center of it.
“We will not leave until you are settled.” Isolde’s hands fluttered as she glanced around the room, trying to figure out what to do with herself to be useful.
“Please!” Guinevere paused. She tried to soften the edge her desperation had given the word. “Please. When I first came to Camelot I could not believe it, either. My shoulder is bothering me. All I want to do is rest. Go see your new home.”
Brangien seemed suspicious as she undid some of the laces of Guinevere’s outer dresses so that Guinevere would be able to undo the rest on her own when she chose to. “I will pick up some things that may help with the stiffness. No magic!” she said, predicting Guinevere’s worry. “Nothing that a good lady’s maid would not know about.”
