his bedroom. He touched a switch and a soft light bloomed from the bedside lamp. Praise all the saints that the room was acceptably tidy. He placed his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him.
Guinevere’s eyes were soft and dazed. “That was quite the kiss, my lord.”
Satisfaction sprawled within him. “There is no need for it to end.”
Her posture shifted. It was a slight thing, but it seemed to put her worlds away. “I think there is.”
Arthur blinked. His need for her was a runaway stallion. Hauling it back took effort. “There is?”
“You want me as your queen. I understand that.”
“And?” Arthur was confused. What more was there to add?
“Is that what I want now, in this new world? Did you ever think to ask?”
She waited, but he had no answer to give. That said enough, and they both knew it. He felt his temper begin to fray beneath the sting of awkwardness. Why should he ask? He was king and she had made her vows when she was little more than a girl.
Then again, was it fair to ask her to keep them when so much had changed?
“You left me behind—not just once, but over and over again.” Guinevere shut her eyes a moment, then met his gaze without retreat. “I know you believed you were doing the right thing. You saw my desire to participate fully in your reign as naive and dangerous because of the fae and magic and the kings who hated the fact you’d conquered them.”
She was completely right. “And?” he asked.
“And nothing, not even an apology, makes up for being considered invisible—dispensable—for so long. I don’t want to be that woman anymore.”
None of what she’d just said made sense to him. He’d never thought of her that way—not in the fashion she meant. “So what is it that you do want?”
“I’ve been in this world for only hours, but what you’ve said intrigues me. You say women have access to education? That they have equality? I’d like to find out what that means.”
“How does that matter? You’re the Queen of Camelot. What more could you desire?”
Gwen caught her breath, as if he’d slapped her. “There is a whole new world in which to answer that question.”
She stepped into the bedroom and closed the door. “Good night.” The words were muffled and very final.
“Gwen!” Chagrined, he pressed his palm against the hard barrier. He’d said the wrong thing. He’d known it the moment the words left his lips. Stupid.
And now the door was firmly closed. Arthur could easily break it down, but that was no answer. Reason demanded that they both cool off before the argument escalated to a fight, but his temper didn’t want to listen. Self-discipline alone made him back away from the blank, infuriating blockade.
Right then, the dragon problem looked simple.
Gwen’s eyes snapped open. Bright sun streamed in the window, pooling on the carpet. Her eyes, sore and sandy from crying herself to sleep, protested against the glare. Squinting, she sat up, mind scrambling to reassemble yesterday’s events. Statue. Merlin. Arthur. Gwen pressed a hand to her head, as if the memories might shatter her skull.
She’d shut Arthur out of his own bedroom. He was her husband. He was the king. What had she been thinking?
Gwen sagged back to the pillows. That was the whole point—she’d been trying to think, and with Arthur charming her, that was hard. He’d kissed her, and the heat of it still simmered under her skin. But bed sport, however delicious, wasn’t the only thing she desired from her husband. She’d pushed him away, but she’d done it in hopes he would consider everything she’d said. If their marriage was to get better, someone had to make the first move.
She wanted Arthur’s conversation, his confidence and his trust. She needed the same respect he gave to his knights. No, she demanded more. He should love her, Guinevere, and not just the idea of a wife or queen.
Gwen clawed her way out from under the covers. It was a large, soft bed, and it took her a moment to put her feet on the floor. When she finally stood, shivering slightly in her thin chemise, she could see the streets beyond the apartment window. She was high up, higher than the tallest towers of Camelot, and the men and women below seemed tiny. How on earth had these people built so many enormously tall buildings, with so much glass and so little stone?
She took a step closer, momentarily hypnotized. Merlin had said the name of this city was Carlyle, Washington. The streets ran in perfect lines, brightly colored vehicles speeding along them like ambitious beetles. Merlin’s spell provided the proper words for what she saw—trucks, cars, buses and stoplights. But the knowledge had little meaning. She had no experience of any of it.
A sudden need to sit down put her back on the bed. Gwen pressed her face into her palms, willing her thudding heart to slow down. All the bizarre things that had happened yesterday were still true. She’d half expected to wake up in her own chambers far, far in the past.
She dropped her hands to her lap. She had to find courage. After all, this wasn’t the first time her life had changed utterly from one sunrise to the next. One day, her mother had died. One day, she’d been betrothed. One day, she’d left the only home she’d known for Camelot. She would face this trouble like every other, even if she’d been catapulted centuries into the future. What other choice was there?
As she sat, she slowly became aware of the world around her. There were deep, rumbling voices sounding through the walls—Arthur’s definitely, and perhaps Gawain’s brogue, and then others she couldn’t name. The last thing she wanted to do was to face the knights on her first day here, when everything was unfamiliar and awkward. But again, what choice did she have?
She padded into the tiny bathroom that adjoined the chamber. Merlin’s spell had been helpful here, but the sight of water appearing without pumps or buckets—hot water, no less—was still fascinating. And oddly overwhelming. Taking a breath, she turned a tap over the sink. She must have turned too hard, because the water hit the porcelain with so much force that it bounced back, blinding her with the spray. She jerked it off again, panting with the surprise. An impulse to cry rolled over her—to cry and be comforted and told everything would be fine. But that was a weakness she couldn’t afford if she was ever to earn respect.
Grimly, she washed and pulled on her gown, wishing for her ladies-in-waiting. They would have made sure her hair was perfect and her dress free of dust or wrinkles. Most of all, they would have distracted her with gossip and silly jokes. They had been her friends, and now she had none. She was alone.
Once Gwen had tidied herself, she stepped into the rest of the bland, spare apartment. The living room was crowded with big men draped over the black leather furniture. Arthur saw her first and looked up. As if that were a signal, everyone fell silent and rose to their feet, then, as one, they bowed.
“Be at your ease,” she said, the words made automatic from long habit.
There was a rustle as they straightened, every
