color that reminded her of a hawk. She had no idea how old he was, but he appeared to be a man in his thirties, lean and dark and with the air of someone too smart for his own good. He watched her now as if afraid she’d turn hysterical. Maybe she would.
Her eyes strayed to the tomb at the center of the gloomy workshop. On top of it was an elegant effigy made of white marble, every fold of cloth expertly carved. She would have admired its beauty, except the face on that statue was hers. She was that stone woman with the budding rose in her folded hands—and that Gwen was dead. It was a tomb for her, and it was very old. So why was she alive?
She tried to swallow, but her mouth was as dry as the grave. “Tell me again how I woke up inside that statue?”
“Magic,” he said with an airy wave. “I cast the same spell on you as I did on the knights of Camelot. While you were part of the stone, you slept. No age or disease touched you. But now you are awake and fully mortal again. Your life picks up exactly where you left off.”
“Oh.” She didn’t sound enthusiastic even to herself.
Had she asked for this? She couldn’t remember Merlin’s spell, much less discussing it beforehand—and yet somehow that seemed the least of her problems. “Does this mean I shall continue as Arthur’s wife and the Queen of Camelot?”
Merlin gave an affirmative nod.
“Why?” The word came out before she could stop it.
“Why?” He tilted his head. “I brought you here because Camelot requires a queen.” He said it casually, the way someone might say Camelot required a gate or a carpet or new furniture in the reception hall. She was an object taken out of storage.
Gwen had always done what was required of her, but a hot nugget of anger was coming to life, as if emerging from its own block of stone. She hadn’t asked to be abandoned, but she hadn’t asked to be turned into a gigantic paperweight, either. Of course, there was only one man who was ultimately responsible for anything that happened in Camelot. “I want to speak to Arthur. Take me to him.”
Merlin gave a sly smile and bowed low. “At once, my queen.”
Merlin’s obedience was about as reliable as a cat’s but, for the moment, she was at his mercy. She watched with unease while he sketched an arc in the air with his hand. Where his fingertips passed, a bright, tremulous light followed, as if he’d opened a seam in reality. Gwen blinked and stepped back in alarm as the golden luminescence dripped across the air like honey from a spoon. She’d seen many of Merlin’s tricks, but this was new. She swallowed hard, trying to look as if this sort of thing happened every day.
When the light had filled in the impromptu doorway, he bowed again and reached for her hand. Stiffly, she allowed him to take it, and they stepped through the brilliance. A buzzing sensation rippled across her skin and, in the time it took Gwen to gasp, they emerged into a long hallway punctuated with closed doors. Merlin began walking, Gwen trailing after him. When she twisted her head to look behind her, the arc of golden light had vanished.
“Where is this place?” Gwen asked.
Merlin stopped before a plain and very unmagical-looking door at the end of the hallway. “The king’s dwelling, as you desired.”
The enchanter put one long-fingered hand around the doorknob and spoke a word. Pale light flared around the brass knob, and a series of clicks followed. Gwen guessed that was the sound of the locks surrendering.
“Why not simply knock?” Gwen asked, suspecting Merlin was just showing off now.
“Arthur’s not home, so we’ll let ourselves in.”
“I may have hurtled through centuries,” Gwen said under her breath, “but I can’t imagine any reality in which my royal husband welcomes uninvited guests.”
“We’re not guests,” Merlin said smoothly. “This is your home as much as his.”
He pushed the door open with a flourish. Gwen stood on the threshold, suddenly uncertain if she wanted to step inside. “This is Arthur’s home? Where is his castle?”
The enchanter gave a nervous cough. “Things work slightly differently in this day and age. This is my lord’s apartment, which he rents. These rooms are his, but not the entire building.”
On one level, Gwen understood the concept. Merlin’s enchantment had given her information about the modern world, but the tumult of facts had come too fast for her to grasp them all. Not yet, and what she had absorbed seemed random. Modern clothes were a blank, but she was certain the standard measurements for an entry door like this were thirty-six by eighty inches.
Merlin was waiting for her to react, a concerned frown creeping onto his face. She stepped inside, reminding herself she was queen of this domain. Ahead was a large room with a balcony beyond tall glass doors. There were dark leather couches suitable for sprawling males. There was a bowl of something on a low table she assumed was food, although it was nothing that she recognized.
She continued her inspection, keeping emotion from her face. She didn’t need Merlin to see her mounting distress. The function of the other rooms—a kitchen, bathroom and bedroom—were clear, although they lacked warmth or interest or personality or the slightest hint of being a home. Even the grand castle at Camelot, with hundreds of inhabitants, said more about its king than this sad place. Arthur was utterly absent. Gwen bit her lip. Come to think of it, absent was rather his style.
She turned back to Merlin. “Is this everything? Where do the servants sleep?”
“There’s an office.” He pointed to the one door she hadn’t opened yet. “No servants.”
“No servants?” That explained the dirty dishes in the kitchen sink and the crumbs around the bowl of whatever it was on the table. Words formed on the tip of her tongue, hot and burning. This was an insult. Royalty had men and maids to do their bidding. Gwen curled her fingers, indignation sharp in her chest. Then she swallowed it down. Arthur, for all his flaws, did everything for a reason. There had to be an explanation.
“Will I have my own chambers?” she asked, quieting her voice. “Will there be ladies to tend me?”
Merlin actually shuffled his feet like an embarrassed squire. “That’s a conversation you should have with Arthur.”
Which meant she wouldn’t like the answer.
“Very well.” She walked to the nearest couch and sat down, folding her hands in her lap. “When will the king arrive?”
Merlin gave a slight shrug. “Not long. He’s meeting with his men.”
“I understand,” she said with a touch of acid. “His wife returning from the grave is a small matter compared to his knights.”
The enchanter winced. “There was a dragon.”
“Oh?” She raised a brow. “This is not the Forest Sauvage. How did a dragon get here?”
“We don’t know. That’s half the problem.”
“And the other half?”
Merlin opened his mouth, and then closed it. “Arthur will tell you.”
Which
