Arthur? Why bring me here?” Guinevere asked again, her voice shaking.
Why had he brought her here? He’d done no such thing, but he wasn’t ready to admit that. Not until he knew more. “Why are you rifling through my private space?” he countered.
“Your private space? Is there something here the Queen of Camelot cannot see?” Her color was rising to an angry pink.
“There are confidential matters that I would keep to myself.” Such as the many places he believed stone knights might be languishing. If his research fell into enemy hands, their lives might not be safe.
Gwen clenched her fists. “You’re not content unless I’m locked in a tower, deaf and blind to the dangers at our door!”
“You meddle,” he growled. “You have from the first day you set foot in my realm.”
That wasn’t exactly true. Their disagreements had grown with time. At first, he’d been conquering a realm and far too busy for his young wife. After the first few years, they’d begun to get along. But then she’d been ill, and then trouble had started: the scandal with Lancelot. She’d always claimed he was just a friend, and Arthur believed her now. But that hadn’t always been the case, especially after the incident with the Mercian prince. Then there had been their endless fights. In the end, he’d ridden off to war as often as he could. They couldn’t make each other unhappy if they were miles apart.
Her eyes flashed. “The realm is not just your business, husband. I am the queen. These are my people, as well.”
The air between them sang with frustration. Within seconds, they’d picked up the threads of their old argument. Arthur cleared his throat, cursing his anger. Her stubborn will ignited his temper at every turn.
“It’s dangerous in this time,” he said softly. “Even worse than before. This world is deceptive in its illusion of order and safety.”
“And you would protect me through ignorance? I’m not a child.”
His chest burned. “Remember the prince of Mercia.”
The man had been rotten through and through—young, handsome, a good dancer and witty conversationalist. He’d flattered Gwen when she’d first come to court, and later that flirtation had grown more serious. In the end he’d coaxed information out of her that broke a treaty and all but started a war. Gwen hadn’t even suspected trickery until it was too late. By then, both Gwen and Arthur looked like fools. It was plain he had no control over his wife—and any weakness in a king made their enemies bold.
“I know better now,” she said through clenched teeth. “I’ve said a thousand times how I learned my lesson.”
Anger made his voice cold. “Self-knowledge is good. Trusting you to stay out of the kingdom’s affairs is another matter.”
“When will you trust me?”
“I would take that chance if I was an ordinary husband with an ordinary life. I’m not that man.”
She visibly flinched. “And what would you have me do?”
“I would have you at my side.” He reached out, cupping her cheek and hoping to take some of the sting from his words. “As you say, you are the queen. A queen has a household to run and official duties to discharge. You make guests welcome, smile at our subjects and grace my arm at official functions.”
She lifted her chin, the movement breaking contact with his hand. “In other words, you want me to sit quietly like a good little mouse.”
It was a harsh statement but true. He didn’t want her involved in matters of state. Guinevere’s intentions were good, but she had always underestimated schemers. And now? Nothing had changed. Enemy fae were skulking around every corner. Many foes would try to attack him through his curious, trusting wife, and that meant neither of them were safe with her here. But here she was, his greatest vulnerability wrapped in an exquisite female form.
Arthur released the breath he’d been holding. She hadn’t moved—her arms still folded as if to protect her vital organs. Sadness took him then, an ache for the gulf that forever yawned between them. He reached out, taking one of her hands and unwinding that closed posture.
“Come sit down,” he said, with all the gentleness he could muster. “We need to talk.”
She frowned. “Why does no one say that for a happy reason?”
Despite himself, Arthur gave a rueful chuckle. “I don’t know, but you’re right.” He led her from the office and closed the door firmly behind them. He hadn’t been in the apartment long enough to invest in a lock for his office, but clearly it was time.
Arthur led Guinevere to the black leather couch and guided her to a seat beside him. The familiar swish of her long skirts stirred memories. At every step, a fresh storm of emotion ran through him—regret, desire and a strong conviction that she would bring nothing but trouble.
And yet...
This was Guinevere, the queen who made hardened warriors stand gaping like witless boys. Her beauty wasn’t just flesh and features, but a lively kindness that burned like a lantern through a winter night. It was her forthright ease with strangers, her wit in conversation and the charm that had turned his warrior’s castle into a shining court. In a small, secret corner of his heart, he was in awe of her. She made people love her with a smile. He’d needed an army before anyone would spare him a glance.
They sat and regarded each other for a long moment, as if neither knew how to begin. What was there to say? They’d faced the same problems so many times before: her independence and his need to rule, her curiosity and his protectiveness. There would be a fight, and usually he’d end it by leaving.
But what about reconciliation after the storm? That was the one consolation of their relationship, and he would rather begin again with sweetness than fury. Perhaps if he tried harder this time, maybe, just maybe he could make her accept his rule.
Arthur picked up her hand from where it lay on the black leather and kissed it. He lingered over the act, feeling her soft warmth. Her fingers were long and delicate, the palms slender and graceful. They smelled of scented oils and, beneath that, the richness of her skin.
When Arthur finally looked up, there was a flush high on her cheekbones. He felt a surge of pride that he had the power to stir her blood. But instead of smiling, the corners of her lush mouth turned down. “It has been a long while since you did that, my lord.”
“Too long.” He tasted her warmth on his lips, and it awakened old hungers. “An unforgivable oversight.”
“You left for battle and never came home again.”
He looked away, back into a battlefield strewn with carnage. “The fae swore to destroy Camelot, and then all the mortal realms. We just never knew when or how. We had to come up with a plan.”
“Merlin told me,” she replied. “You went into the stone sleep and woke up here. The fae have returned to carry out their threat.”
He nodded. “Morgan LaFaye is their queen now, but she is in a magical prison. It should hold her long enough for Camelot to strengthen its forces.”
Guinevere’s
