“These are not your borders,” Arthur said, his voice terribly still and calm.
Maleagant ripped off the leg of a roasted fowl. “Are you waiting for Geoffrey and Gildas? I am afraid they will not be coming. Our land negotiations went well. For me.” He tore a hunk of meat from the bone, then reached out, snagging Arthur’s own goblet and taking a long draught from it. “These are my borders,” he said, setting the goblet down. “And, King Nechtan, you are most welcome.”
“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.”
A flush of surprise and pleasure coursed through Guinevere. She knew Arthur had noticed. But she was oddly delighted that it had bothered him on a personal level. “What did he mean, that I am younger than I should be? I am only two years younger than you.”
Arthur’s face twitched. He did not open his eyes. “Maleagant…knows more of my history than I would like. There is a reason I banished him instead of killing him.” His pause stretched so long that Guinevere wondered if he had fallen asleep. “Her name was Elaine. She was his sister. I thought she loved me. She told me she was with child, and I was ready to marry her.”
Guinevere could not manage to draw a breath. The rumors that Arthur was a virgin king were…rumors. He had loved and been in love before. Somehow this felt almost as painful a revelation as Merlin’s role in Arthur’s birth. But Arthur had never lied to her. She had simply chosen to believe gossip because she wanted to. She wanted him to be as new to all this as she was, because it made her uncertainty feel less humiliating.
“When I discovered Maleagant’s plans and misdeeds, I banished him, and in my rage sent Elaine to the south. She died giving birth. The baby, a boy, survived only a few hours. And I was not there.”
Guinevere lowered herself to the furs next to him. She took his hand in her own. “I am sorry.”
“Even when I knew she had deliberately trapped me—that Maleagant planned to assassinate me and use my child as a means to the throne—I still loved her.”
Guinevere flinched. Maleagant’s plan was not so different from Merlin’s. At least Elaine seemed a willing participant, unlike Arthur’s mother.
“Elaine begged me to be merciful. And because I put my own feelings before the good of Camelot, I did not kill Maleagant. My people will suffer—some may even die—because I acted as a man instead of a king.”