by Kris Owyn
“Yes, well,” she said with a smile. “Impossible is what I do best.”
There was a knock at the door, and by the time Guinevere turned back, Ewen was already retreating into the shadows and out the back entrance. She checked the room once more, careful not to leave anything important or incriminating behind, and then called out: “Come!”
The door opened and Lancelot peeked in. “Who were you talking to?”
She frowned at him, playfully, like he was losing his mind. “No one,” she said, tidying the last of her belongings. “Preparation are...?”
“Nearly there,” he said, gesturing toward the foyer. “An hour or so, they reckon.”
“Good,” she said, closing the door and locking it. “That should do.” And she kissed him. Not the gentle kiss of a woman trying to steal a quiet moment, but the kiss of someone who was done playing games. She drew herself closer to him, hands pulling his head down to her, greedy for his taste, his breath.
“Wait,” he gasped, breaking free, but not moving away. “Wait, what’s happening here?”
“Haven’t you heard?” she asked. “My world’s inverted, Captain. I embrace my distractions now.”
And with that, she pulled him to the bed, and let go the last of her apprehensions. She fought with his jacket as he fought with her dress; their careful motions giving way to desperate pulling, tearing, touching. He kissed her neck, sliding her clothes off her, and his rough fingers traced every curve of her body in agonizing slow motion. She let it happen until she couldn’t take it anymore, and showed him exactly where to touch, exactly what to do.
He laid her down on the bed and stripped off the last of his clothes and, with her hands pulling him down, pulling him toward her, he paused with his mouth over hers, and said: “This won’t change who I am.” A question and a statement at once.
“No,” she breathed. “Just everything else.”
With a kiss, she ended his pause, and pulled him in to a fantasy even better than the one she’d imagined. His mouth knew just what to do, his hands gliding along her skin like he was reading her mind; she bit her hand to stifle a moan, but it was just no use... she let her worries go and dove into the moment for as long as it lasted. She laced her fingers around the back of his neck and brought him down for a kiss just as her body shuddered in joy, and he kissed her again. And again. And again.
They lay there, wrapped around each other, catching their breaths for longer than seemed possible.
“No one can know about this,” Lancelot said, after a time.
“No,” agreed Guinevere. “It will undermine both our—”
“I mean the King,” he said. “He’ll...” He turned his head to hers, put a hand on her cheek. “You know he loves you.”
She kissed him. “I’ve an addictive quality, it’s true.”
He kissed her back. “You do,” he said. “So be careful. For all our sakes.”
She laughed, climbed atop him, hands curious to see if they’d have time for another go before the wagons were set. And they would indeed, so—
A knock at the door frozen them mid-motion. “Lady Guinevere?” called Arthur, from outside.
They moved so quickly and silently, it was as if they both had too much experience keeping dalliances secret. Guinevere slipped her dress back on and clawed at her hair to straighten it out. Lancelot had his breeches on and was pulling on his boots when she pointed at the back door — the one Ewen had used earlier — and shooed him away.
She opened the door with a put-on yawn. “Yes?”
Arthur stared at her with a mix of confusion and bemusement. “Are you alright?” he asked. “They say we’re nearly ready to go.”
“Apologies, sire,” she said. “I must have nodded off.”
“Oh, well,” he said with a laugh. “It’s been a strenuous few days, hasn’t it.”
She smiled. “Strenuous, yes.”
The servants carried her belongings as they hurried down the hall; the castle was turning upside-down all over again, as the royal party with its heavy contingent of guards re-packed and reconfigured themselves for the trip home. They’d come with a fleet of wagons, but were leaving with a pair of carriages and one wagon; it made for a faster clip, but more opportunity for ambush. Soldiers running alongside a rolling vehicle were more prone to exhaustion, more likely to miss something they couldn’t afford to overlook. The quickened departure meant the predicted shifts were up-ended, and those who thought they’d take a nap the first few hours were suddenly re-binding their boots and making ready for a sprint. They didn’t look agitated by it, but the air certainly felt that way.
Guinevere and Arthur found Lancelot waiting downstairs, out of breath, his clothes in a state of flux. He was turning a letter over in his hand like he half-expected it to change its message if it were shaken enough, but when he saw them approaching, he snapped to attention.
“Ah, Lady Guinevere, good morning!” he said, a little too cheerfully.
“Captain,” she nodded, trying to recalibrate his sensibilities. “New from Camelot?”
At first, he seemed confused by the question. Then he remembered the letter in his hand, and nodded sharply, a frown spreading across his face that said that he was finally remembering who and what he was.
“Yes,” he said. “And I don’t like it. It doesn’t say anything.”
“What would you have it say?” Guinevere asked. “‘Our plans to implicate Gawain in high treason are ready, please return immediately so we may arrest him’? Rhos said enough, and no more.”
Lancelot pocketed the letter. “It feels wrong.”
“Your paranoia is charming, Captain. In small doses.”
Arthur laughed and patted them both on the back as they reached the grand staircase back to the courtyard. “I can’t tell whether I’m looking forward to this trip home, or dreading it. The two of you, contained in a carriage for two straight days...”
Guinevere shot him a look. “I’ll be in the other carriage, sire. I can’t—”
“But surely—”
“There’s just no room. The Captain won’t leave your side, and you won’t leave Merlin’s, and there are only four spaces in each carriage. But as Lady Adwen is staying behind, if I took you up on your offer, I’d be resigning Lady Eleanor to a long ride in solitude.” She shrugged, like the answer was an unassailable fact. “I’m sorry for ruining your entertainment, but there’s no other way.”
Arthur sighed, nodded in defeat. He started down the stairs, scratching the back of his neck again... and again, it struck Guinevere how much of an affable farmer he remained. She would have to break him of those habits eventually. Somehow.
Lancelot spoke quietly, without facing her: “Do you think he knows?”
“Not unless you keep acting like that.”
“I’m sorry, I just... I didn’t expect—”
“Hush, Captain. You’re losing your mystique.”
He sighed, nodded, looked down at the letter in his hand. It was like it weighed a ton, but as much as he wanted to drop it, he couldn’t. “Please tell me you have a plan,” he said.
“Why does everyone keep asking me that?”
“Because I don’t think anyone else can see the way forward. If Rhos doesn’t—”
“Rhos has been at this longer than both our lifespans put together,” she said. “He knows how much to write, and when. He told us it’s time, so it’s time. We’ll figure out the rest as we go.”
Lancelot was not appeased. “If this is how you operate, it’s no wonder—”
“What? That I make a mess of things?”
“That you ended up hiring me.”
She grinned, skipped down the steps and into the second carriage, where Eleanor was watching out the window, tense and agitated. When the door closed, she jumped.
“How do we know it’s sa
fe?” she asked, voice trembling.
“Oh, not you too...”
“No, I mean... Rinwell is still out there, isn’t he? What if his orders are to keep us here, in the castle? What if... what if when we try to leave, he—”
“Ellie, listen,” said Guinevere. “Even if Gawain wanted that — and he’s nothing to gain by it, at this stage — he’d be a fool to launch an attack on a royal caravan. We’ve enough guards to swat down anything he could muster, and all it would take is one of his men giving up a confession, to tie him to treason.”
The procession got underway, wheels clacking on stone, and it made Eleanor more and more agitated. She slid into a position she thought would protect her from an errant bolt — though in truth, a dedicated assassin could make any seat a liability, if he chose to. She huddled down, shivering.
The shutters snapped shut, and they heard the loud creaking of the outer gate being pulled out of their way. It would be a sprint from here to the highway, not in anticipation of trouble so much as to avoid the slow-downs associated with riding through London. It was harder to beg at the doors of a carriage when it was barrelling down the street.
There was a bump as they cleared the castle threshold and dropped down onto the rock-and-mud road leading down the hill and into the city. The carriage fishtailed, jerking back into alignment with a clatter that made the shutter jolt, and Eleanor yelp.
Guinevere put a bracing hand on her friend’s shoulder, nodded solemnly. “Ellie, I mean it. Gawain won’t try anything. He’s smarter than that. He won’t risk attacking the King.”
“But he has,” Eleanor protested. “At the coronation, he—”
“He sent someone after me, Ellie, for a whole different set of reasons that don’t apply anymore.”
Eleanor’s eyes were wide with fear. This wasn’t just some mild anxiety, she was traumatized by the thought of leaving that castle and returning to Camelot. Had she been so badly damaged by that mission Guinevere had sent her on? What had happened there, to make her like this? Why hadn’t she said anything? Guinevere felt a horrible pang of guilt, and the realization that she had no idea how to fix it.
“I was the target, not the King. Gawain won’t attack the King. I’m sure of it. He won’t.”
“But he did,” insisted Eleanor. “I saw them. There were two others, at the coronation. I saw them, I saw it all. They weren’t after you, they were after him. I don’t care what the inquiry says, or what Lancelot says, that man was aiming at the King. And if Gawain tried it once—”
“He won’t, Ellie, he—”
“If he tried it once in the heart of Camelot, what would stop him from trying again here, where he could blame it on—”
“But he didn’t do that, Eleanor.”
“You didn’t see it! You didn’t see—”
“Yes I did, and I’m telling you he didn’t—”
“How do you know? You’ve been caught off guard before. Gawain has done things you didn’t predict, done horrible things you never saw coming. If he...” Eleanor was starting to panic. The kind of panic that would turn into yelling, then screaming, then trying to throw herself out the door to save herself. If there were any dangers outside, that could be fatal. And even if not, should Arthur hear any of this, it might rekindle his overprotective nature, and kill their newfound partnership before it even got started.
Eleanor’s breathing was getting frantic. She grabbed at the shutters, fingers digging in. What happened to her, that night? Her voice cracked as she railed on: “If Gawain wants us dead, if he really wants us dead, what’s to stop him? He hired those assassins, and he can hire more! You say you know, but you’ve been wrong, Guinevere! You say you know, but how do you know for sure?”
Guinevere’s voice went to a sharp whisper, and she leaned forward: “Because I hired them, not Gawain.”
Eleanor sat back, stunned into silence. All her panic burned off in an instant, like she’d been struck across the face. She kept blinking, trying to make sense of what she was hearing. “You... you... I don’t...”
“Not to kill,” Guinevere said, trying to sort her excuses in her mind. “Just to... to make it look like—”
“Like Gawain had tried and failed,” Eleanor said, starting to piece together the elements on her own.
Guinevere nodded, and genuine remorse traversed her face, briefly. “It was a mistake. I was acting in haste, and I made a mistake, but you have to know I never would have let them harm the King. I—”
“Lancelot,” said Eleanor, and Guinevere paused. How much to tell?
“He...” she said, and faded, at a loss.
“That’s why he was there,” said Eleanor, rolling along on her own. “I could never figure why he’d have attended the coronation. At first I thought he was trying to intimidate father and, I don’t know, saw an opportunity? But it never quite fit. And you’ve been so good with him, all this time. Because you hired him—”
“Eleanor...”
“—to protect the King.”
Guinevere paused. It wasn’t the truth, nor the truth she and Lancelot had spun to cover their crimes, but it was a good one, nonetheless. It made Guinevere’s plot almost excusable, in a way... it wasn’t so much viable treason as it was targeted theatre.
“Eleanor, I need you to understand I had no idea it would turn out as it did. If I’d known what would happen, I would have found another way to—”
“No, Guin, you don’t need to... you don’t need to convince me of anything. I know what Gawain put you through. I was there, after all. If I’d been in your place, I can’t say I’d have done the same thing—”
“It wasn’t—”
“Because I’d have sent the assassins after Gawain,” said Eleanor, with a grin.
Guinevere laughed. “It might’ve been the better choice,” she said.
The carriage went over another bump, and the road quality improved dramatically. They were on an arterial road, now, and while it was still a far cry from the sophistication of Camelot, it went a long way toward calming Eleanor’s nerves. Guinevere gave her a wink.
“See? We’re not dead.”
“It’s early, yet,” Eleanor said, smiling.
They rode on, in silence, for a while longer, before Guinevere dared venture into territory she wasn’t sure she wanted to explore at all.
“Eleanor,” she said, delicately. “That night, back before... the night I asked you to—”
“The mercenaries,” said Eleanor, like recounting a funeral.
Guinevere nodded. “I never asked what happened when you... what they did when you...” She wished she had left it alone. She wished she could drop it, now, and never speak of it again. But: “Bors wouldn’t tell me what happened.”
“Bors doesn’t know what happened.”
A pause.
“Did they hurt you?” Guinevere asked, voice barely audible.
Eleanor, she laughed, bitterly. “No, not like that.”
“But they—”
“I did what you do. I’ve seen it a million times, so why not do it? I went in ready to win, and I...” She shrugged. “I thought I had him figured out. I thought I could manipulate him the way you manipulate people, make him give me what I want. But he... he twisted it all around, somehow. He used my words against me, he used everything against me, until I was begging him to stop, to leave me be.”
She drew in a shaking breath. “He never touched me. Not even once. But the threat of it made it... made me afraid to see daylight for far too long. Even now, I’m afraid of what might happen if I don’t... if I can’t...”
Guinevere set a hand on Eleanor’s, squeezed. “It’s over now.”
Eleanor whimpered. “You can’t say that.”
“I can. It is. And I’m sorry I ever put you in that situation, Ellie. I truly am. I felt cornered, and I made decisions that I
never should have... that I should have known better than to...” She sighed.
Eleanor looked pained to speak, but said: “And that’s what I worry about, Guin. About what we’re doing now. You were cornered back then, and you made a mistake. You felt cornered at the coronation, and it almost ended in disaster... how can you be sure that... wh-whatever it is you’re doing now, how can you be sure it won’t go wrong, too?”
“It’s different now. They’re different beasts.”
“But if anything, Gawain is more entrenched than before. You’ve a weak or wounded King on your side, but nothing else.”
“Yes, but that’s my advantage. Before, I was trying to remove an obstacle, so I could take my place in a system that, as it turns out, wants to destroy me. This time, I’m trying to remove the system itself. Finesse is entirely optional. Even if the whole place comes crumbling down, I’ll still have won.”
Eleanor took her friend’s hands in hers, brow bunched up as she tried to make sense of her thoughts. Finally, she said: “What worries me is how you’ll survive long enough to win. You’ve no money, no income, no way to pay for whatever plans you might hatch. All Gawain needs to do is delay, and you’ll run out of options. All he needs to do is wait for you to act out of desperation — and he knows you will, because he’s seen it before — and he’ll have you caught.”
“Well,” said Guinevere, “it may be a fight to the finish, but I’m confident the Crown’s coffers can outlast Council’s in a...” Her eyes shot open, and her smile gleamed in the dim carriage interior. “Oh, that’ll do just fine.”
“What? What will?”
“Everyone keeps asking me if I have a plan... well now I do. And it will be glorious.”
Thirty-nine
“Are you sure this is a good idea?”
Arthur looked at Guinevere through the door to his carriage, face twisted with worry. Beside him, Lancelot surveyed the twilight surroundings with an unhappy eye. He wouldn’t say it — he knew what it would do to Arthur — but he didn’t like what she proposed, either.
Guinevere did her best to seem nonchalant, despite a pestering dread in her stomach. “This problem needs to be resolved,” she said. “And this is the only way to do it.”