She glanced at her notepad of sketches, firmly gripped in Gawain’s hand, and made a decision. She took a diagonal step that intercepted Megan Dutton. “And I’m Arthur’s wife.”
Every mic and camera swarmed her way. Gwen gave her best smile. “Didn’t you know the celebrated leader of Medievaland’s tourneys was married?”
She’d offered the reporters fresh meat, and they obligingly pounced on it. “Why is this the first time we’ve seen you in public?” Megan asked.
“Of course, my husband is athletic and handsome, not to mention an excellent administrator, but he is also a very private man,” Gwen replied.
“For all the danger and excitement of the tourneys, half the attraction is the male eye candy. Did Arthur maintain the illusion of bachelor status to attract female fans?”
Gwen forced a merry laugh. “A truly determined woman would hardly notice my existence.”
“Are you sure? I’ve heard Arthur receives daily offers of marriage from his fan base.”
Oh, really? Something with fangs rose up in Gwen’s spirit, but she kept her smile in place. From the corner of her eye, she saw the men slipping into the Escalade while Clary remained firmly at her side.
“So tell us more about your romance,” another reporter asked.
Gwen’s smile grew genuine as she changed the topic from serious accusations to the romantic chatter village gossips would enjoy. It was something she’d always been good at, and people hadn’t changed all that much. They still liked a good love story.
“Have you seen your husband fight?” somebody asked.
“I’ve seen him fight,” Gwen replied. If only they knew about the troll.
“What about children?” asked Megan Dutton.
Gwen opened her mouth, but for a nightmarish instant, nothing came out. It was the one thing she never spoke about, and for reasons no one suspected.
The only time she’d followed Arthur to war, they had begun to settle into their marriage. By then, Arthur had united the kingdom and turned his mind to other things, including Gwen.
War in Camelot wasn’t like the images Gwen saw of modern battles. Most people walked to the battlefield, so progress was dependent on the weather. Supplies, including medical support, whores, laundry facilities and family members traveled in the baggage trains that followed the main body of the forces. That summer, the Queen of Camelot had followed with the other spouses.
Gwen had begged to accompany the army because she had a passion to understand Arthur’s world. The fight—a border dispute, really—wasn’t expected to last long or be particularly bloody. They would march, wave their swords, have a picnic and be home by Midsummer Day. But then halfway to their destination, it had begun to rain, and that lasted until the fields were lakes of standing water. Fever broke out in the ranks.
Arthur forbade her to go near the tents where the sick were tended. Gwen was supposed to do what she did at home—sit with her ladies, read poetry and entertain whatever guests Arthur sent her way. But the friars tending the ailing soldiers needed all the helping hands they could get. Besides, she had learned how to mix herbs and medicines, like any good mistress of a noble household. That included a knowledge of how to preserve her own health—an easy task when she was strong and fit and not yet twenty. She waved goodbye as Arthur and the healthy soldiers went on ahead, and remained behind to do whatever she pleased.
At first, she’d spared a few hours at a time tending the sick, but as the disease spread, she devoted every waking moment to her task. The fever touched all the mortals, both witch and human. Among Gwen’s charges were the three sons of the witch-born blacksmith, all of them black-haired, stocky lads. The eldest was just big enough to swing his father’s hammer.
The blacksmith stayed away, but their mother came. Every day she thanked Gwen for her care. “They’re all I have,” she’d say when she rose to leave each night. “Don’t let them leave me.”
“I won’t,” promised Gwen each night, for the woman’s plea broke her heart.
The youngest boy died first, and then the middle child. Gwen wept with the mother, sharing her grief, but tears could not bring back the dead. The eldest boy died last; his still, cold face a silent accusation when Gwen crept into the tent as dawn broke the sky.
“You swore you would not let them die!” wailed his mother. “Now all my sons have left me.”
“I’m sorry,” Gwen said, smoothing the woman’s hair and patting her back.
“Sorry? Is that all a great lady can say to a poor blacksmith’s wife?”
“I can’t presume to know how you feel.”
“No, you can’t,” the woman snarled. “Not yet, but you will. There is only one fit punishment for breaking your promise to keep my sons alive. You will never have a child of your own!”
Though all who heard the woman speak cried out in shock and fury, Gwen would not punish her, not even for speaking so to a queen. But the painful emotion behind those words carried weight, especially when they came from a witch. Not long after, Gwen fell ill herself, and in the fever dream the woman spoke to her again.
“As year after year passes by with no babe in your arms, you will come to understand my grief,” the woman said. “I’ll take from you what you took from me, and you will die unloved and alone.”
That night, Gwen nearly perished from the fever burning in her blood, and she almost died twice more before the illness ran its course. The blacksmith’s wife went to her grave soon after. That was just as well, for cursing the queen was treason in most men’s eyes, even though the woman was crazed with pain.
Gwen floundered, her spirit languishing although her body healed. Her guilt was indescribable, but she sat through Arthur’s scolding as he pointed out how he’d forbidden her to nurse the sick, and how that disobedience had nearly cost Gwen her life. He spoke like she was a willful child, which was true, but never mentioned the lives she’d saved at great cost to herself. It was that lecture that had made her decide to keep the tale of the curse to herself. And it sowed the seeds of the unhappiness that drove them apart, because in her moment of grief, he had judged her. That made it impossible to build trust.
She’d never followed him to war again, at first by her own choice, and then by his. She understood that he was afraid for her, but locking her away only gave her more time for regret.
And not once had she conceived a child.
Chapter 20
Hours later, Gwen found Arthur and slumped down on the rough ground next to him.
“Hello.” Arthur looked up with a smile. “My thanks for saving me from the slavering fiends.”
Silently, she took in the landscape with a frown. The bite of the ocean wind was cool as the late afternoon sun retreated from the sky. Arthur’s perch was high above the slash of valley that led down to Rukon’s nest. It would be possible to see the dragon coming for miles. It was perfect, except for one detail.
“I don’t see the cage,” Gwen replied without preamble. She was still rattled from the reporters, and her tone came out sharper than she intended. Her next words were softer. “I mean, did anyone work on it?”
“It’s done,” Arthur replied. “The men built the gate as soon as we gave them your drawings. It was elegantly simple, after all, and your instructions were clear. Merlin put it in place and reinforced the rest of the nest to form the sides and roof.”
Gwen took a second look. The dragon had chosen a deep hollow sheltered by a tangle of trees for its nighttime resting place. She could make out red-barked arbutus trees and the bright splash of rowanberries, but nothing else. She knew the others were supposed to be concealed in pairs around the woods. The scene looked deserted.
“Where is the gate?” She should have seen a frame of wood and steel balanced over the mouth of the cave, ready to drop once the dragon was inside.
&nb
sp; Arthur sounded slightly smug. “Merlin’s hidden it with magic, erasing even our scent. All we need to do is watch and wait.”
It made sense, but it felt as if the trap had become Merlin’s accomplishment and not hers. Or maybe that was just the memory of her father claiming her design for the Round Table. It shouldn’t have mattered, and the trap might not work, anyhow. That didn’t make Gwen any less unhappy. Or defensive.
“What’s wrong?” Arthur asked, taking her hand.
Gwen forced herself to be honest. “I’m unsettled.”
“Because of the reporters?”
“Yes.” They had kept her for over an hour. Afterward, Clary had taken her to a distant tea shop and fed her cups of chamomile and lemon until she was calm again. “The questions they asked were too personal.”
Arthur pulled her close until her head rested in the crook of his shoulder. “I’m extremely grateful to you. Your quick thinking made it possible for the rest of us to get away.”
“I’m glad it worked.” She wasn’t sure if she could endure another session like that. She turned her face into his chest, needing to feel his warmth. “They asked things no one has the right to know.”
His hand cupped her head, stroking her as he would a cat. “I’m sorry. That’s what they do.”
“If I’d been any less startled, I think I would have punched Megan Dutton.”
“I should have left Gawain there. He could have pinned her arms for you.”
She sniffed, trying not to laugh. “Clary was there for that. She wouldn’t let me answer some things.”
“Good.” He kept stroking her hair. It was hypnotic, and she began to relax. “Clary understands the media far better than the rest of us.”
“You should talk Medievaland into hiring her. Perhaps we really need a social media advisor.”
“Maybe I will. We could use another witch around.”
That was true, but not even magic could assuage the ache inside Gwen. The horrible memory of the blacksmith’s wife gnawed like an open wound. She’d wanted children, and not just because it was every queen’s duty to provide an heir. There were places in her heart waiting for small, young lives. She closed her eyes, forcing back tears.
She’d tried hard to put the memory behind her and move on. Despite her sadness, she’d had to continue living. And so she did, for years, although her marriage had slowly crumbled. Much was due to Arthur’s increasing preoccupation with the coming war against the demons, but she had to admit she’d withdrawn as well, crushed by what had happened and too afraid to share her pain.
But since the Crystal Mountains, everything between her and Arthur had improved. It had barely been any time at all, but it was enough to make her hope. Arthur had wanted her, and she’d almost trusted the happiness that brought. She couldn’t allow Megan Dutton’s curiosity to ruin it all.
“What did they ask you?” Arthur stopped petting her and looked down, clearly worried by her silence.
“How do you take the pressure of looking after a whole kingdom?” she asked, changing the subject. “How do you face it day after day?”
“I was raised to it,” he replied, the words flat. “I had a destiny, or so everyone said.”
“You were just a baby. An orphan.” Demons had murdered his parents. How could anyone consider that a destiny?
“Merlin took me to Hector, who lived far from anything or anyone. I grew up knowing the moment I left home I’d be a hunted man. And yet somehow I was meant to unite Britain and free it from the threat of the demonic overlords. Until I did, everyone I loved was in peril.”
Gwen sat back, studying him. Once in a very rare while, he’d spoken about the small things of his childhood—fighting with Kay, his foster brother, and all the usual pranks and spills of boyhood. He’d never spoken of this.
“My father, the great Uther Pendragon, couldn’t keep his family safe,” Arthur said, reaching over to brush a strand of hair from her eyes. “So how could I do better? It’s always been on my mind, especially after what happened to the fae. I thought the demon wars would fulfill whatever the fates had planned, but I only created more enemies. I’m sorry, Gwen. I pulled you into a life I cannot control.”
His words made her want to weep, and that made her glad of the gathering darkness. “But beyond a certain point, it’s not possible to control what happens. I don’t believe in destiny.”
“Then explain my life.” His eyes were shadowed with unhappiness. “Explain a sword in a stone that would come to only my hand. Then explain how my reign went so wrong I ended up here. Was one fated, and the other bad luck? Or am I simply doomed?”
He sounded lost, and she folded his hand in hers. “All I know is that you’re not responsible for everything that happens. Not to yourself, nor to those around you. We’re not puppets.”
“I’ve struggled all my life to figure this out.” He shook his head. “I truly believed you were better off if I was far away.”
She finally understood the conversation. “I accept your apology for leaving me behind.”
He smiled, but it was weary. “I’m glad. I’m not particularly good at saying how sorry I am.”
She used his hand to fold herself back into his embrace. When she settled, her back was to his chest, the top of her head beneath his chin. He wrapped his other arm around her and they waited silently as the stars came out, pricking the indigo sky.
When she finally saw the dragon, she nearly mistook it for a shooting star. It skimmed the hilltops, a speeding scrap of red flame. The bulk of its body revealed itself as it drew closer and she saw the fire was the glow of its breath.
She straightened to get a better view. “Look.”
Her focus should have been on the monster hurtling through the sky, but Arthur was there, right behind her, and his presence muted everything else. His breath stirred her hair as he sat forward, too. “I see it.”
Her gaze followed the dragon as it circled far above, no doubt checking for danger. She could see the long neck and tail snaking through the air, the wings working in a slow, lazy flap. There was no sense of urgency in its flight. She hoped that was a good sign.
It made a last turn and banked, sliding into a long and gradual dive. The rush of air over its wings reminded her of thunder, or wind filling a ship’s canvas. Branches snapped as it brushed them and the trees seemed to shudder as it pushed through the canopy. In another moment, it landed with a muffled crunch.
And now came the part where her skills were put to the test. Gwen tensed despite Arthur’s reassuring touch, and she moved to stand. Arthur pulled her down. “Wait,” he murmured.
Keeping still, she peered down, trying to match sight to the sound of something slithering over rock and brush. Was that the dragon crawling into its cave?
A white flash of magic filled the sky, the afterimage resolving into the gate perched over the mouth of the cave. Gwen heard the telltale click of the gate’s release and the bars dropped with a mighty thump. The instant they hit the earth, magic flared up the steel rods, turning them into bars strong enough to hold the great lizard. Merlin had done his work, and done it well but, she thought with pride, it had been her idea that had given his magic form.
Their handiwork was instantly put to the test. Rukon hurled himself against the bars with an outraged roar. Power flared, turning the forest into a phantasm of glowing light and dark, twisting branches. Arthur jumped to his feet, his gaze riveted to the scene.
“The cage is holding.” Merlin’s voice came out of the dark forest, making Gwen jump with surprise. “Magic works best with a physical shape to support it. Thanks to the queen, we might just survive this.”
“My compliments,” said Arthur. “To both of you.”
Merlin stepped forward, arms folded. His smile was grim. “Who knew that you and I would make a team, my lady?”
Certainly not Gwen. She said nothing, too transfixed by the outraged dragon throwing himself against the bars once more. A hollow pit was forming in her stomach. She had designed the cage for a good reason, but she still hated it. She was sure this wasn’t the dragon’s fault, and no creature should ever be trapped like this.
Arthur was already descending the path to the lair, Merlin a step behind. Gwen knew she was meant to stay where she was, safely out of sight, but she was responsible for the creature’s captivity. It only seemed right to look her prisoner in the eye. She descended a few steps behind Merlin, trusting her feet to find their way despite the darkness.
When they reached the floor of the valley, she could see Arthur’s men emerging from the trees. Some had flashlights, but a few carried candle lanterns, as if they still found old-fashioned firelight more comfortable than modern convenience. They barely needed illumination however, for the dragon itself glowed with rage, its nostrils burning like hot coals. Sir Owen stood to one side, his face tight with sorrow. Gwen knew precisely how he felt.
The dragon’s head could barely move in the tight space, but it scanned the group with its glittering eyes. “So this is your doing, little king,” Rukon said in a quiet voice that was somehow worse than any roar. “I will roast you for this indignity.”
“Do your worst.” Merlin stood directly before the cage, hands on his hips and an arrogant tilt to his head. “Your fire won’t make it past the bars.”
Rukon’s response was to peel back his lips, showing fangs like swords. “Then one day when you least expect it, wizard, I will eat you for dessert.”
Merlin laughed, as if the threat had genuinely amused him. “I hope you have antacids.”
Arthur stepped forward to stand beside Merlin, and executed a respectful bow. “I hope someday you can forgive this practical necessity, Rukon Shadow Wing, but I desire conversation with you and have no wish to fight.”
Royal Enchantment Page 17