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  "I see things, too Guinevere." Morgaine's voice bumped me out of my thoughts. "Not in the same way that you do, but what I see incites me to warn you."

  The severity of her tone set my nerves back on alert.

  "I know of your desire for Arthur's most valiant of knights."

  My breath quickened at her accusation.

  "I see a perilous future for you if you pursue these desires, Sister."

  "No, you misunderstand."

  "I misunderstand nothing. Though my cocksure brother may not notice such trifles as a batted lash and a blush on the cheek, a woman is wise to such gestures."

  Her gaze held me in check.

  My mind reeled back to the raven who oversaw our kiss, and I knew; it was Morgaine. Her confident stare told me there was no use in denying my affections for the knight.

  "Harm will befall you both. Would you see your lover injured for your favor?"

  Tremors broke out in my chest. I bit down on the inside of my cheek to refrain from an emotional eruption.

  "Good. We understand one another." She cocked her head again, examining me. "Then you will help me?"

  "Help you?" I wanted to say I would no more assist her than contribute the rope to my own hanging, but she continued before I could speak.

  "Guide Arthur to his proper place as High King—an unselfish, generous lord of the land. One who honors the old ways. Your influence on Arthur will bring him to center, Guinevere. He needs your kindness and generosity in order to become the king the land and people deserve."

  "But I don't possess such influence."

  "You will open his eyes by simply being yourself. You are the only one that can accomplish this feat. If not for you, Arthur will succumb to his base desires and his pursuit for peace will fail. All will suffer this loss."

  I wanted to say no, but I thought of all that was at stake—the dream of peace, the protection of an entire nation, my father's pride—and I knew my answer.

  "I will help you," I said.

  As my words formed, the Wooden Wisdom pieces on the table in front of us moved of their own accord, rearranging themselves on the board. I gawked, then focused my surprise on Morgaine.

  She smiled, this time her mouth turning upward until she beamed and resembled her brother. "You have chosen well, Sister."

  I started to turn, but Morgaine called out at my back, "Your dressmaker will have arrived at your chambers by now. My apologies for the use of your ladies to bring you here, but I feared you would not come if you knew it was me who called for you. Best to get fitted for your big day tomorrow."

  I continued on, grabbed hold of the doorknob, opened the heavy slab and exited. Even though no siege had been set on Camelot, I was caught within a game no less violent than Melwas' attempt on Camelaird.

  Chapter 8

  Rhosyn and Crystin had not waited, and I found myself alone in the hallway. Rather than head back to my chamber—the dressmaker could wait—I searched for Lancelot. Perhaps heading straight for the one man I should have avoided was foolish on my part, but Morgaine’s prediction of a perilous outcome for us prompted me to seek him out to warn him that our tryst had been discovered.

  After failing to find him in the practice yard or courtyard, I found him in the one place that made the most sense: the stables, tending Clover. The sharp smell of hay, horses and manure swamped the long row of stalls as I headed toward Lancelot, situated at the end of the barn, beyond my sight. Though I did not see him, I knew he was there. Aethelwine, perched on the stable fencing, called to me as I neared. Clover nickered and bobbed his head over a stack of prairie grass, while Lancelot's presence pulled me forth like a lodestone. As I rounded the mound and spotted the knight, he stiffened.

  All my nerve drained out of me when Lancelot refused to turn. His eyes flicked sideways, but did not seek my face. The darkened hallway of the stables cast shadows upon him, causing the chisel in his cheeks to deepen and his skin to darken.

  He focused his attention on stroking Clover's back with a bristle brush.

  "Lancelot, I…"

  He paused at my voice, but did not speak.

  "The other night when we…"

  Oh, Jesu, why couldn't I find any words?

  Lancelot reached over and unhooked Clover's silver harness.

  Before he could remove it, I reached for the knight, settling my hand on his. Warmth spread through my palm as I touched him. He turned toward me. His dark eyes caught mine, and I fought the urge to drown in them. His hand softened at my touch, causing the muscles of his forearm to ripple. The strength of him weakened my knees, and I struggled to stay upright. I wanted to sink into him, give over to him and feel those strong, broad, capable hands upon me, but knew I could not—I had to remember I was here to warn him, not to give over to him.

  “I have been meaning to talk to you about that night.” His tone was low and rich but edged with apprehension.

  A lump pressed against my throat, and I swallowed. “Yes. Me, too.”

  “I didn’t mean—” he started.

  “When we—” I said at the same time.

  We laughed—a hesitant, faltering sound.

  “You first,” I said, keeping my hand upon his, unable to pull it back to the safety of my side.

  He remained steady under my touch as well, unwilling to disconnect from me.

  “I never meant to bring you more pain.”

  “Well,” my words formed before I could control them, “the stammering backwards and fleeing into the night was a dead give away to repulsion on your part.”

  A smile spread his lips. “You think I was repulsed?”

  “Yes,” I said. “You made your feelings clear. Which is good.”

  He turned his body toward mine, leaving only a hair’s space between us. My heart quickened.

  “And why is that good?”

  His body hovered closer to mine. The heat of him saturated me, and I fought the desire to wrap my arms around him and pull him into me.

  “Because,” I said. “Morgaine knows.”

  He stiffened, his body straightening. “Knows what?”

  “That we… That first night on our way here when…” I swallowed hard again, unable to admit our sin.

  “We kissed?” he finished for me.

  I nodded and cast my gaze downward. My skirts touched his trousers, existing together without a struggle. “She knows how I feel about you.”

  He held my chin between his forefinger and thumb, raising my head to meet his eyes. The warmth of his fingertips spread across my face, heating my cheeks. His eyes simmered as he gazed at me.

  “How do you feel about me, Guinevere?”

  “I—”My mind told me to lie, to tell him I didn’t feel anything for him—that I was marrying Arthur and would be Lancelot’s queen and nothing more, but I couldn’t.

  “If I was not Arthur’s knight, and you were not going to be his queen, how would you feel about me?”

  Tears burned the edge of my eyelids. I closed my eyes to attempt to keep them at bay, and whispered, “I would love you as a woman loves a man.”

  He guided my chin upwards as his lips met mine. I tasted him, greedily.

  “As I would love you,” he whispered back.

  His admission spread through me; my insides melted. The flood of emotions I had attempted to keep in check thundered forward. Loving him—him loving me—felt so right yet I knew in the logical part of my mind that it was also wrong.

  He nipped at the plumpness of my lower lip. I caught his lips between my own, nibbling him back, over and over until our mouths encompassed one another’s. The flood of emotions bursted, and I crumbled at the sweetness of our connection. Tears streamed over my cheeks, spilling until we shared the saltiness of them as we kissed.

  “You do not repulse me,” he said as he caught his breath.

  “I think you just made that clear,” I replied, capturing his lower lip playfully between my teeth.

  “When every logic tells me to stay aw
ay,” his breath quickened as he continued to nip at me and explore me with his tongue, “that you are too far above me, that you are meant for a king, that your duty and mine outweigh our own desires…” he pressed into me, and I felt every bit of him against me.

  My body responded, heating, pushing back into him and begging for more.

  “I find my arms around you and I am unable to control my longing for you.”

  “No good can come of this.”

  “I know,” he admitted, “though I have tried to put you from my mind, I cannot.”

  “Morgaine said if we were to give in to our desires, we would travel a perilous road.”

  He pulled back, breaking the dance between our lips. “She threatened you?”

  I nodded.

  His eyes flashed from tender to protective.

  “Be guarded with Morgaine. She is a dangerous and many-layered adversary.”

  He pulled me tighter. With our chests pressed together, the thunder of his heart pounded in rhythm with my own. He wiped my tears with his thumbs; I caressed his fingers with my lips as they moved across my cheeks.

  The crunch of hay underfoot caused me to turn my head.

  I glanced toward Clover, who stood patiently, the brush fallen to the ground and abandoned sometime during our tryst. Then I spotted Elibel. Watching us.

  * * *

  My cousin's cheeks paled at the sight of our embrace. Her colossal eyes rounded into an expression of shock. She turned and broke into a run; her skirts whipped as she sprinted down the row.

  "Elibel! Wait!" I called.

  I pushed Lancelot back, breaking away from him. His actions were swifter than my own as he readied to pursue her, but I shook my head.

  “I need to talk to her alone,” I begged.

  He understood without another word, gesturing for me to follow my cousin.

  My legs pumped as I sprinted after Elibel. Squires stopped their work and jogged to the sidelines to inquire about the commotion. I slowed as a crowd formed, assuring the onlookers that all remained well in an attempt to deflect their attention.

  My cousin continued at a run, escaping into the stable yard before I could catch up with her. Her curls sprang around the middle of her back as she jogged, but her lack of stamina and the bustle of the yard forced her to slacken her pace.

  I accelerated mine, and with the longer stride my height afforded, I finally overtook her with a fast walk.

  "Cousin, wait!"

  She refused to acknowledge me, dodging oncomers with her skirts hefted in her fists.

  "Please, Elibel, I can explain."

  Could I? Even as I said the words, I knew I couldn't. What drew me to Lancelot remained inexplicable—as if his mere presence removed my ability to reason. My world blurred whenever he was near. Everything disappeared but him. My body reacted as if our physical forms needed to unite with or without our consent. When I was snuggled within his arms, a safety and assurance I had never known encompassed me, and I did not ever want to leave the sanctuary of him. Yet, how could I justify my actions to Elibel?

  "You don't deserve him." Elibel turned on me. The beauty of her eyes disintegrated into hatred.

  "I know. He is kind and patient and observant and loyal. Lancelot is—"

  "Not Lancelot!" she yelled.

  I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into the crook of a nearby building, shushing her with a finger to my lips, hoping no one overheard us.

  "Arthur. You do not deserve Arthur." The venom in her voice confused me.

  "Arthur? Elibel, you know I must marry him—for the sake of Camelaird, for the protection of my father. I have no choice."

  "You had a choice. He gave you the choice, and you still agreed to marry him."

  My mouth swung open. Blood rushed into my head, causing my temples to pound. Suddenly, her aloof behavior, her jabs at my conduct all conspired to make sense, and the root of her anger clicked into place. Elibel wanted to be with Arthur.

  "How do you think I felt, watching you give him your conditions of marriage?"

  "I—"

  "Making me one of your conditions!"

  I shook my head, wondering how I could have missed it. “You’re right,” I said. “I should have seen what was upsetting you, but I was so preoccupied with my own problems, I became blinded to yours. But, Elibel, you must know that my agreement to marry Arthur had as much to do with protecting Camelaird as it did with freeing you—so you could choose who to love. I thought I was extending a kindness.”

  Elibel snorted with disgust. “Kindness? Is that what you call it?” Before I could answer, she cut in, her tone slicing through me. "What does my freedom matter when you took the only man I ever wanted? And now, to make matters worse, you cannot even honor that man by giving him the simple dignity of fidelity. You are not worthy of Arthur, and he deserves to know of your treason."

  Elibel tugged her sleeve away from my grip. She swiveled and sashayed back into the bustling crowd—toward Arthur’s fortress, and I knew there was nothing I could do or say to stop her. Unless I made the confession to Arthur myself.

  Chapter 9

  I scrambled through the crowd. Despite the sun glaring overhead, casting shafts of white light on the walls of Camelot, a chill spread through me as I wound through the streets, heading toward the fortress that housed Arthur and his knights. The dampness in the air remained; the humidity accentuated the heady smell of garbage and too many people and animals jammed within the city walls.

  After entering the west tower, I slunk through the corridors, asking an occasional guard where Arthur could be found. I hoped, in the labyrinth of halls and rooms that composed Camelot’s fortress that Elibel would have as much difficulty finding Arthur as I did. A serving woman informed me that Arthur was overseeing the setup of the Round Table in the great hall, so I scampered in that direction.

  As I ran down the hallway, my skirts hiked in my fists to increase the odds of a quick and steady step, darkness, like a storm of clouds, swamped my vision. I blinked, swiveling my head side to side, attempting to clear my sight. A row of windows flanked one side of the corridor, yet barely any light entered.

  The caw of a raven echoed in front of me. I swirled to face the noise. Then a fluttering of wings sounded behind me, causing me to spin frantically once again.

  “Morgaine?” I called. My voice echoed against the stone walls.

  Within a heartbeat, the corridor appeared to narrow, stretching far away on both ends and closing in on both sides of me. This cannot be. But I knew all too well the sign of druid’s magic after the attack at Camelaird.

  A clammy coldness overtook my palms. I wiped my hands on the satin of my gown, releasing my skirts and spreading my arms wide to attempt to hold back the impending walls before they could crush me—as if I could muscle them backwards by sheer will alone. Of course, they would crush me.

  But before they reached me, they ground to halt.

  “Morgaine?” I called. “Is that you?”

  A low skittering noise, like thousands of tiny claws scratching, started at both ends of the hallway. I squinted, attempting to discern the black bubble of mass multiplying in either direction. The mass clattered as it grew, spilling over like an evil fountain, spreading toward me like a raging river. I scrambled back, toward the wall, but with the blackness imposing on either side, there was no place to run. I pressed my back flat against the stone as my heart hammered erratically. The dark mass took the form of thousands of beetles—big, thick, black bugs—scrambling over the top of one another to get to me.

  I tried to scream, but no sound formed in my throat as my body seized into a state of frozen fear.

  As the beetles met in the center of the hallway, a pace from where I stood, they mounded on top of one another, climbing up and up until they formed a human figure.

  A green glow burned in the center of the topmost mass. Gold-blonde hair sprung from the darkness and within a blink, the insects morphed into a white-robed Morgaine. She swa
yed before me, her lips and forehead pressed into an angry line.

  "You disappoint, Sister."

  I swallowed hard. There was no point in denying what had just happened between Lancelot and me. She knew.

  "Do you spy on me? Or did Elibel tell you?"

  "So, you fear your lady will betray you?"

  When I didn't answer, Morgaine continued, "You should keep a tighter rein on your servants. As for spying, no need. The Wooden Wisdom's board told me all I needed to know. You have gone against my warning, Sister, after pledging your assistance. I do not take betrayal lightly."

  "What will Arthur do with me?"

  "Marry you."

  "Marry? But—"

  "Arthur needs you to legitimize his claim to a noble bloodline, so he can ascend to High King without protest."

  "But I can't. Not after Lancelot and I—"

  "You would leave an entire country at the will of my brother's over-inflated self-interest over a trifle with a knight?"

  "It is no trifle. I love Lancelot."

  "You have not consummated the affair. There is still time to leave off and fulfill your duty as Queen."

  I wanted to vomit at the thought of leaving Lancelot, yet my obligation to my crown still remained.

  "I assure you, Sister. You carry great influence over my brother. I already see it in his eyes. He's fascinated by you—by your kindness and selflessness. You are everything he wants to be."

  How could that be true? I had turned into nothing but a selfish child, acting on my own desires. "I will tell Arthur of my transgression.”

  “That would be unwise.”

  “He will find out anyway. Elibel is on her way to inform him.”

  “No, she won’t. I can assure you she will keep your secret. Best to leave it be.”

  I wanted to ask how she could be so sure, but I supposed her Wooden Wisdoms board saw into the future as well as seeing the present.

  “I could take leave and return to Camelaird. My father will protect me from any outrage I will undergo on the part of my betrayal to Arthur."

  "Perhaps," said Morgaine. "But your knight will not fare as well. Even touching you would be a slight to Arthur's pride. If you don't marry my brother and use your position to sway his command, Lancelot will be tried for treason and put to death for his offense."