Vera braided her hair and laid it over her shoulder. She wasn’t sure how seventh-century hair would be styled, but a simple plait felt right enough. Merlin helped her position the circlet so the moonstone sat at the center of her forehead. She marveled at how it perfectly contoured to her head. Probably, she realized, because she had worn it before.

Merlin eyed her and shook his head. “Perfect. You look … like you.”

The longer they walked, the more cottages were on either side of the ever-widening lane. Foot traffic steadily increased, too. Nearly every person who passed greeted them with reverent bows or curtsies, murmuring, “Ma’am” or “Your Majesty” as they did so. They whispered behind their hands and pointed from across the street. Vera’s palms were clammy despite the evening chill. There’d not been a single time in her life when so many people paid attention to her.

She fidgeted with her skirt, making sure it lay correctly on her legs. “Is this sort of attention normal?”

“It’s normal for you, dear,” he answered kindly, taking her hand and looping it around his elbow. “They know you. I’d even say they adore you. Arthur is a well-loved king. You’ve been to Glastonbury many times. It makes quite an impression on people.”

“Do I need to be responding in a particular way?” she asked, trying to move her lips as little as possible.

“You’re doing well.” He patted her hand. “Smile, say ‘good evening’ if you like. That’s all you need do.”

This must have been the heaviest residential section. Houses butted right up against one another with occupants scurrying in and out, cook-fires blazing, and groups sitting together at outdoor tables for their evening meal. Vera heard more laughter than she’d expected. The lane ended and she vaguely recognized that this was where the High Street would have been. They rounded the corner, and she was not disappointed.

Her feet stuttered to a stop. Disbelief stunned Vera into stillness. The lane was lined with buildings, all stone or timber, and quite a bit smaller than the structures of Vera’s time. But it wasn’t the structures that took her breath away. Glowing lanterns the size of footballs were strung merrily, crisscrossing above the dirt road and bathing the lane below in a soft warmth. There were carts and stalls every few feet. Vera smelled the spices before she saw them. Vendors were everywhere selling their goods: food, jewelry, clothing, and fine fabrics. And then, there were artists with paintings, sketch work, and embroidery. As the music started again, Vera searched for its source and found the troupe of performers past the spice stall, playing a lively song that quickly revealed itself to be about a mischievous fairy who snuck into homes and blessed children with magic.

And, indeed, there was magic.

On closer inspection, the lanterns that hung across the street were not suspended by string but bobbed in place of their own accord. And they didn’t glow with fire, but some source unidentifiable to Vera. Across the lane, a young boy manned a cart. A woman behind him roasted sweet-smelling nuts on a blue fire. Vera noticed another woman further down, taking payment and levitating the customer a foot or so off the ground.

Everywhere she turned, there was something amazing. Merlin guided Vera through the throngs of people who all peered at her with as much interest as she did at them. She dragged her feet past two singers, a man and a woman, who mystically built a harmony of four parts between them. The Glastonbury she’d loved her whole life would forever be a special place. But this Glastonbury’s evening market was the whimsical street fair of fairytales.

“We must keep going, Guinevere,” Merlin said. The name was going to take some getting used to.

She let him lead her on without tearing her eyes from the happy spectacle around her. Too soon, they’d reached the end of the magical lane where the lanterns stopped, and the crowd grew thin.

“Arthur will meet us over there.” He pointed to the end of the High Street, into the quiet darkness where Vera could make out a barn.

Her stomach flipped over on itself. Merlin must have seen her expression change.

“There’s no need to be nervous. Reconnecting with him will help to loosen your memories. I expect you’ll remember him before you remember the rest. This will be good,” he told her.

His reassurance only carried Vera so far. She took a steadying breath and nodded. As they drew nearer to the stable, Vera saw that someone was seated on the ground outside it, his back against the wall. It was dark enough that she couldn’t make out his features, but he must have also seen Merlin and Vera, for he stood up. It hit her in the gut.

It was him.

“Why don’t you go ahead?” Merlin said. “I’ll give you two a moment.”

That really wasn’t what she wanted. She didn’t know how to make her feet work. How was she supposed to meet one of the most famous men in history as her husband? Jesus. Husband. She’d have laughed at the absurdity of it if it wasn’t also so terrifying. Vera didn’t have words or a voice to protest. She stood rooted on the spot. Merlin nudged her forward. She took a shaking step, then another.

Her heart thudded against her chest, and blood pumped so rapidly through her body that she’d swear she could feel it pulsing in her fingertips. She was sure the man could see how much she was shaking. Before she knew it, her feet were carrying her to him. He was handsome and tall, and his frame was neither broad nor narrow but lean, muscular, and fit. He wore a short beard cropped close to his chin, and his honey-brown hair was just long enough for a loose piece to swoop across his forehead. What she noticed more than all the rest was the kindness of his eyes.

As soon as their eyes met, a deep affection rose from her belly.

“Hello,” Vera said hesitantly.

She didn’t realize how rigid his mouth had been drawn until he relaxed at her greeting. The concern fixed into the lines of his face ebbed into relief, and his eyes glinted. He rushed to Vera and swept her into a hug. She tentatively let herself melt into it, experimenting with how it felt to lean her head into his shoulder and return the embrace, touching his back with one hand. He released his hands to her shoulders, bending his knees to drop to eye level with her. His brow furrowed as he carefully examined her.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I think so,” she said with a nervous half-laugh. Though she had no memory of him, Vera instantly felt like she knew him. This might work.

“Goddammit!”

Vera jumped at Merlin’s voice, cursing close behind her. “Where the hell is Arthur?” His glare burned into the man.

Vera tensed and turned back to the man holding her shoulders. This was not Arthur?

The stranger saw the shock on her face. He dropped his hands from her arms and stepped toward Merlin. “May I have a word?”

Merlin’s steady demeanor, which Vera had witnessed only minutes ago, swung to palpable anger. She supposed, considering the gravity of the situation, it was understandable. The unknown man, on the other hand, genially guided Merlin away, an arm slung around his shoulders like an old friend. Vera couldn’t hear their conversation but could see from his gestures and posture that the man was working to diffuse Merlin’s ire. She watched them without any attempt to hide her interest. If there was some reason Arthur couldn’t show up for a horse ride after she’d left her entire life behind, Vera felt entitled to know it. She’d assumed she would be the only obstacle to this plan’s success, not anybody else. It hadn’t occurred to her to wonder how Arthur felt about it, nor had she considered until this exact moment that Guinevere and Arthur’s relationship might have been an unhappy one.

When Merlin turned back to Vera, the other man tailing a step behind him, it seemed his efforts had not been in vain. Merlin still seethed, but the aura of fury had dissipated.