“He’ll kill me,” the boy went on. “Especially after what happened—after what I did,” he corrected himself, his words dripping in shame.

His eyes were pained, tortured even. She smiled sadly at him, wondering exactly how young he was. “What’s your name?”

“Walter,” he said, staring at Arthur.

Vera lowered her voice and moved closer to him. “Look at me, Walter.” She waited for him to tear his eyes from the king. “He doesn’t know about that. But if you let me win this game in the name of some misplaced chivalry, I will march right over there and rat you out.” She said all this with grave severity, but she ended it with a goading grin. “Come on, now. Show me what you’ve got.”

She pushed the ball into his hands. Vera wished she could convey to Walter that she was as nervous as him. Arthur stood precisely at the spot on the wall opposite Walter, which, of course, was the place it made most sense for Vera to stand in front of. She could feel his eyes on her back as Lancelot’s voice joined with the crowd’s cheers. “Stay in it, Guinevere!”

When Walter smacked the ball into play, Vera jumped out of the way and heard a resounding thud behind her as the ball slammed into the wall. He wasn’t holding back this time. Good. She gave a good show of it, successfully dodging a handful of strikes and even getting in a few solid whacks at the ball, but she wasn’t much of a match for Walter. Vera was off balance and distracted after catching a glimpse of Lancelot and Arthur, their heads inclined toward one another. Lancelot was talking quickly and gesturing at her as Arthur’s lips pressed flat together into an unreadable line.

Walter swiped at the ball, and amid her preoccupation with Arthur, it bounced off the wall behind Vera and nailed her forcefully, dead on in the middle of her back. She fell gracelessly forward onto hands and knees in the dirt and heard a collective gasp from the crowd as Walter launched into a stream of horrified apologies.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry!” He rushed to her side and reached out toward Vera’s shoulders, then pulled back, then reached out, apparently unsure whether he should touch her. Vera grabbed Walter’s hand to settle the matter, and he pulled her to her feet.

Her dress must have been filthy, and strands of her hair had escaped her braid’s valiant attempt to restrain them. Vera also felt the heat in her cheeks. There was no scenario in which falling in the dirt in front of strangers, let alone a real-life mythically famed king, was not humiliating. She’d forgotten they’d all keep looking at her once the game was over.

Nevertheless, Vera could sense that this moment was precarious for Walter. She beamed at him and raised his hand to signify victory. The tension in the crowd broke as the onlookers cheered and clapped with more enthusiasm than before.

“Thank you,” Vera said to Walter. “That was great fun.”

The soft-spoken boy in a man’s body blushed scarlet and bowed to Vera while backing away.

As many from the crowd clambered over the walls to join in for the next round, Vera made her retreat. The crowd had grown, no doubt, due to Vera and Arthur’s unexpected presence. Having spent her whole life being markedly, even unnaturally forgettable, the attention heaped upon Vera made regret swirl within her at having played in the first place, especially after insisting on a competitive end to it. She’d no sooner swung her feet to the other side of the wall than, everywhere she turned, she found someone vying for her attention.

“Welcome home, Your Majesty!”

“Quite a fall. Are you all right?”

“Fine game, Ma’am. Well played!”

She smiled sheepishly at the well-wishes, but there were whispers from some, too. She distinctly heard “inappropriate” and “shameful” as she made her way through the crowd. Vera felt a hand on her elbow and turned to find Lancelot with Arthur a half step behind him.

Lancelot bestowed Vera a slack-jawed chuckle. “I was not expecting that,” he said.

She chanced a glance at Arthur and was relieved that he didn’t look angry. He wasn’t smiling, though.

“Are you injured?” he asked in his stony way. It was the first time he’d spoken to her since the night she arrived. A tight flutter shot through Vera’s chest.

“Only my pride,” she said, managing a smile.

She thought Arthur’s mouth twitched at the corner but surely must have been mistaken, for his face remained cold.

“I didn’t know you were here,” she said.

He tilted his head in a gesture toward the training field. “I’m training with the soldiers today.” Arthur looked Vera up and down and opened his mouth as if to say something, but a bent old man with a cane beat him to the punch.

“Your Majesty,” the little man said in a squeaky voice, bowing low.

Arthur instinctively reached out to support the man at his elbow and smiled kindly at him. It was jolting to watch Arthur’s expression soften so dramatically. She’d only seen his face set and cold, controlled as a granite statue.

“I had no idea the queen was such a fierce competitor!” The little man said with no small measure of pride.

“Indeed,” Arthur agreed, turning his warmth toward Vera but only looking as high as her shoulder. Still, it nearly toppled her. “She was quite impressive.”

The old man waggled his cane at Vera. “I’d hope for nothing less from you, Your Majesty. And we are all glad you have returned to us.” He patted her arm and hobbled off with impressive agility. Watching him was a good cover for figuring out what she should say next to Arthur. This was her opportunity; he was right here and warmer than he’d yet been.

But when she turned to Arthur, it was to see his back as he strode away toward the training field.

Perhaps the one had nothing to do with the other, but it had been their friendliest interaction yet, and that night, Vera stopped midstride on her walk through the great hall when she saw Arthur’s seat occupied. There he sat, dressed far less formally than Vera expected. Nonetheless, his presence noticeably changed the room. There was an electricity in the energy of everyone present. And it was louder. The prior evenings when Arthur was absent, she’d been uncomfortable speaking much above a whisper. Tonight, a pleasant hum of conversation and bawdy laughter surrounded her.

Vera’s eyes flicked to Merlin, wondering if he’d had any hand in this. He smiled encouragingly.

From how Arthur was seated, angled toward Lancelot, who sat in the chair on his left, Vera’s approach around the table had her facing him. He kept his eyes on Lancelot, who was talking animatedly.

“And it wasn’t the only way we might have—” Lancelot stopped midsentence, diverting his attention to Vera as she stepped into his view. “Good evening, Your Majesty,” he said, and it forced Arthur to acknowledge her presence, too. He turned in his seat and inclined his head in a bow of greeting, stiff and formal.

As soon as she sat down, though, he bodily turned to Lancelot, his back an impassible wall that shut her out, leaving Vera to soak in her frustration—but not for long. As the meal was being served, a trumpet blared, and a melodic voice took command of the room.

“Our king welcomes this evening, for our courtly entertainment, the North Wind Players, performing The Most Tragic Tale of Dorchester.” The castle’s herald stood at the back of the hall and took a great step aside as he opened the door with a flourish, and an acting troupe entered to polite applause.

The room went silent as the actors took their places in the open space between the two tables. They held their poses for nearly too long, and precisely when the first antsy audience member shifted in his seat, they all began moving. The two on their knees in front pattered the floor with their fists. An enchanting woman in all grey with streams of fabric tailing behind her swirled through the room, and as she passed, a true sound of wind, the kind that meant rain was coming, followed in her wake. One actor jumped atop a table, holding a glowing yellow orb high above his head before he heaved it down at the floor. It shattered not into shards but with a final bright flash and a puff of vapor. The accompanying sound was the real rumbling crash of thunder. The vapor swelled and rose, darkening and expanding until the great hall’s ceiling was covered with a blanket of storm clouds.