Vera felt an irrational certainty that, the strange kindness of bouquets aside, something had happened to make Arthur treat her so poorly. And she knew who she really needed to ask. Based wholly on her experience so far, if there was something Guinevere had done, Lancelot would know—because it would have happened with him.

It was unseasonably warm when they set out in the early morning darkness. Lancelot didn’t mention Arthur’s behavior the previous evening, but he did watch Vera more closely. Like she was a tea kettle on the edge of boiling, one that would scream out any moment. She was used to their route now, but he turned right instead of left at the fork in the road, and Vera followed without question. It would be nice to have a diversion from the conversation she knew needed to come at the end of their run.

She enjoyed the new trail and could understand why he’d held off on it until he knew she was capable. While the other wove between and around hills, keeping the loop submissively flat, this trail was narrower and took them into the woods, where it climbed and fell frequently. But it was lovelier, even in the dark. The trees they ran through were rich with their autumn leaves, and Vera could hear flowing water nearby.

Twenty minutes in, Lancelot stopped. He’d not done that during their runs before.

“What’s wrong?” Vera asked.

He turned off the trail and held aside a bendy branch, beckoning Vera to follow. “Nothing,” he said. “Wanted to show you something.”

She followed him down a well-trodden game trail, the sound of rushing water growing in her ears until the branches thinned and gave way to a grove straight out of a fairytale. A pond lay before her with water so clear that she wasn’t sure where it began until a frog jumped in, and the widening ripples traced the outline of the shore. On the opposite side was a tree so vast and ancient that the trunk was the size of a small cottage. She turned to match the sound to a stream gurgling down the rocky hillside and falling into the pond from ten feet above, a narrow curtain of a waterfall.

Vera turned back to Lancelot, her joy at this place on her lips, just in time to see him taking off his shirt.

“What are you doing?” she asked, aghast but laughing.

“Going swimming,” he said, as if it were the most obvious answer to the silliest of questions. “Can’t imagine we’ll get a day warmer than this before spring. And I have a rule that I follow fastidiously: when you come upon a beautiful body of water, always go swimming. Always.”

He took off his shoes and dropped them in a pile with his shirt, leaving him only in his trousers. He tossed the orb light underhanded in a high arc over the pond, but rather than falling after reaching its highest point, it stopped and hung there, a miniature moon that only answered to the tide of the sacred grove.

Lancelot scrambled up the rock next to him and unwrapped a rope from the tree branch above. He held tight just above a hefty knot at the end, swung from the side, and dropped, his body in a tight cannonball, right into the middle of the pond. An impressive splash exploded in all directions around him.

He resurfaced moments later, positively howling and gasping the specific sound humans make when shocked by cold water.

“Catch the rope, Guinna!” he called between gasps.

Vera, obligingly, did as it swung back toward the shore. Lancelot laughed loudly into the night, especially when he saw her disbelief.

“It is rather cold, Your Majesty,” he said. “Not suited for a lady’s disposition.” He ducked his head underwater and swam away without giving her time to retort.

“Dammit,” Vera muttered. He had her number. There was no way she was staying on dry land now. She climbed up on the rock and secured the rope before taking off her trainers and socks. She hesitated with her hands over the buttons of her trousers. She could stay fully clothed but then would have to finish the run dripping wet. Or she could undress as fast as possible and get in before Lancelot caught a glimpse of her mostly naked body.

He was still underwater. She heard the splash of his kicks as he swam away from her and saw the ripples extending in his wake. Vera sighed. She fumbled with the buttons at her waist and wiggled her trousers off. She flung her shirt over her head and tossed her garments into a pile, save for her sports bra and underwear, before grabbing the rope. Vera held tight with both hands and swung. Her drop into the water was less coordinated cannonball and more indelicate flailing.

She hit the surface with a slap and a splash, and the cold surged over her, waking up every inch of her body. Vera came back up, gasping and shouting gibberish as Lancelot flung both fists into the air.

“Yes!” he shouted, bobbing up and down as his legs treaded water beneath the surface. He left one open hand raised and stared at Vera expectantly. She shrugged while doing a breaststroke in place to keep afloat.

“I know I’m new to this, but I’d say that’s a high five–worthy action,” Lancelot said.

“Oh!” Vera laughed. She swam over to him and clapped her hand to his. She deliberately kept her eyes above his chin, away from his bare chest. A week ago, she wouldn’t have had a second thought about seeing a man shirtless, but context was everything. Vera was surprised by many aspects of seventh-century life, yet she felt confident that this was dangerous territory.

Lancelot swam toward the waterfall, and despite her misgivings, Vera followed. With each stroke, the water became more bearable. By the time they reached the far side, she was almost of the mind that it was pleasant. He waited for her outside the curtain of water until she drew even with him.

“Can I show you something on the other side?” he asked her.

Vera nodded.

“It’s a bit dodgy here. Stick with me,” he said. Beneath the water’s surface, Vera felt him take her hand. They took a deep breath together and plunged under. She immediately knew what he meant. Beneath the waterfall, the water churned in a way that could have easily disoriented Vera and tossed her upside down without the tether of Lancelot pulling her forward. It didn’t require swimming far to pass beyond into the calm shallows. She found the rocky ground beneath her feet and stood up, her neck and shoulders breaking the surface as Lancelot dropped her hand.

It was very dark. The light that he’d suspended over the pond didn’t reach back here. Vera could barely make out his form, scurrying ahead of her.

“Just a moment,” he called.

Vera blinked as a new orb glowed to life. It took her a second to make sense of what she was seeing. First, it was merely the orb. Then, she realized that Lancelot was holding it and smiling—and he was standing on the dry rock ahead of her, but they weren’t outdoors. They were in a cavern with smooth rock walls. The only discernable opening was the way they’d come in, under the waterfall. Vera half walked, half swam, and clambered onto the shore. Lancelot was already rummaging in a box at the base of the wall.

“Here.” He held a blanket out behind him without turning to face her. He kept his eyes on the wall until Vera had it wrapped around her, holding it closed beneath her chin. He procured a second blanket and did the same for himself, both of them like children playing dress up in makeshift capes. Lancelot sat on the ground, using one corner of his blanket to dry his hair. Vera sat next to him and raised her eyebrows, bemused. She was not the first person he’d brought here.

If he noticed her reaction, he ignored it. He beamed at her. “What do you think?”

“This is … amazing. How did you find it?”

“A mixture of good luck and mischief, I suppose.” Lancelot absently ran his hand over the smooth pebbles at his feet, picked one up, and began tracing his thumb over it. “Come to think of it, that’s how I’ve found damn near every good thing.”