Vera shrugged sheepishly and nodded.

“I do love Matilda,” he said carefully. “But it’s never been romantic. She’s family. Our mothers were sisters. Matilda is the closest to a sibling I’ve ever had, except maybe Lancelot.”

Now it was Vera who laughed. “You could have mentioned that before.”

“I didn’t think to because—”

“Because I used to know.” She finished the thought for him and then corrected herself. “Guinevere knew.”

Arthur sighed. He stood and took a few steps forward. He shook his head and started pacing, deep in thought. “I hate that your life has been stolen from you. This is such a mess.”

“It is. I love my home. My parents. It’s a simple life, but it’s good.” She wasn’t sure how to reckon with her feelings but tried anyway. “But there are parts of being here that are rather lovely. I’ve never really had friends before. And … being in Glastonbury for the Solstice, getting to see it in a way no one from my time could even dream of?” She looked around and was re-stunned by the sunrise and the circle atop the Tor. Then her eyes fell on Arthur. Being here with him was the part that made her heart stutter. “This is spectacular. I’ll cherish this morning forever.”

Arthur smiled, though some of the mask returned, covering a flash of shame. He strode a few paces, turned, and did the same in the opposite direction. If she let the silence hang long enough, she knew he’d find the words he was struggling to churn up. But when he turned to pace in the other direction again, Vera realized she’d seen this before.

She gasped, and Arthur looked up at her, completing the vision, matching it perfectly.

“It was you,” she whispered.

“What?” Arthur was bewildered.

“Last Solstice, I was here. I was right here, sitting in this spot, and I thought I saw a ghost.” She swallowed. Her hands shook. “It was this. I saw this exact moment. I saw you.”

Vera regaled Arthur with the whole story on their way down the Tor—what she saw, how it matched up—all in great detail. “I know it was you,” she said. “I’m sure of it. Is that completely mad?”

But he didn’t think it was mad at all. Maybe the veil of magic and time was thin: same day, same place. Maybe it was luck. Either way, whatever it was felt like it meant something, that at least something that was happening was right with the universe.

They made a quick stop for Vera to change her shoes and throw on a dress before meandering on down the High Street. The street already bustled with the daytime revelers getting a jump on shopping the market’s celebration wares. Arthur stopped at a food cart for sweet apple pastries, piping hot but so delicious that even when the steam singed Vera’s tongue, she closed her eyes in bliss.

Wisdom would have been waiting to take another bite as the next one was more toward the middle and rich with even more gooey filling approximately the temperature of molten lava. The special drive of post-run hunger made a different decision. At that point, Vera had two choices, neither particularly graceful: let the bite fall from her mouth to the ground or do her best to suffer through it. Vera chose the latter and was inelegantly sucking fresh air into her scorched mouth to cool the traitorous apples as Maria approached. Arthur tore his concerned stare from Vera’s antics (which, of course, she couldn’t explain because she had a mouthful of food) to greet Maria.

For Vera’s part, she did her best to smile without fully closing her mouth (the steam had to have somewhere to vent), nor appear she was in absurd, self-inflicted pain, which she obviously was.

Maria took no notice. “Good morning, Your Majesties!” she gushed, her voice arching melodically over the words. “Look at you two. To see you together again … and my goodness! Inseparable, it seems. Well, I suppose it only makes sense after being apart so long.”

Vera squinted as she swallowed, another misstep as she now felt like her throat was hot enough to breathe fire. Maria, however, carried on. “We weren’t going to ask because we know the queen has been recovering. But now that we’ve seen the two of you together—that’s to say, we’ve seen how well the queen looks …” Maria beamed at her. Vera heard the hidden meaning. The rumors of trouble between her and Arthur had made it this far.

“Yes?” he prompted.

“Do you remember the year that the two of you opened the festivities? With the Yule Carola?” she asked.

“Yes,” Arthur said, and Vera began nodding, too, trying to play along. He bit his lip to stifle his grin.

“It would be so wonderful if you would do that tonight. Would you? Would you please?” Maria’s twinkling eyes settled on Vera.

“Certainly!” she said with a shrug, still in the tumult of her scorched mouth, but to the pleasure of an effusive Maria and to wide-eyed surprise from Arthur.

Maria practically squealed as she hurried off to let whoever know about whatever Vera had agreed to.

“What is that—the Yule Carola?” she asked Arthur. “Is it, like, a reading or procession or … recitation?”

“That—I cannot believe that just happened,” Arthur said. “Erm, no. It’s a dance.”

“Oh,” Vera said. “Shit.”

The worry dropped from his face. He laughed. “That’s all right. We have all day for you to learn it.”

They didn’t quite have all day. Maria made it clear that they intended to give Vera a more traditional royal treatment to prepare for the evening. But they had plenty of hours before that would begin, even after Arthur said he would need time to gather a few things. Vera and Matilda shopped the market for a while, where she found enough treasures to purchase that her full hands made the decision to return to her quarters easy. She hadn’t been there long when Arthur returned with his hands full, too—carrying a lute.

Vera raised her eyebrows at him and sipped the drink she’d poured herself. “Are you musically inclined?”

But he didn’t respond in kind. His eyes darkened and locked on her goblet. They shot to the corner where his saddle bags lay on the table.

“Where did you get that drink?” he asked with the edge of panic in his voice.

“I—bought some wine, apple wine, while I was out with Matilda this morning.” Vera fumbled through her words. “Is that okay?”

The stiffness dropped from his posture. “Of course it’s all right.”

What the hell was that about? “Would you like some?” she asked. Apples were a Glastonbury specialty in Vera’s time, too. The whole morning had felt like she was holding the end of a string in the seventh century with a kite on the other end in her time. Special. Mystical. She’d bought the wine intending to share it with Arthur.

“Er, yes,” he said rather awkwardly. “Thank you.”

He shifted the lute in his hands to accept the drink.

“So.” Vera tapped the instrument with her index finger. “What’s with the lute?”

“Ah,” he said. “We couldn’t exactly have a musician come and play the song for us while you learned.” It was a good point. It would be strange that Arthur needed to teach her. “I asked Gawain if he could come up with a way for us to have music to practice in private for this evening.” He held the lute up between them. “It’s a brilliant enchantment.”

Arthur laid the instrument on a chair and plucked a single string. The note rang through the room, and as it was about to fade to silence, the lute began to play itself, a short and happy melody that repeated twice.

“Is that the whole song we’re to dance to?” Vera asked.