But he didn’t get any further. A sharp rap sounded from the door just before it opened to reveal Maria, already dressed splendidly in a billowing cobalt gown and with sparkling teal and turquoise around her eyes. The top half of her face was painted like the feathers of a peacock.

“I hate to interrupt an intimate moment,” Maria crooned as her eyes darted between Arthur and Vera, looking like she would have rather relished a more salacious interruption than this one. Vera disentangled her fingers from Arthur’s, more like embarrassed schoolchildren than spouses. “But we must begin preparing for this evening if Her Majesty is to be ready on time.”

“Can it wait a few minutes?” Arthur asked.

“No, Your Majesty! We are already behind schedule.” For how scandalized Maria sounded, Arthur may as well have asked her to betray him and the country.

“It’s all right,” Vera said, leaning close to his ear. Her lips were millimeters from his skin. Goosebumps rose on his neck. “Tell me later?” Why spoil the moment?

He brushed a hand down her arm. “All right.”

That was sufficient for Maria, who herded Vera out of the room with the tenacity of a border collie wrangling sheep. Vera risked a nip at her heels to turn for one last glimpse of Arthur, smiling as he watched her go.

Getting ready for the festival was not nearly as simple as getting ready for a day at the castle, the informality of which Maria bemoaned multiple times throughout the afternoon. To her credit, every complaint came with a suggested solution, usually including Maria’s permanent presence in Camelot. Vera did her best to graciously dismiss the subject rather than shouting a panicked “No!” each time it came up.

For the festival, though, Maria planned the afternoon flawlessly, arranging for Vera to have her hair and makeup done in succession. She’d heard of lead being used in some ancient rouges and fresh animal fat in others, so she was both relieved and delighted that the cosmetics were mixed fresh before her eyes. The rail thin woman with sharp eyes and painted pink lips had carted in her two bags filled with supplies. She told Vera tales of her years on the spice trade route while she performed her alchemy using beets from Egypt as a base for rouge, berries Vera didn’t even recognize for her lips, and dark dried leaves ground down to fine powder for her eyes.

Under Maria’s sharp instructions, the attendants helped Vera into the gown Randall had made for her as they gushed over his craftsmanship.

Vera adored everything about the gown. It was a work of art, a masterpiece she was honored to wear. She would not have believed this gown was possible if she’d not known that Randall had literal magic in his fingertips. It was a creamy white, with swirling vines embroidered all down the fitted bodice. The threads were a gold that was somehow the color of light shimmering in a creek. The gown’s neckline swooped deep, stopping below Vera’s bust, but it came to a narrow point so it avoided being uncomfortably revealing. The back dipped low to her ribs, and the sleeves were fitted to her elbows where they split. The remaining length of the sleeve hung free, revealing a bolder golden embroidery on the fabric’s reverse side.

They stood back to admire their work, looking satisfied, especially Maria. As Vera was wishing she had a mirror, Maria dramatically swept her arm across her body like an orchestra conductor. Instead of music swelling at her command, water from the trickling fountain followed her wave and formed into an upright column in front of Vera, creating a perfectly smooth reflection.

Vera hadn’t seen her reflection since she’d left the George and Pilgrims, and she nearly didn’t recognize herself. This was exactly how she hoped to look if she ever got married. Then she remembered that, indeed, she was living a life in which she already was married, so perhaps donning this lovely gown and dancing with a handsome king was enough.

Maria swept the water back to its place with a flick of her wrist.

“Is Arthur coming here?” Vera asked. Maria stared at her blankly. “To … escort me?” she added.

“Oh, goodness no,” Maria said curtly. “His Majesty is fully occupied until after your arrival. Sir Lancelot shall—”

“No he’s not,” the makeup artist casually interjected as she packed her tools into a leather roll.

Maria blinked at her uncomprehendingly.

“The king,” said the makeup artist. “He’s outside the door … said he’d wait there … until we’d finished …” Her voice trailed off as Maria’s expression transformed into one of horror.

“You left the king sitting in the hallway to wait?” Maria said, each syllable like a truncated slap. The makeup woman withered. They exchanged anxious glances, rooted to the spot before Vera rolled her eyes and marched to the door herself.

“Wait!” Maria called as Vera unceremoniously threw it open. Arthur leaned against the wall opposite. Maria groaned from behind her. “So much for a reveal,” she said.

Vera grinned as his eyes met hers.

Arthur wore a much finer belted tunic than usual with threads and toggles that complimented Vera’s gown. His dark hair was pulled into a knot at the top of his neck which, Vera decided in that exact second, was her favorite way he wore it. He stood up straight as he saw her, and with the pleasant, crooked smile he fixed upon Vera, something in his prematurely weathered face looked boyish.

“Hi,” Vera said breathlessly. “You look very handsome.”

Arthur blushed at the compliment, and Vera was thrilled by that. “Thank you,” he said, his eyes roving over her. “You’re stunning.”

Maria had no choice but to send them off with minimal fanfare, mollified only by the assurance that they were planning to lead the opening dance. Arthur offered Vera his elbow, and they walked to the festival grounds arm-in-arm, where they found their friends seated at the same table as before.

Lancelot rushed over to them, clapping a hand on each of their shoulders. Then he turned his attention to Vera and kissed her cheek. “Guinna!” he said. “You look gorgeous. Is this the dress Randall made?”

“Yes. And thank you.” She shoved her hands into the slits in the sides of her skirt, eager to show someone who would appreciate the best bit. “It has pockets!”

“Hell yeah,” he said appreciatively.

She felt the heaviness of Gawain’s stare before she saw him. Lancelot noticed and shrugged. “I think I’ve cracked him. He’s actually pretty funny.”

There wasn’t time to argue Gawain’s merits. Maria was already beckoning them to the front for the dance. It all happened very quickly. One moment, they were standing around a table with their friends, and the next, it seemed, they were out in the dancing area alone—with hundreds of Yule revelers’ eyes on them. Vera’s breath hitched.

“Are you nervous?” Arthur whispered.

“A bit,” she said.

Arthur and Vera began the dance when the musicians beside the stage started playing. Her movements were stiff as she focused all her energy on not screwing up, but during the first part, where she and Arthur got closer, she heard his deep voice softly singing and looked at him, wide-eyed in her surprise.

“I made up lyrics, too,” he said.

She shifted her focus to him, straining to hear the deep quiet of his voice following the melody.

“The king agreed to teach a dance, but His Majesty was full of shit,

And when the festival was ruined, Maria had a massive fit.”

Vera threw her head back and laughed.

“Not exactly a masterpiece,” Arthur said as he and Vera drew close to spin, but he smiled at having pleased her so thoroughly. The rest of the dance was looser and, unbelievably, even fun. The audience melted from Vera’s periphery, and she saw only Arthur. Each time they came close enough to whisper, one or the other would mutter the made-up name for the next move. She was almost sad when the song ended.