It was a common theme. Others emerged into the light from various spots along the edges, giggling and breathless. Though they’d obviously been partnered up off in the darkness, many came back one at a time like Lancelot, making some effort at discretion.

Lancelot jolted when their eyes met, his expression tightening with panic.

She didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable that she knew. Why should she care if he and this woman had enjoyed one another’s affections? She raised an eyebrow, glanced at the dark-haired woman she suspected had been Lancelot’s partner, and grinned knowingly back at him, hoping to assuage his concerns. His gaze ticked toward the lady, and now, caught red-handed, the fear dropped, replaced by a crooked smile and a roguish “What can you do?” shrug.

She didn’t say a word when he joined them back at the table, and the others came along shortly, too—except Gawain, who aided in lifting the trees onto the fire with his magic. He held his hand in a fist in front of his face and worried his thumb back and forth between his fingers, his dark stare trained on the trees hovering above the bonfire. When Maria signaled him, he dropped his fist to his side, and the trees fell with it and slammed into the fire with a crackling thud. Flames leapt hungrily at the fresh kindling and swept it up into the fray in seconds, sending an upward explosion of fire high into the air. The crowd gasped, and clapped, and cheered as a rush of hot wind from the fire blew past them all.

The spectacular effect of it lit the festival as brightly as midday though it was much closer to midnight. Vera caught a clear glimpse of Arthur, his eyes glassy like she’d seen them only once before; the first night they’d met. Though that was the extent of the similarities. Tonight, she saw nothing but happiness in them.

“Your Majesty,” she said coyly. “Are you inebriated?”

Arthur chuckled and raised his hand to show her the slightest sliver of air between his index finger and thumb. “Tiny bit,” he said.

Vera laughed, leaning into him and dropping her head onto his shoulder, a casual gesture of affection. Her marked lack of inhibition reminded her that she wasn’t entirely sober either. Arthur looped his arm around her waist as easily as if he did it all the time. She looked up from the safe crook of his arm and found Matilda watching them with a discerning glint in her eyes. Suddenly embarrassed, Vera sat up. Arthur pulled his arm away as casually as he’d placed it, mid-conversation with Percival on his other side. Still, he seemed aware of her every move.

His voice was at her ear when she could no longer stifle a yawn. “Guinevere,” he said. She felt a pang at the name. She was used to it by now, but when he used it, guilt stirred. Once, it had been because it reminded Vera what an imposter she was, trying to fill his dead wife’s place. Now, Vera ached for him to say her name. For him to want her, not Guinevere. “Are you ready to turn in for the night?”

“Only if you are,” she said, though she was thoroughly exhausted. Arthur was already rising from his seat and offering her his hand. Like the night before, Matilda stood to accompany them to help Vera change for bed.

Vera stopped her. “I won’t even rock, paper, scissors you for it. Stay here and have fun at the party. As your queen, I command it.” She hadn’t had the nerve to throw around her position’s weight before and found she rather liked it.

Matilda laughed and shook her head. “Yes, your stubborn majesty. As you wish.”

“Lancelot,” Vera called, interrupting his animated conversation. “Running tomorrow?”

He mirrored her energy and raised his cup to her. “Not a chance in hell!”

Arthur grinned at the exchange, and as “goodnights” and “merry Yules” were bid across the table to one another, he slid his arm around Vera’s waist, and she did her best to pretend this was ordinary and that she wasn’t thrilled by his touch.

It helped some that Arthur sang his made-up words to the song, Vera joining in and making them sillier. They wore the shadows of their laughter when they reached the room. Someone had come by and set a fire blazing in the hearth. The candles all along the wall were lit as well.

“That was so much fun!” Vera said. She took off her quartz crown and set it aside before she uselessly began trying to reach the ties on the back of her dress. It had her squirming and stumbling backward, which put Arthur in stitches so forceful he collapsed into the chair behind him.

“Be a gentleman then and help me,” she chided.

“That’s a first,” he said with a smile. “A lady tells me to be a gentleman by demanding I help her undress.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but Arthur held up a hand. “And I will gladly oblige.”

They were both laughing as she turned away from him, and his fingers fumbled with untying and unfastening various parts on the back of her gown. “I might have been better off struggling through it myself,” she teased.

He got it untied right after she said that. Vera felt the bodice loosen. It may have been her imagination, but she thought Arthur’s fingers lingered on the bare skin at the small of her back for a second more than they needed to. She closed her eyes. A shiver rushed through her. She was glad he couldn’t see her face.

She heard his footsteps retreating across the room and knew he’d politely turned away, giving her privacy as she changed into her nightgown.

When she turned to face him, it was to find him struggling mightily with the toggles beneath the neckline of his tunic. They made eye contact and burst into laughter.

“I suppose it’s my turn to be a lady and help you undress,” she said.

“I don’t know,” Arthur said as she closed the space between them. “Guffawing at my failure suited you nicely.”

Vera grinned. She stood very near to him, but it felt different than when he was untying her gown. This had them face to face, an intimacy they couldn’t escape, though she tried by slipping back into humor as she struggled with the toggles.

“Dear God, who are they trying to keep out? Someone should tell Randall about these fasteners. This might do better than traditional armor.” She tugged so forcefully that Arthur nearly stumbled, laying a hand on her waist to steady himself.

He made a quiet chuckling noise, one Vera could feel through her fingers on his chest. She focused on his tunic until she made headway on the stuck toggle. She wasn’t thinking about it as she continued to undo the others for him. When she reached the last one right at his sternum and was about to pull away, Arthur lay his hand over her fingers.

He wasn’t laughing any longer. He’d closed his eyes as he held her hand. He drew it to his lips, softly kissed the tops of her fingers, and then froze, eyes shooting open as if awakening from a dream. She did not move a muscle as she held his gaze.

Then she felt it; his thumb moving up and down, a light caress on her torso. Her breath quivered. When Vera had dared to let herself feel anything relatively romantic since Vincent’s death, it had been sorrow. So much sorrow and the weight of loss. But now, the pain was blanketed with longing, and longing felt good … like being electrified awake.

Arthur looked down at the floor in a moment of hesitation. It was like he stood at the edge of a cliff, deciding whether or not to jump. The pause was agonizing, yet Vera wanted to hold it for an eternity, this time hanging in the balance when all things were possible, and there were no consequences to actions untaken. With her free hand, the one not encased in his, she reached up and traced from the side of Arthur’s cheek down the curve of his jaw in a gentle stroke.

In one fluid motion, Arthur decided to leap. He slid his upper hand to the back of her neck, and his lips were on hers, kissing her with an insatiable hunger.