“What?” Lancelot said.

“Last night, when Arthur told me about everything, he suggested I take up with you.”

“Did he now?” His pitch lifted with his amusement.

“Mmhmm. And when I insisted I wasn’t interested,” Lancelot scoffed in mock offense, “he suggested Gawain.”

He laughed loudly at that. “What an impeccable pairing.” He untangled his arms from Vera and got her settled, propped against her pillows. But he didn’t move to the chair. He nestled back to sit against the pillows beside her. “It will be interesting to see how Gawain handles the lead mage role while Merlin is away.”

Merlin. Shit. Vera regretted disappointing him the way she would her own parents, yet she couldn’t believe the pain he’d inflicted on her.

“Do you think Merlin regrets what he did?” she asked.

“I certainly hope so,” Lancelot said with a grimace. “I’ve never been his biggest admirer, but I admit he was very good to you—to Guinevere—before. He was her closest confidant, often the only one who could lift her from melancholy.”

“They were that close?” Vera asked. Though she’d felt the truth of it in Guinevere’s memory, it was hard to reckon with now.

“They were,” Lancelot said. “I think that’s part of the reason Arthur trusts him—because of how Merlin cared for her. He wants to fix things so badly …” He shook his head. “The mages are an especially fucked up bunch, usually with some savior complex. Have I ever told you that my mother was a mage?”

Vera’s eyebrows shot up. “No, you did not.”

He knew he hadn’t. She would remember that, and he would remember telling her.

“It’s a lonely life. I think that’s why I get under Merlin’s skin so much,” he said with a grin. “I’ve got his number better than most. When I was little, I always tried to get my mum to play some stupid games with me to divert her from her work and studies. I usually failed miserably, mind you, but when she’d play—Gods, she was so much fun. And she was creative and silly. She came up with the best stories. I wish she’d have used her gifts to be a great storyteller rather than …” he shook his head.

“Did she die?” Vera asked.

He smiled sadly. “Yes. Some time ago.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you. I miss her.”

“What about your father?” Vera asked. “Is he alive?”

“No idea. Never met the man. I am fully a bastard. Most mages end up alone, I’m told. It was rather extraordinary for my mother to have a child at all. Tell me about your innkeeper parents,” he said much more brightly. And it was Vera’s turn to be uncomfortable.

“They’re … they’re the best. My mum, well, you’d have a difficult time finding anybody kinder than her. She’s the sort who’s never met a stranger. We have people who stayed at the hotel for two nights a decade ago who still call around Christmas. And Dad …” Vera laughed. “I don’t think the word ‘shame’ is a part of my father’s vocabulary. He’s never once worried about what somebody else thinks. Not for a second. He’d love you.”

Lancelot smiled wistfully with her. “I wish I could meet them. You must miss them.”

“I do. And,” her breath hitched, “my dad is quite ill, which makes it, er—” She didn’t know how to put it into words, but she didn’t need to.

“That makes it harder,” he said softly.

“I have deliberately avoided thinking about them as much as possible since I got here,” Vera said. “I thought I’d fall apart if I let myself dwell on them too much.” It wasn’t untrue. The sting of speaking a word of their stories and letting herself sink into their memory was immediate.

“You can fall apart with me.” He had a deep crease between his eyebrows as he watched her. “Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked.

“We’ve never talked about serious things.” Vera picked at the blanket’s seam, embarrassed to say the next bit. “I was afraid you’d decide I wasn’t any fun.”

“Not any fun?” He clicked his tongue. “I don’t love you because you’re fun. I love you because I love you.”

Her heart was so full that it felt on the edge of bursting. “It’s that simple, hm?”

“Yes,” he said. He leaned back into the pillows. “And for your power and clout, obviously.”

She snorted.

“But I did abandon you, Guinna.” Something minuscule shifted in his voice, and his eyes glazed as if his mind were someplace else before he shook himself from whatever memory had taken him. “You never should have been left alone last night. I’ll do whatever I must to keep you safe. I will be your personal bodyguard every minute of every day.”

Vera’s heart sank. “I know you’re trying to help, but that sounds horrible. Needing constant protection is the last thing I want.”

“I’m sorry.” His eyes searched her face. “What can I do?”

“I’d rather learn to protect myself.”

Lancelot’s lips quirked into a lopsided grin as he tipped his head to the side. “I can teach you that. I’m actually really good at that.”

“All right,” Vera said. “That settles it.”

She hadn’t meant for him to begin that very moment, but he launched into brainstorming aloud how he might structure Vera’s training plan with the king’s guard. That was how Arthur found them when he came in: sitting in bed, shoulder to shoulder, engrossed in conversation.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he said, sounding like he earnestly meant it. Even after last night’s revelations, Vera was astonished by how unfazed Arthur was at seeing them together. But the thought stumbled to a screeching halt as she saw Gawain trailing behind him.

“Goodness,” Lancelot said. “Someone should invite Percival and Matilda, and we’ll have ourselves a proper party!”

“Please refrain,” Gawain said. “I am here to heal the queen, which should be a private matter. I would prefer if you left as well.”

Lancelot grinned. “Understood. I should go join training, anyway.” He kissed the top of Vera’s head before he slid off the bed, nodded to Arthur, and clapped Gawain on the shoulder on his way out. The mage rolled his eyes, but Vera caught the start of his smile.

Arthur sat at the bedside with Gawain standing next to him, ready to start the healing at Vera’s thigh. But the moment Gawain’s hand touched her nightgown’s hem, she felt like she was on the chapel floor. She could see Thomas’s ravenous eyes, could hear the tearing of her dress from hem to waist, could smell his sweat as if he was on top of her.

“No.” She gasped the word as she pinned the nightgown down to her sides with shaking fingers. All at once, Vera’s throat tightened, and her heart pounded.

Gawain took a step back.

Her breath rattled in. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I—” She reached for Arthur, and he was there, taking her hand. “I was fine when Arthur bandaged them.”

“That’s understandable,” Gawain said in his deadpan way, though he spoke quieter. “The body’s memory is more powerful than the mind. Your body remembers His Majesty, even if your mind does not.”

She bit the inside of her cheeks and avoided looking at Arthur.

“I don’t have any other obligations,” Gawain said. “We need not hurry. Move your nightclothes how you need to, and His Majesty can help remove the bandages. Tell me when you’re ready.” He looked at her with something akin to softness before he turned his back and took a few steps away.

Arthur’s hands brought only comfort. He helped remove the bandage dressings, and his eyebrows shot up as he inspected her wounds. Both incision points were raw and open, but neither bled. “These aren’t as bad as I expected. I must have been more panicked last night than I realized.”

Vera called Gawain back.

“I’ll start at your thigh first and will need to touch the edges of your wound,” he said, waiting until she nodded to proceed. He did all of it that way, telling her precisely what he was doing as he went. She’d not expected his sensitive bedside manner. But it did help.

“The shoulder and leg are both stab wounds?” he asked as he ran his thumb over the open cut just under her collarbone.