“Yes.” Arthur paused as Lionel and Edwin passed by and took their seats at the farthest end of the table. “The two of you grew up together. Your fathers intended for you to marry.”

“Oh,” she said. “Fuck.”

He laughed. “And that changed when I expressed interest in your father’s partnership. And in you.”

“So, I dumped Tristan for you. Do I have that right?”

“Something like that,” Arthur said with a fleeting smirk. “He’s a good man. I’m honored to have him as a member of my council.”

She didn’t know why he told her that, and the opportunity to ask vanished as the rest of the knights descended upon the table. They were a rowdy bunch. Their table was the loudest by far as they told story after story.

When dinner finished, the night was still young, and the council knights and king’s guard had plans for the evening. They could have asked castle staff to prepare the big room for their after-dinner merry-making, but a unit of soldiers who hadn’t had any need for a mission in recent years acted as though this was their own covert operation.

Lionel swiped platters of food, and Elaine and Wyatt made off with pitchers of drinks in each hand. Arthur stepped in to advise against Edwin and Percival’s plot, goading Gawain to bring the giant marble statue as Marian stood nearby, happily watching the shenanigans unfold.

Lancelot attempted to use Randall as a silverware mule by dropping spoons in his pocket every time he passed. Randall noticed each attempt, perhaps owing to his sensory gift but more likely due to Lancelot’s inability to be discreet. Randall removed the utensils without so much as a glance in his direction.

After his failed flatware mischief, Lancelot caught Vera’s eye and gestured for her to follow him.

“Come with me to the kitchens to get the sweet cakes?” he said as she fell in step with him.

She doubted he needed any help, but that all his dearest friends were in one place, and he wanted time with her brought Vera a sort of happiness she didn’t know how to hold.

Margaret had the cakes sliced and ready on a tray.

“You are too good to us,” Lancelot gushed.

“Of course I am.” She squeezed his cheek and gave him a crinkly- eyed smile, reserving a pat on the arm for Vera. “Now, off with you so I can catch a wink of sleep before we cook for half the kingdom tomorrow!”

They grinned like schoolchildren, ready to make off with their prize.

“Oh! One moment,” Margaret said as she held up a finger. She bustled over to the cabinets and rifled through until she procured what looked like a large milk carton—except that it was made of leather. “You’ll see Merlin before me, I’m sure. I used the last of your tonic tonight, Your Majesty. Good timing that he’s back to make more!”

The smile hadn’t yet fallen from Vera’s face, but her insides lurched. “My tonic?”

“Well, yours and the king’s,” she amended as she pressed the jug into Vera’s hands. “I hadn’t thought to use the mage gifts to keep your health up through the winter months, but it seems to have fortified the both of you well.”

“How, er, how long have you been using the tonic?” Lancelot asked with a glance at Vera.

“Merlin gave me the first batch after Yule. Be a dear and have him refill it?”

Vera wasn’t sure if she’d answered or acknowledged Margaret’s words at all. She distantly heard Lancelot and Margaret’s voices saying some sort of pleasantries to one another—which were mercifully short. She had to get out of this room.

She left the kitchen as fast as she could without running and made it halfway through the courtyard before she stopped to let Lancelot catch up.

“I’d thought at least Arthur was safe from magic’s influence by now.” She wanted to fling the damn jug over the castle wall. “I never thought to worry about what comes from the fucking kitchens. Why would Merlin—”

“Stop it,” Lancelot said gently. “Maybe it is a health tonic.”

Vera leveled him with a scathing glare.

“All right,” he relented. “It doesn’t look good, but were you having fun tonight?”

“What?” He had lost his mind. “No! This isn’t my idea of—”

“Before,” he said. “Were you having fun before you knew?”

“Yes, of course—”

“Nothing has changed.” He nodded at the jug in Vera’s hands. “That’s empty. There’s nothing we can do about what’s already been done. Don’t let this ruin a perfectly fine evening.”

Vera scoffed. “That is idiotic.”

“Is it?” He chuckled. “You’re right. How foolish to let yourself enjoy a party with the greatest knights you’ll ever meet when you could spend the whole time miserable about something you can’t do a damn thing about.”

He had a point.

“And if you can set the weight of the world down for a few hours of dreaded fun,” Lancelot added, “I promise that we’ll talk with Gawain about it before the night’s over and see if he can give us some answers.”

She had to admit that sticking her head in the sand for a bit had its appeal. “Fine.” She sighed. “Lead the way.”

The group, with all their contraband in tow, had made it to the big room by the time Vera and Lancelot got there. She tucked the jug from the kitchen under a table near the door. Tristan lumbered in a few minutes later, weighed down with a bulging drawstring bag slung over one shoulder and a sheathed sword in his opposite hand.

“What’d you steal?” Lionel called as he arranged his bounty of lifted platters on the table with pride.

“Nothing!” Tristan said indignantly. There were two open tables, one on each side of the enormous fireplace. He slung the bag onto the smaller of the two as the other was already occupied by some of the knights. “These are for the king and Guinevere from my travels.”

“You brought gifts?” Lionel huffed. “You’re making the rest of us look bad.”

Tristan grinned. “They’re gifts from Tang Gaozu.”

“I’m fairly certain you made those words up,” Wyatt said, though he and Marian crossed the room to get a good look at the sword. Its sheath was a dark and shining wood and was ramrod straight. Wyatt pulled the blade free by its jade-encrusted handle. It was sharpened to a fine point along its edge with a slanted tip. He frowned appreciatively as he balanced the weapon in his hands.

“He’s the emperor in the Far East, nitwit,” Marian said as she, too, took in its craftsmanship. “Arthur will love that.”

Arthur was the only one yet to arrive. This was normal, though, especially when guests filled the castle. He would be the earliest to arrive at meals and meetings and the last to depart.

Vera stayed at the table with Tristan and the gifts as the others meandered to their seats by the fire. This was a gold mine. Nobody from her time had touched artifacts like this, items scarcely few had even seen beneath thick glass at museums. She ran her fingers across the sword as Tristan unpacked more treasures. Vera still carried her instinct to touch the ancient things, the way she’d touched St. Michael’s Tower on the Tor or the abbey’s walls. But these items weren’t so ancient just yet. They were gleaming and new.

“I don’t know what the hell—sorry.” Tristan gave her a look. Guinevere must not have had the mouth that Vera had. He corrected himself and went on. “I don’t know what any of it is or what to do with it.” He pulled items out one at a time. There were at least half a dozen small statues wrapped in brightly dyed silks (their protective wrappings prizes in themselves), and then came a wooden box tied neatly with brown string.

“What were you doing in China?” Vera asked. Was it even called China at this point in history? She had no idea, but Tristan understood her.

He shrugged as he leaned against the table. “I enjoy travel. When the king asked for a representative to visit, I was happy to volunteer. I got to study their battle strategies and learn some fascinating combat tactics. Their emperor has done many things like your husband—uniting tribes, building a nation—all that.”