On the next hand, Percival went out and erupted in frustration because Elaine, seated next to him, had peeked at his cards.

“Well, hold them closer if you don’t want me to see. You’ve got them all the way out here.” She mimed holding her cards with her arm fully extended. “What am I supposed to do?”

“I am not doing that,” he snapped. “You’re right next to me; it doesn’t matter how I hold them. Guinna, how did they keep people from being unrighteous cheaters at the monastery?”

It was Vera’s turn, so she was busy studying her hand as she responded. “Poker tables are usually circular. I think that helps.”

“That’s what we need.” Percival rapped the table sharply with his knuckles. “A round table.”

She heard it.

A round table. She looked up from her cards and around at the knights, Arthur’s most trusted council of knights. The round table. Vera did the only thing that made a lick of sense to her: she laughed. Really laughed. Laughed until tears wet her cheeks. With no way to explain it, she’d simply have to accept their cocked eyebrows and bewildered stares.

“Probably a monastery thing,” Gawain said as he pushed more coins to the center.

The game pulled them back from Vera’s hysterics. She lost shortly after that and stayed for a while, leaning toward Tristan to offer him quiet advice or to explain the difference in suits when she could sense he was about to mess up. Lionel took to yell-singing made-up sea shanties to roast everyone around the table, but even amid the raging ruckus, Vera’s eyes grew heavy, and she nodded off where she sat.

“Hey.” Lancelot’s whisper at her ear jolted her. Vera lifted her head from Tristan’s shoulder, where it had lolled as she dozed. “Ready to turn in?”

She nodded in a haze. “Sorry,” she mumbled to Tristan, who wasn’t bothered at all. Vera wasn’t so groggy that she missed Arthur looking up at her from his cards every few seconds as he pretended not to watch.

“I’ll walk you,” Lancelot said with a glance at Gawain.

He rose quickly. “I’ll come, too.”

“Why not?” Lancelot said. He played it off perfectly, as if he’d not orchestrated it all ahead of time. “Let’s make it a proper escort.”

Vera scooped up the jug on their way out. She waited until they reached the tower stairwell before she stopped and passed it to Gawain, explaining what Margaret had said. “Is there any way you can test it?” she asked. “To know what it is for certain?”

“Yes.” Gawain frowned as he ran his fingers around its base. “If there’s enough residual liquid.” He didn’t unstop the cork to check; rather, he closed his eyes and mumbled beneath his breath. The jug glowed green as it had when he tested Percival’s liquor on the way to Yule. As the glow faded, his eyes shot to Vera. “I’m sorry, Guinna. It is what you expected.”

Her heart plummeted. She wordlessly turned and started up the stairs. She knew Gawain and Lancelot followed as their steps echoed behind her. When they reached the landing, Gawain broke the silence.

“Do you want me to tell the king?” he asked.

“Yes—No,” she said, changing her mind as she spoke. This wasn’t fair. “Wait until after the tournament tomorrow. It will only be a distraction that we can’t talk about until the day is done anyway.”

“And we can’t have him punching Merlin,” Lancelot added, and Vera knew it was only half a joke.

“Thank you, Gawain,” she said, determined to push it away. In the end, nothing had changed since this morning. It was all as it always had been. “Can you give Lancelot and me a minute, please? And no listening devices.”

Gawain nodded, eyes darting between them.

“Wait for me here on the landing,” Lancelot said, giving Gawain’s elbow a squeeze.

“Am I wrong to wait to tell Arthur about the potion?” she asked once they were halfway down the corridor.

“Honestly, I don’t think it matters. I have known him all my life. He’s never looked at anybody the way he looks at you.”

She wanted to believe that, too. When Arthur held her in his gaze, she could nearly believe she was the most important, most lovely human alive. Nearly—because it was tainted. “He’s never been under a potion to adore someone either.”

Lancelot sighed dramatically. “There’s not a mage alive who could make a potion with those results.” He leaned on the doorframe as they stopped outside Vera and Arthur’s chamber. “And why does it even matter? What’s so bad about two married people being disgustingly in love?”

“What if I’m playing right into some awful destiny that I can’t stop?” The words were tumbling from Vera now. “Merlin was adamant that the stories about Arthur from my time didn’t get any of it right, but there’ve been a number of suspicious coincidences.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, first, there’s the two of us. And I know it’s not an affair, and we’re not in love or any of that …”

“Speak for yourself.” He raised his eyebrow suggestively.

“Oh, shut up,” she shot back, grateful for a reason to smile. “But Gawain’s in the legends, too. At first, I didn’t think much of it because I knew the Gawain in those stories was a knight and ours wasn’t, but then—”

“Ah. I see.”

“And,” Vera went on, feeling rather silly, “there’s a whole part in the story about how Arthur’s knights are the knights of the round table. Did you hear what Percival said today?”

“Yes, but he was talking about poker.”

“I know. It’s ridiculous. But,” she said, realizing it as she spoke, “history has little evidence from this time period. To even get Arthur’s name right, let alone so many others, and their roles, and you, and me … It’s strange.”

“Huh.” He tilted his head back and stared into space as he considered it. “You said there are a lot of different stories written about it. Is there a primary one? One that’s better than the rest?”

“I think Le Morte d’Arthur was the first that told the whole story.”

Lancelot pulled a worried face. “The Death of Arthur? That sounds pleasant. Is that what it’s all about?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t actually read it.”

He snorted. “Shit. That’s unfortunate. I wish you had.”

“You and me both.”

“The amount of time you are spending alone at the queen’s room has now crossed the boundary from acceptable to suspicious,” Gawain called from the stairwell.

Vera and Lancelot laughed. “Thank you, Sir Gawain. I’m coming.” Lancelot rolled his eyes, but his face lit as he said, “It’s always an adventure with Gawain. Look, I’m sure it’s nothing. They’re … oddities—and they aren’t quite bang-on right, are they?”

She supposed not. She’d never heard anything about Gawain being a mage. And certainly, the round table wasn’t in reference to poker.

Lancelot kissed Vera’s cheek. “Night, darling. Lock your door. Arthur has a key.”

“I know. Thank you, Mother. See you tomorrow.” But she watched Lancelot’s back as he left. Her intuition hummed that there was something odd in her interaction with him, but she couldn’t place what.

Vera didn’t need help changing, but she wanted to talk to Matilda. She crept over to her door and listened carefully for a minute, not wanting to interrupt if Randall was there. After a stretch of quiet that reassured her, she knocked. No answer.

If Matilda wasn’t here and she and Randall left at the same time … Vera giggled alone in the hallway. What a conversation that would be tomorrow. She couldn’t wait to tell Arthur.

She changed and got into bed. It had been a splendid evening, the kind that led to things like pining lovers finding one another’s arms.

The unbidden image of beautiful Marian with her lips inches from Arthur’s ear came to Vera’s mind. Her eyes shot open. What if he didn’t come back at all tonight? Maybe he’d go to Marian’s bed. He was allowed to, after all. Vera had no claim on him. He made it clear that she could pursue whoever she wanted, and he had the same right.