And he loved making her laugh. She could tell by the giddy way his eyes glimmered and his smile broadened when she found his comments particularly funny. Lancelot, oddly enough, spent most of the day sequestered at the rear with Merlin. A pity, as Vera was hoping to get a word with the older mage.

She had her chance when they stopped midafternoon to water the horses. It seemed he’d been waiting for the opportune moment as well. When Arthur and Lancelot bent their heads close in conversation, Merlin sidled beside Vera at the river’s edge.

“In the end, it is your choice, Guinevere,” he said, moving his lips so little that she wasn’t sure he’d spoken. When she looked at him with surprise, he went on. “If you’re willing, I will try the procedure.” He studied a nearby tree as if he and Guinevere were talking about a bird perched on its branches and not a dangerous magical procedure.

Vera smiled idly at the tree, though her heart gave a flutter. “Can you do it on the road? If I meet you tonight … ?”

Merlin nodded. He let his casual pretense drop enough to meet Vera’s gaze with heavy, sorrowful gratitude.

She thought of nothing else for the rest of the day. If there was any chance that Mordred was going to kill Arthur, Vera had to stop it. It was better that they weren’t speaking and that he’d drawn the line of distance from her. If she disappeared into nothing, being on poor terms would make it easier.

They bunked down at an inn in Faringdon, not far from Oxford. After a few hours’ ride in the morning, the journey would be done. Arthur had separate quarters again, and Vera’s decision was made. She would not wait. She had noted the location of Merlin’s room as they entered, and, as soon as she was sure everyone was asleep, she rose from her bed, took two quick shots for liquid courage from a bottle Percival had given her a while back, and tiptoed to the door, determined not to lose her nerve—for she was afraid.

Vera dragged the metal bolt free from its lock. There was no quieting the rake of steel against wood, though she did try. She waited in the following silence for a breath and, hearing nothing, opened the door enough to slip out. Instead, she saw the unmistakable glow of two eyes and the dark, hulking shape of a man not three steps from her. Vera gasped and stumbled backward.

“It’s me! It’s all right!” Tristan rushed into her room after her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Jesus!” Vera lay a steadying hand on his arm. “What were you doing out there?”

“I’m on guard,” he said. “What were you doing?”

“Oh …” Vera thought quickly. He didn’t know about the memory situation. “I, er, wanted to speak with Merlin about tomorrow. And get a potion to help me sleep. I’m … anxious,” she said and was struck with an idea, albeit a weak one. “You could walk me, and then no need to stand guard because I’ll be with a mage. I’m sure you’d like to get some uninterrupted sleep.”

Tristan shifted. “I can’t do that.”

“Why?” Vera asked, eyes narrowing.

He scrunched his face awkwardly. It might have made her laugh another time. “You’re going to be angry. I’m—not allowed to let you leave your room. It’s an order,” he added, as if that made it any better. He at least had the decency to look embarrassed as he told her.

“Fucking Lancelot,” Vera growled. It was exactly the sort of overprotective bullshit he would pull. “Go get him. I’m going to throttle him with a fire poker.”

“It wasn’t him.”

She stared blankly at Tristan, though she knew who that left.

“The king told me directly,” he said.

Vera was tired. She was already furious with Arthur and more hurt than she could put into words. Her ass hurt from riding in a saddle all day. Her plan to help was thwarted, and now the liquor for bravery left her aimlessly tipsy. Otherwise, she might not have let out the profanity-laced string of insults that followed. They began at a mumble, but as her anger rose, her voice did, too. Tristan, his eyes wide and hands rising defensively, hurriedly shut the door as he shushed Vera.

“Did you shush me?” She ripped her elbow from his attempt to soothe her.

“Do you want me to go get him?” he asked, eager to divert her fury.

Vera huffed. “No.”

“Why, er,” Tristan began warily, “why isn’t he with you?”

She didn’t answer.

“Why did he know you’d try to see the mage? And why doesn’t he want you to?”

“You’re full of questions.” Vera turned abruptly back to the bottle of liquor on her bedside table. “I have one. Do you want a drink? Is that allowed?” she added with no small measure of disdain, already pouring one for him.

When she turned back to him, Tristan’s face stopped her mid-step. It wasn’t the hopeless horror she’d seen from Arthur the night after her broken memory, but it was in that family.

“Why did you want to see Merlin?” Tristan asked more pointedly.

“I can’t tell you that,” Vera said, the only honest answer she was prepared to give.

Tristan sighed and sat down on the foot of her bed. He fidgeted to get his sword situated beside him, got frustrated, and took his sword belt off in a huff. Vera sat beside him and passed him a cup half filled with liquor.

“Were you about to do something self-destructive?” he asked quietly.

Vera started. It took her a second to cover the flash of guilt at how close to the mark it hit. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Having not missed any shadow of her expression, Tristan nodded. He turned his goblet in his fingers as Vera threw hers back like a shot and let it sting down her throat.

“You tend to do that,” he said. “I don’t know how many times you took the blame for things we did as children. Falling on the sword has taken on higher stakes as queen, though.”

“Well, in this case,” Vera murmured, her words running together at the edges, “I forged the sword that will destroy all of you. Do you think someone else should fall on it?”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Tristan shook his head and downed his shot, too. “I hope you know I would give my life for Arthur a hundred times over,” he said. “I don’t think there’s a better ruler in the world, and I’ve met a fair few, but … he’s a fucking idiot when it comes to you.” He set his goblet aside, and as he put his hand back down, he laid it on Vera’s thigh.

Her eyes shot to his face. Tristan stared straight ahead while he traced circles on her leg with his thumb. He turned to her, eyes filled with longing. He tentatively reached up and stroked her hair. His throat bobbed as he swallowed heavily. Tristan’s smooth face, less lined with the weight of years and responsibility than his king’s, was a perfect mixture of trepidation and yearning.

Maybe this was best. Maybe Arthur was right, and this was what was needed. Vera’s heart was so broken—by Arthur’s rejection, and by the choices she’d made in the life she hardly remembered that put those she now loved in peril. With disaster looming, it might be best to put an end to this magically driven obsession with Arthur once and for all. And maybe being with Tristan could achieve that. Maybe it could help her avoid this procedure that was probably—likely—going to destroy her.

“I love you, Gwen,” he said. Vera held her breath as he leaned toward her, his eyes fixed on her mouth.

She had loved him once.

But not anymore.

Vera turned from him with a sharp inhale before his lips could find hers.

“I can’t do this,” she said.

Tristan closed his eyes and pulled away.

“Understood,” he said. Without another word, he rose and left the room. He didn’t storm away or slam the door. That might have been easier to bear.

Fuck. Poor Tristan was the one who suffered in all this.

Vera nearly tripped over his sword when she got up. She scooped it up and hurried to the door, expecting he’d be halfway down the hallway. She wouldn’t have blamed him for bailing on his guard duty, and at least then her plan to find Merlin could progress. But Tristan stood just outside the door, his hand instinctively moving to where his sword should have been at the sound.