“Here.” Vera thrust it toward him. He silently took it, and her stomach fell. “I’m sorry, Tristan. I’m so—”

“Stop it,” he said. She clamped her mouth closed, and his face softened at her reaction. “Are you going to be all right?”

She was about to respond when a noise down the hall caused them both to start. It sounded like a door closing. They both looked, but it was too dark to see more than shadows. Well. If anyone saw this, Vera in her nightgown as Tristan refastened his belt … it looked worse than she and Lancelot stretching in a field after their run.

But all stayed quiet. Tristan fixed Vera with an appraising stare.

“Do you see what Arthur’s doing?” he asked in a scornful whisper. “He’s so convinced he can’t love you well enough that he is trying to let you go.”

He was wrong. She knew so many parts to it that he was missing.

“That’s not what it is,” she managed to say.

“Then what is it?” Tristan asked skeptically. When she didn’t answer, he scoffed. “I admire everything about him except that he has you, and he keeps fucking it up. This one massive thing. It’s a laugh to love the man who stole my future and is making a mess of it.”

“I’m sorry.” There was nothing more to say.

“Me, too.” Tristan sighed. He swept a stray hair back behind her ear. She knew he wanted to kiss her. Instead, he said, “If you change your mind …” He grimaced self-consciously and shook his head. “Get some sleep, Your Majesty.”

The room was still dim, and she wasn’t sure what woke her. Vera sat up and saw right away that someone was asleep in the chair across from her, next to the window. She thought for a minute that it was Arthur, like the days after Thomas when he wouldn’t leave her side. What a strange time to be nostalgic for. But it was Lancelot, and it became clear what had roused her. He was snoring. Loudly. Vera exhaled a laugh as she gathered a blanket in her arms and crept over to cover her friend.

Movement outside drew her to the window, where she saw Merlin in the courtyard, dismounting his horse and passing the reins to a stable hand. What on earth had he been doing at this hour?

Vera glanced back at Lancelot. If he was in here, did that mean he was on guard, and now no one stood outside the door? She went to check, timing the heavy lock’s scrape with a snore and managing not to wake him.

The corridor was empty.

She could go. Nothing stood between her and Merlin. Vera took a shuddering breath and slipped into the hall. She got to the door of his room as he did. He seemed relieved to see her there.

“Where were you?” she asked.

“There’ve been reports of sinister happenings in the neighboring town. It’s a short ride from here. Their steward got word that we were in the area, so I suppose our secret travel isn’t so secret anymore.” He offered a faint smile, an ineffective disguise for his concern. “They’re having an issue with plots of land dying like in Crayford. We went with the king to see what could be done. The others are still there.”

“Why aren’t you?”

He looked a little ashamed. “I was hoping to find you. They will be gone a few more hours. We have time to do the procedure if you’re willing.”

Vera’s breath was coming faster than normal. “We’re so close to the mages and—and I did remember Tristan. It’s coming back. I know it. Can we wait until after the mages?”

“Tristan …” He frowned. “I didn’t expect that. But you haven’t remembered anything else?”

She shook her head.

“He’s here, Guinevere,” Merlin said, his eyes trained on the end of the corridor as if Mordred might appear there. “The Saxon is on our soil, and he could be anywhere. We are out of time.”

“But couldn’t the mages help us? What does it hurt to wait one more day?”

“I have suspected for some time that Viviane was not working alone.” He spoke patiently, as if to a child. “I fear we are walking directly into a trap. And if we are, there may never be another opportunity.”

“You said I could go home.” Vera stared down at her feet. “I want to go home.”

“I know,” Merlin said. “And I hope you’ll be able to. I am confident you’ll fare better than Gawain expects.”

But even if she wouldn’t, she couldn’t keep being selfish. She could not stack the priority of seeing her father again above the entirety of Arthur’s kingdom. Of Arthur. This—remembering—was her entire purpose.

“I’ll go get dressed.” She could at least lose herself (or her life—whatever it came to) with the dignity of not being in a nightgown.

“Vera?” Merlin said as she started to walk away. He hadn’t called her that since Glastonbury. She glanced back, and he smiled sadly. “Thank you.”

She tried to be quiet. She even managed to get in the room and get changed before she stumbled into the bedside table, the sound of it stirring Lancelot.

He looked at her with groggy eyes. “Morning, Guinna,” he croaked. “Was I snoring?”

“A bit,” she said with an unbidden smile. Part of her was relieved she’d get to talk to him one last time, but it would make this harder. She needed to get him to leave. “What are you doing here?”

As he explained what Merlin had just told her about the nearby trouble, Vera feigned ignorance. “It’s just you and me until they return later this morning,” he added.

“I thought Tristan was my guard. You shouldn’t be the one babysitting me,” she said. “Go have a lie-in in your room where you can be comfortable.” Go. Please, go.

“Tristan is your guard.” Lancelot busied his hands, folding the blanket on his lap. “But he’s better at tracking, and I wanted to stay with you. Is that a problem?” He said it casually, but his eyes were dark. Vera knew her cheeks had gone red. She took the blanket from him and turned to toss it on her bed.

“I think this shit’s idiotic,” he said. “The whole ‘giving you space to decide if you want to take up with Tris’?” She whirled to face him, her eyes wide. “It’s fucking stupid.”

“You don’t need to be an ass about it,” Vera shot back to hide her shock that he knew. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

Lancelot was relentless with his grim, knowing smile. “No, but you did bring him into your room last night.”

Shame threatened to smother her, but indignation was easier to sink her teeth into. “You’re one to talk.” She gestured at him. “Sleeping in here without my even knowing—”

“It’s different with you and me, and you know it’s different.”

“If you’re angry, be angry at Arthur,” Vera said.

Lancelot petulantly crossed his arms on his chest. “All of this would be a lot easier if you and Arthur could just admit you’re in love with each other.”

Hearing it was like swallowing a stone. “We aren’t,” she said weakly.

He scoffed. “I know you, and I know him even more. You’re in love.”

“Stop it,” Vera said. “We aren’t. Everything between us is false, and it isn’t fair to me or Arthur. He’s a good man and a good friend.” She stumbled on the words. Despite her anger, it was all true. “We’re both under the influence of some fucking potion and calling it love is cruel and humiliating.”

Lancelot leaned back in his seat with his legs splayed in front of him in an irksome display of easy confidence. “All right. Sure,” he said, rubbing wearily at his forehead.

Vera mechanically turned away from him. It would be easy to shuttle him out the door, but that smug disbelief left her hands shaking.

“Have you always meddled like this?” she said, turning back to him. “Acted like you know what’s best for everyone around you? Is that why I couldn’t stand you before?”