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His anger rose in self-defense, but he held it in check as she lifted her hands in a helpless gesture. “Never mind the past,” she said. “What am I supposed to do now?”
Arthur took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. A moment ago, he’d been certain everything would be fine. He wanted to recapture that mood. “You’re wondering if there’s a role for you here, in this world?”
“Precisely.” She looked ghostly in the soft light, twilight deepening behind her silhouette.
He covered the distance between them in a single stride. The energy of their argument prickled beneath his skin, and it made his hands rough as he grasped her slender waist. She went rigid at his touch, resisting until he ran a hand down her spine. Yes, she needed comfort. Another long stroke and she arched into him, her body remembering his. The skirts of her dress floated around her as he pulled her close.
Relief made him ache as he realized there was still a welcome for him in her arms. Arthur bent his head, murmuring into her ear. “Let me reassure you that there is no one else I would consider as my queen.”
Lashes veiled her eyes, with a hint of mischief lurking beneath her sadness. “And why is that?”
“I wanted you the moment I saw you dancing in your father’s garden. You were everything I was not.”
Her lips quirked. “A girl, you mean?”
He buried his nose in the cloud of her hair, her scent filling his soul. “You knew nothing of the ills of the world. You were innocent.”
She pulled back to search his face. “No one stays that pure. That ignorant.”
“Not when you become a wife,” he said, letting desire sharpen his smile. Then he kissed her.
He was forced to bend while she rose on tiptoe. They flowed into the embrace naturally, her arms winding around his neck. His hands inched down her ribs and over her hips, reclaiming her curves. Desire, already invading his thoughts, pushed its way to the fore.
He kissed her hard, reminding her that he was the master, and yet leaving coaxing nips behind. When they were together like this, there had never been a question about the spark between them. Her mouth opened, welcoming his exploration, letting their tongues twist and mingle. The gentle swell of her breasts pressed into his chest, demanding to be stroked and when he obeyed—even a sovereign sometimes obeyed—a sound of pleasure escaped her throat. Heat tore through his body, making him drive her back against the cool glass door. He held her head, gentle and yet not, as he plundered her mouth. Her fingers twined with his, her body arching up, straining to meet him.
How long the kiss lasted was impossible to know, but the sky was fully dark when they were done. The lights of the city shone behind his Gwen as if this new age had fashioned a celestial crown for his queen. Arthur ached with desire, eager to put his seal on this conquest. It was a healing, yes, and a reunion, but he also wanted her to know beyond doubt that she was his.
He took her hand, pulling her with him until he paused at the door of his bedroom. He touched a switch and a soft light bloomed from the bedside lamp. Praise all the saints that the room was acceptably tidy. He placed his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him.
Guinevere’s eyes were soft and dazed. “That was quite the kiss, my lord.”
Satisfaction sprawled within him. “There is no need for it to end.”
Her posture shifted. It was a slight thing, but it seemed to put her worlds away. “I think there is.”
Arthur blinked. His need for her was a runaway stallion. Hauling it back took effort. “There is?”
“You want me as your queen. I understand that.”
“And?” Arthur was confused. What more was there to add?
“Is that what I want now, in this new world? Did you ever think to ask?”
She waited, but he had no answer to give. That said enough, and they both knew it. He felt his temper begin to fray beneath the sting of awkwardness. Why should he ask? He was king and she had made her vows when she was little more than a girl.
Then again, was it fair to ask her to keep them when so much had changed?
“You left me behind—not just once, but over and over again.” Guinevere shut her eyes a moment, then met his gaze without retreat. “I know you believed you were doing the right thing. You saw my desire to participate fully in your reign as naive and dangerous because of the fae and magic and the kings who hated the fact you’d conquered them.”
She was completely right. “And?” he asked.
“And nothing, not even an apology, makes up for being considered invisible—dispensable—for so long. I don’t want to be that woman anymore.”
None of what she’d just said made sense to him. He’d never thought of her that way—not in the fashion she meant. “So what is it that you do want?”
“I’ve been in this world for only hours, but what you’ve said intrigues me. You say women have access to education? That they have equality? I’d like to find out what that means.”
“How does that matter? You’re the Queen of Camelot. What more could you desire?”
Gwen caught her breath, as if he’d slapped her. “There is a whole new world in which to answer that question.”
She stepped into the bedroom and closed the door. “Good night.” The words were muffled and very final.
“Gwen!” Chagrined, he pressed his palm against the hard barrier. He’d said the wrong thing. He’d known it the moment the words left his lips. Stupid.
And now the door was firmly closed. Arthur could easily break it down, but that was no answer. Reason demanded that they both cool off before the argument escalated to a fight, but his temper didn’t want to listen. Self-discipline alone made him back away from the blank, infuriating blockade.
Right then, the dragon problem looked simple.
Chapter 4 (#uc4f3bc1e-6344-5a91-80fe-f2b0a1706fc9)
Gwen’s eyes snapped open. Bright sun streamed in the window, pooling on the carpet. Her eyes, sore and sandy from crying herself to sleep, protested against the glare. Squinting, she sat up, mind scrambling to reassemble yesterday’s events. Statue. Merlin. Arthur. Gwen pressed a hand to her head, as if the memories might shatter her skull.
She’d shut Arthur out of his own bedroom. He was her husband. He was the king. What had she been thinking?
Gwen sagged back to the pillows. That was the whole point—she’d been trying to think, and with Arthur charming her, that was hard. He’d kissed her, and the heat of it still simmered under her skin. But bed sport, however delicious, wasn’t the only thing she desired from her husband. She’d pushed him away, but she’d done it in hopes he would consider everything she’d said. If their marriage was to get better, someone had to make the first move.
She wanted Arthur’s conversation, his confidence and his trust. She needed the same respect he gave to his knights. No, she demanded more. He should love her, Guinevere, and not just the idea of a wife or queen.
Gwen clawed her way out from under the covers. It was a large, soft bed, and it took her a moment to put her feet on the floor. When she finally stood, shivering slightly in her thin chemise, she could see the streets beyond the apartment window. She was high up, higher than the tallest towers of Camelot, and the men and women below seemed tiny. How on earth had these people built so many enormously tall buildings, with so much glass and so little stone?
She took a step closer, momentarily hypnotized. Merlin had said the name of this city was Carlyle, Washington. The streets ran in perfect lines, brightly colored vehicles speeding along them like ambitious beetles. Merlin’s spell provided the proper words for what she saw—trucks, cars, buses and stoplights. But the knowledge had little meaning. She had no experience of any of it.
A sudden need to sit down put her back on the bed. Gwen pressed her face into her palms, willing her thudding heart to slow down. All the bizarre things that had happened yesterday were still true. She’d half expected to wake up in her own chambers far, far in the past.
She dropped her hands to her lap. She had to find courage. After all, this wasn’t the first time her life had changed utterly from one sunrise to the next. One day, her mother had died. One day, she’d been betrothed. One day, she’d left the only home she’d known for Camelot. She would face this trouble like every other, even if she’d been catapulted centuries into the future. What other choice was there?
As she sat, she slowly became aware of the world around her. There were deep, rumbling voices sounding through the walls—Arthur’s definitely, and perhaps Gawain’s brogue, and then others she couldn’t name. The last thing she wanted to do was to face the knights on her first day here, when everything was unfamiliar and awkward. But again, what choice did she have?
She padded into the tiny bathroom that adjoined the chamber. Merlin’s spell had been helpful here, but the sight of water appearing without pumps or buckets—hot water, no less—was still fascinating. And oddly overwhelming. Taking a breath, she turned a tap over the sink. She must have turned too hard, because the water hit the porcelain with so much force that it bounced back, blinding her with the spray. She jerked it off again, panting with the surprise. An impulse to cry rolled over her—to cry and be comforted and told everything would be fine. But that was a weakness she couldn’t afford if she was ever to earn respect.
Grimly, she washed and pulled on her gown, wishing for her ladies-in-waiting. They would have made sure her hair was perfect and her dress free of dust or wrinkles. Most of all, they would have distracted her with gossip and silly jokes. They had been her friends, and now she had none. She was alone.
Once Gwen had tidied herself, she stepped into the rest of the bland, spare apartment. The living room was crowded with big men draped over the black leather furniture. Arthur saw her first and looked up. As if that were a signal, everyone fell silent and rose to their feet, then, as one, they bowed.
“Be at your ease,” she said, the words made automatic from long habit.
There was a rustle as they straightened, every face turned her way. She paused, frozen by the weight of their stares. She recognized the knights: Gawain, Beaumains, Percival and Palomedes. There was also a young woman she did not know, with short fair hair and a smartphone in her hand. Gwen scanned the young woman’s clothes and the confident way she carried herself. There was no question she was from the modern age.
Gwen forced herself to take another step into the room until she faced Arthur, and then sank into a deep curtsy. “My lord.”
“We’re not so formal here,” he said. “Please rise.”
She did, feeling an unaccustomed shyness. She’d at least been able to count on her manners, but even that was different here.
“I’m glad to see you awake,” said Arthur. “I trust you slept well.” He, on the other hand, had dark circles under his eyes. Gwen wondered if he’d slept at all.
“Well enough.” She barely noticed what she said, for she was studying her husband with care. The warmth of the night before had been replaced by a more impersonal friendliness. She knew it of old—the mask of Arthur the King, friendly, jovial and utterly impenetrable. It was as if they hadn’t kissed or touched or had a real conversation. Disappointment throbbed like something wedged under her breastbone.
Gwen swallowed hard. Had she destroyed everything by pushing him? For asking for a voice in their marriage? She wanted to talk everything through, but now was not the time. As always, the business of court pushed her needs aside. She was aware of the others, staring as if she were an exotic beast. Her breath hitched, but she found her voice.
“How long did I sleep?” she asked with complete casualness. “It must have been some time, judging by the light.”
“My lady,” said Beaumains, who was Gawain’s younger brother and her favorite among the courtiers. “We all crash when we first come out of the stone sleep.”
“Crash?” The word confused her.
“Sleep for a long time,” explained the woman, who was standing beside Gawain. “Don’t be surprised if you feel disoriented at first. Everyone’s reaction on waking is different. Arthur held my sister at sword point for the first few minutes after he regained consciousness.”
The king gave the young woman a pained look. “I’m not a morning person.”
“You were in a paranoid delirium.”
“That’s something like your resting state, isn’t it?” Gawain quipped, giving Arthur a sidelong glance.
The banter didn’t hide the tension in the room. Gwen looked quickly from face to face. The young knights—the ones she considered friends—were subdued. Gawain, on the other hand, scowled at Gwen. She groaned inwardly. He had always blamed her for making Arthur unhappy, and clearly that hadn’t changed.
Well, she would just have to work around him. She gave a confident nod to the room. “I did not mean to disturb your conversation, but here I am.” She approached an empty chair next to Arthur. “What were you discussing?”
“Nothing of importance.” Arthur waved a dismissive hand. “By your leave, my lady, I have summoned a friend to take you into town. You need clothes.”
Gwen stopped in her tracks. Arthur was close enough to touch, but she kept her hands by her sides. “My lord,” she began quietly, “by your own account there is a dragon marauding through the countryside, and fae armies threaten Camelot’s welfare. Surely my wardrobe can wait?”
Arthur met her gaze and held it with his own. Despite his smile, the warning in his eyes was clear—he would not tolerate defiance in front of his men. “You need appropriate dress,” he replied, his voice reasonable. “You don’t need to remain here. There is nothing you can do.”
The urge to protest rose up, but something made her look at the others in the room. Their expressions were carefully blank, but she could read the discomfort in their eyes. That made her back down. They didn’t need to witness a fight.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, turning to the young blonde woman. “We have not been introduced.”
“My name is Clary Greene,” she said. She had a pretty, triangular face and bright green eyes. “I’m one of the new kids in Camelot.”
Gwen marveled. Clary’s manner was quick and assured, as if certain she was the equal of the knights. If this was what living in the modern age meant, Gwen craved it with her entire being.
She smiled at Clary, plans already forming in her thoughts. “I trust you will show me everything. There is a great deal I want to learn.”
Shortly after, the two women left. The scene Gwen had viewed from the apartment window was twice as frantic once she stepped onto the streets. Perhaps she should have been frightened, but there was too much to know where to start. Cars—including the old Camry Clary drove—intrigued her, but those tall buildings entranced. So did the more modest buildings, the houses and malls and gas stations. There was a dull sameness to many of the structures, but every one of them was airy and light compared to Gwen’s old home. As they drove to Carlyle’s downtown shopping district, Gwen tried to figure out how the seemingly flimsy walls held together.
“So what do you need to get?” Clary asked as she parked by the side of a teeming road.
“I don’t know,” Gwen confessed.
“What do you have?”
“What I’m wearing.”
Clary grinned, green eyes filling with mischief. “We’re going to have some fun, girlfriend.”
Gwen narrowed her eyes. “Who are you?”
“My big sister, Tamsin, is Gawain’s sweetheart.” Clary made a gagging noise, which said everything about being a younger sibling. “She and Dad went back home to the East Coast to see the family, and I came out here to keep an eye on things.”
“What for?”
Clary shrugged, gathering up the phone that seemed to be part of her hand. “Camelot needs a witch on hand to thaw out any stone knights they find. Merlin’s not always around. Plus, a modern guide comes in handy when a medieval queen needs to go shopping.” With that, she got out of the car and waited while Gwen figured out how to do the same.
Shopping in the modern era was a revelation. Gwen had always been required to select a fabric and design, and then wait for a seamstress—or herself—to make a new gown by hand. Now she could try on as many outfits as she liked, then walk out the door with her purchase in hand. And the choices!
“I want some trews like you’re wearing.” Gwen had worn boy’s clothes when running about the farms as a child. As much as she loved miles of swishing skirts, the option to choose something else once in a while was attractive.
“We call them pants,” Clary corrected her. “Or slacks. They’re on the list. So is lingerie.”
The lingerie was intriguing, the pants marvelous and the three-way mirrors hateful. She dressed and undressed more times in a single afternoon than she had during her entire life. And there were so many colors and shapes of footwear! Every shoe had a personality, and Gwen saw a slice of herself in each—feminine, adventurous, bold or hardworking. Picking a pair—or several—was almost impossible.
Nowhere, not even in Camelot’s greatest markets, had she seen so many goods for sale. The abundance was dazzling at first, but after a few hours of rambling from store to store, it became overwhelming.
“I need to stop,” Gwen finally admitted. “Surely I have enough shoes.”
She was wearing her latest purchase, low ankle boots of maroon leather. According to Clary, they paired perfectly with Gwen’s new black skinny jeans and turquoise silk sweater. Compared to the gown that was now packed away in the trunk of the car, the clothes felt tight but almost weightless.
“It’s not possible to possess enough shoes,” Clary said, threading her arm around Gwen’s. “Trust me on this. I’m an expert, and you have the king’s credit card. I won’t be happy until it melts.”
“I need to sit down,” Gwen moaned. “My new boots are pinching my feet.”
The restaurant Clary chose was cheerful, with large windows overlooking the street. They crammed a mountain of shopping bags in beside them as they squeezed into a booth. A moment later, menus sat open before them, promising an abundance of treats. It was sunny, and the golden light felt good on Gwen’s skin. She turned her face toward it for a moment, soaking in the warmth.
Her companion typed on her phone, engaged in a world as ephemeral to Gwen as the Faery kingdom. Over the course of the day, Gwen had learned Clary and Tamsin were Sir Hector’s daughters, though they had been born in modern times. The circumstances of it all formed a convoluted tale she’d have to hear again before she understood it. It was enough to know the young woman was part of Camelot’s extended family. Finally, Clary closed the case of her device.
“We’ve been talking nonstop all afternoon, but it’s mostly been about clothes. I’m sure you have more questions about this time,” Clary said. “Feel free to ask whatever you like.”
Gwen didn’t hesitate. “What is a woman’s life in this time like? Surely you don’t go shopping like this often?”
“Not often,” Clary said. “Arthur doesn’t usually loan out his charge card.”
He probably never would again, judging by the number of shopping bags they’d accumulated. They gave their order to the waitress as Gwen smothered her guilt about everything she’d bought that day. She liked nice things, but had no desire to empty the treasury. “But what else makes up your daily routine?”
Clary played with her napkin. “I’m not sure a witch is the best person to ask about the average experience.”
“Because you used your power three times this afternoon to summon clerks to help us?”
