Page 31 of Gwen and Art Are Not in Love

Gwen finally seemed to notice that her glass was empty, and went for the jug again. ‘What’s your point?’

‘That spiritually, our cup overfloweth,’ said Arthur. ‘Although myactualcup is quite empty.’ Gwen rolled her eyes, but filled it for him anyway. ‘My point is that I don’t have to believe in what my father does. I don’t know if I believe inanythingin particular.’

‘I’m Catholic,’ Gwen said automatically. ‘I mean – I don’t go to mass any more, really. Father can hardly kick off about it when he’s trying to encourage freedom of religion. AndI stopped praying when …’ She trailed off, looking suddenly embarrassed.

‘When?’

Gwen wasn’t looking at him; she was picking at her nails instead, half of her lip caught between her teeth, as if she were attempting to devour and unravel herself in the least efficient ways possible.

‘I used to pray for all the usual things. For my family’s health, for the kingdom. And then one day I realised I’d been slipping other things in there too. Things I wanted for myself. Things I knew I could never have. And it got too … painful, I suppose, to keep asking and asking, knowing it was futile. And the things I wanted started to feel … wrong. So I stopped.’

Arthur was trying very hard not to pity her, but it was difficult when she was currently embodying the Platonic ideal of pitiful. ‘I wouldn’t say it’swrongto develop a crush on a dashing, lusty young knight of the realm. I’d say it’s entirely normal.’

‘Well, of courseyouwould,’ Gwen snapped. She closed her eyes and pushed her hair out of her face. ‘Sorry. I don’t really know how to talk about any of this. I haven’t before. I’m not like you, Arthur. You do what you like, and kiss who you like, and damn the consequences—’

‘I am living with the consequences right now,’ Arthur said bitterly. ‘I am drinking juice with the consequences.’ His goodwill towards her was rapidly evaporating.

‘How do you do it?’ Gwen said. She was looking at him like he was some sort of patron saint of same-sex kissing, and he relented and shrugged.

‘Nobody else is ever going to care as much as you do about the things that you want, Gwendoline. So it’s up to you – you can put them aside forever, if you can live with that, or you can put on your big-girl girdle and demand more for yourself.’

Gwen looked deflated, as if this were not the answer she had been after. ‘I don’t think I can.’

Arthur grimaced at her and then abruptly stood up, scraping his chair back and stretching. ‘Well. This has been depressing enough to make me feelheapsbetter about my own life, so for that, I thank you.’

‘Oh – so youaregoing out?’ Gwen asked, looking startled. It was disquieting to have managed civility for so long that she didn’t look immediately thrilled at the prospect of him leaving. It made much more sense to him when he and Gwen actively loathed each other; this had felt dangerously close to a real conversation.

‘No. I’m going back to my rooms. I’m tired, and I’m ill-tempered, and besides – my cat needs me.’

‘What cat? You don’t have a cat.’ He ignored her, giving her a half-hearted wave of his hand on his way to the door. ‘Arthur. Whatcat?’

Two days later, the fragile truce still seemed to be holding. Arthur had nodded at Gwen from down the hallway when nobody else was around to require the pretence, had actually bothered to send Sidney back with a response when Agnes took him a note, and that evening when Gwen left her chambers for dinner he was waiting at the top of the stairs, clean-shaven and freshly washed and generally looking in much higher spirits than he had been the last time they’d spoken.

‘What’s that smell?’ she said, as he held out an arm and she took it.

‘Oh, lovely, that’s just what a person likes to hear in lieu of greeting.’

‘No, it’s – it’s nice,’ Gwen said quickly, eager to keep the hard-won peace. ‘You smell like something … I don’t know, musky. And kind of like – a tree?’

‘Kind of like a tree,’ Arthur repeated despairingly. ‘It’s orange and sandalwood. You pain me. Kind of like atree.’

‘What part of anything you just said doesn’t come from a tree?’ Gwen said indignantly. Arthur sighed in exasperation, which Gwen thought wasn’t particularly fair.

She had beentryingto pay him a compliment. She just wasn’t very good at them.

The hall was packed with guests once again, the tournament continuing to attract more visitors than Gwen had ever seen. As a lady of noble birth and Gwen’s personal attendant, Agnes should have been sitting in her usual place with other ladies of similar standing, but Gwen saw her covertly slide in opposite Sidney instead, blushing as he leaned across the table to talk to her. Arthur had noticed too; he raised his eyebrows and shot Gwen a conspiratorial glance, making her snort. She stopped short when she realised what she was doing. Since when had Arthur made her laugh? Since when had she and Arthur hadinside jokes?

Gabriel was running late for dinner; when he sat down next to Gwen, she noticed that they were wearing almost exactly the same shade of blue.

‘Twins are very unnatural,’ said Arthur conversationally.

‘We’re not twins,’ Gwen said. ‘As you well know.’

‘You look identical,’ Arthur said, spearing a bit of chicken with his fork and pointing it at Gabriel, ‘and he can’t have more than a few inches on you, height-wise, because you are – to put it delicately – some sort of giantess.’

‘Arthur is very sensitive about the fact that we’re the same height,’ Gwen said to Gabriel by way of explanation. ‘He exaggerates, because if I’m a gigantic woman, then he can pretend he’s an average-sized man.’ Gabriel just cleared his throat awkwardly, and picked up his fork.

The rest of dinner passed without incident. Arthur was on his best behaviour, and every time Gwen looked up shenoticed people watching them; smiles, elbow nudges, whispers and nods in their direction. Arthur kept refilling her glass, leaning in and finding little excuses to put a hand on her arm. Gwen was surprised to find herself unbothered. He had mastered the art of making their conversation look intimate without actually stepping over the line into uncomfortable territory.