Page 85 of Gwen and Art Are Not in Love

‘I didn’t think I’d – that I’d get the chance to speak to you.’

‘Anything you want to get off your chest? The last time we spoke properly, I recall you saying something about not wanting me around, and yet here you are again—’

He stopped talking abruptly, because Gabriel had shifted infinitesimally towards him and put a painfully gentle hand to his jaw. Arthur stayed perfectly still, every nerve in his body seeming to migrate to his cheek, so that he could feel the minute detail of the pads of Gabriel’s fingers on his cheekbone, his chin, the corner of his mouth. Gabriel considered him for another second and then leaned down to kiss him. It was infuriatingly soft, just the faintest brush of his lips against Arthur’s – there for a second, and then gone again. Arthur tried to chase him as he pulled away, reaching out for him with a shaking hand to bring him back and force him to stay there, but Gabriel just interlocked Arthur’s outstretched fingers in his and took a deep, steadying breath.

‘Sorry,’ he said, looking down at their hands.

‘For which part?’ Arthur said, pressing his thumb into the creases of Gabriel’s palm. ‘Before? Or this, now?’

‘All of it,’ said Gabriel.

‘That’s not really the answer I was looking for,’ Arthursaid faintly, closing his eyes, suddenly too bone-tired to look at anything at all. They sat in silence for a moment.

‘I know that you and Gwen think this should be so easy,’ Gabriel said quietly, as if he’d been planning to for some time. ‘Now that we have … what we have. Those letters. But itwouldn’tbe easy. I’d have to give them to my father. I’d have to explain to him why … why they matter so much. To me. To Gwen. And he’s a good man, Arthur, but he’s keeping this country together by a thread, and he’s not going to throw all of that away for something like this.’

‘You don’t know that,’ Arthur said, his mouth dry. ‘Because I don’t think you’ve ever even tried to tell him what you actually think. What you really want.’

‘That’s not fair,’ Gabriel said instantly, but then he sighed. ‘Maybe not. But it would be an enormous battle to pick. And I’m not brave like you. Like Gwen.’

‘Ha!’ Arthur said, with such volume that he surprised them both. Lucifer, who had apparently been sleeping at the end of the bed again, looked up in annoyance. ‘I’m notbrave. I don’t know what gave you that idea.’

‘Arthur. Come on. You … you go after what you want. You don’t let anything stop you. What’s that, if it isn’t bravery?’

‘Some might say – your sister chief among them – that it’s stupidity,’ Arthur said, raising a hand to meet Lucifer as he stalked up the bed looking resentful. ‘I’m a selfish bastard, Gabe. I do it all for me, and when things don’t go my way, I’m …deeplyunpleasant about it, as you’ve discovered. That’s not bravery, it’s just – ego. And I’m a coward when it matters. You’d never find me really risking my neck foranybody else. That’s not who I am.’

Gabriel considered him. ‘I think you’re wrong. I don’t think that’s who you really are at all.’

‘I’m afraid it is,’ Arthur said, trying to laugh but finding himself incapable. ‘I’m a self-centred, arrogant,worthlessexcuse for a—’

‘Who told you that?’ Gabriel said insistently. Arthur faltered.

He knew the answer. He just didn’t want to say it out loud.

‘Well, aren’t we a sorry pair,’ he said shakily instead. He squinted towards the window; it was getting lighter outside, the clouds picked out in grey and gold. ‘I suppose you’ll need to be off.’

‘What?’ Gabriel said, confused by this sudden change of direction.

‘Sun’s nearly up,’ Arthur said, smiling tightly at him. ‘We’re out of time.’

He wanted so badly for Gabriel to disagree with him – to tell him that he’d stay – but they truly were a pair of cowards; Gabriel left, and Arthur didn’t do a thing to stop him.

It was so hot during the last week of the tournament that spectators kept pouring ale on themselves to cool off, which led to a rather unfortunate olfactory experience as it mingled with the general fug of sweat and horse manure.

Gwen was there to watch Bridget joust. It was the last day of events to determine who would make it through to the final melee, and the stands were rowdy with anticipation. Both the king and queen had made time to attend, and were sitting in all their state trying to ignore the flies that plagued commoners and royalty alike. Gwen had debated not going, considered sulking in her room instead or going to bother Arthur, but in the end she couldn’t stand to miss it – to sit elsewhere and be agitated and crotchety as she wondered what was happening at the tilting rail.

A very childish part of her had wanted to stay away just so that Bridget would notice her absence and miss her. Unfortunately it was exactly the sort of thing Bridget would see right through, so instead Gwen put on a sage silk dress and sat with her mother and held her head high. She thought she was doing a fair job of pretending to be somebody mature and reasonable, and not somebody who hadcried herself to sleep the night before thinking about how empty life would feel by the time winter came.

Bridget’s competitor was ferocious, an enormous knight who looked like he couldn’t have been unseated by a direct hit from a battering ram. They each shattered a lance during their first run, Bridget’s horse almost losing its footing due to the sheer force of their collision, and Gwen almost jumped up out of her seat before remembering herself. Bridget calmed her horse as she took up a new lance, and then set off thundering towards the gigantic knight again, but it was all over a moment later; she had to duck to avoid the risk of decapitation as the end of her competitor’s lance snapped almost completely in half against her shield, and she didn’t land a blow at all. The trumpets sounded for the winner, and Gwen was already standing.

‘Gwendoline? What’s wrong?’ the king said, turning in his seat and frowning over at her.

‘Nothing. Well – actually, I feel a bit faint,’ she said, pressing a hand to her forehead. ‘From the heat. I’m just going to …’ She waved a hand up towards the castle.

‘Go,’ said the king, smiling wearily. ‘I know your mother and I have neglected our tournament duties, but you are officially relieved until the finale. Get some rest. You’ve had a lot on your mind.’

Gwen really did intend to walk back up to the castle, but at the last moment she veered right instead, towards the competitors’ encampment, a guard swearing under his breath as he half jogged after her. The tents were swarming with knights half-armoured and shouting for their squires. She stopped one to ask where she might find Lady Leclair.

‘Little one on the end, your highness,’ said a pink-faced squire. ‘You can’t miss it, it’s – well, it’s the only one with a lady in it.’