Page 87 of Gwen and Art Are Not in Love

‘Ah,’ Gwen said woodenly. ‘Right. The necklace.’

‘It’s not anecklace,’ Elaine said breezily. ‘It’s a spell. Or – I think it is, anyway. Just have him wear it.’

‘I will,’ Gwen said, closing her hand tightly around the paper. ‘Thanks, Elaine.’

Elaine peered at her thoughtfully. ‘Hmmm. Perhaps I’ll make you one as well. You don’t look at all well.’

Gwen just nodded. She managed to hold herself together until Elaine had left, and then she turned towards the stables, walked as calmly as she could into an empty stall, and then sat down on an upturned bucket and let herself burst into tears. She felt like her chest was breaking open, tectonic shifts exposing the softest, most vulnerable parts of her. She hated that she’d cried on Bridget’s shoulder so often while Arthur had been unwell; that she’d let her guard down completely and made it clear how much she needed Bridget, when all the while Bridget must have just beenhumouring her, holding her hand to get her through it, one foot already out the door.

Voices suddenly flared up just outside the stall; Gwen stopped crying, holding herself very still, dreading discovery. Instead of retreating, the voices grew closer, and then she heard a door swinging open and slamming shut. Somebody was in the stall next to her; two somebodies and a horse, Gwen surmised, after a quick foot-and-hoof count.

‘Is this really necessary?’ hissed a man’s voice, sounding as if he had just stepped in something unpleasant. His voice was vaguely familiar to Gwen, but she couldn’t quite place him.

‘I don’t care to be overheard. Now –whatexactly have you learned since Skipton?’ a second man muttered, as the horse shuffled warily in the hay.

‘There’s no need to take that tone with me,’ said the first man.

‘I’ve heard rumours that you have misled us about the nature of your relationship with your son – that in fact, he despises you,’ said the second man sharply. ‘That outside of this farce of a marriage he openly defies you, and his loyalties lie elsewhere—’

Gwen suddenly felt light-headed and sick. She leaned towards the wall, trying not to make a sound, both wanting and dreading to hear what Lord Delacey might say next – because she had placed him, now. It was Arthur’s father, and her own farcical marriage they were discussing.

‘Ha! That is a lie. And one we’ve told convincingly, if it’s so widely believed. He came here under my instruction. He writes to me often. He recently obtained private, personal information that I believe will prove invaluable.’

‘What information?’

‘Well, I can’t possibly divulgeeverything, you understand – let’s just say the prince is very unhappy with his current circumstances, for a variety of reasons. He intends to abandon Camelot, decamp to Tintagel – divert huge amounts of gold into his pet projects, leaving the country undefended. He and the princess have proven to be …extremelymalleable.’

Footsteps were approaching from the other end of the stables; a servant was coming, whistling to himself as he walked, and Gwen heard both Lord Delacey and his confidant make a hasty exit. Gwen stayed where she was, staring down at the package in her hands; eventually she got stiffly to her feet and walked out into the courtyard.

She stood there for so long, her mind racing, a strange ringing sounding in her ears, that eventually a stable hand came to ask her if she required medical attention.

In the end, it was almost too easy to find proof. Arthur was sleeping, dark circles under his eyes, the chair that usually held Sidney empty; Gwen had hoped that it would be impossible, that she’d find no evidence at all, but all she had to do was quietly sift through the messy stacks of papers on his windowsill until she found a letter signed ‘The Honourable Lord of Maidvale’.

She read the letter three times, just in case there was some nuance she had missed – something that could undo all this, fix it, make it untrue – but it was all there, in scrawling black ink.

It was like a punch to the gut, and it left her dizzy andreeling. In the next room, she heard Arthur moving around in his sleep, and she gathered herself and fled before he could wake up and see her there.

Gabriel wasn’t in his rooms when she knocked for him, so she walked with leaden feet down to the library and traced her usual path through the stacks until she found him in the corner, books and ledgers piled so high either side of him that it looked like he had been methodically building himself a fortress. She had to take down a handful of books to slide the letter through to him.

‘What’s this?’ he said, frowning down at it and carefully pushing the inkwell aside to make room as he unfolded it. ‘G? Wait – have you been crying?’

Gwen couldn’t answer. She simply sat down on the chair next to him, put her head in her hands and braced herself for impact.

Arthur awoke to a very strange sensation. He couldn’t pinpoint it at first, but he knew for certain that something was very, very wrong. It seemed to be morning outside, which made sense – if he craned his neck, he could see Sidney asleep on his cot in the next room; so far, so normal.

It was only when he sat up in bed and reached for a drink to wet his parched lips that he realised what it was.

‘Sid,’ he called scratchily, clearing his throat and then trying again. ‘Sidney. Come here.’

‘Wha—?’ Sidney said, falling out of bed and attempting to get to him even as his blankets twisted around him. ‘Whassappening?’

‘Start again,’ Arthur said. ‘Retrace your steps. You have to get out of bed before you can do anything else. You’re currently trying to bring the bed to me.’

‘Right,’ Sidney said, flopping back on to his bed like a fish before managing to extricate himself and rushing to Arthur’s side. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Well,’ Arthur said. ‘That’s the thing, isn’t it. Look at me.’

‘I am looking at you,’ Sidney said, his eyes darting all overArthur as if searching for some new injury or evidence of impending death. ‘You look fine.’