Page 9 of Gwen and Art Are Not in Love

‘I know you’re not one for change,’ the king cut in with a touch more sympathy, breaking the seal of a new letter with his knife, ‘but give him a chance. He might surprise you. And – please dotrynot to break any of his bones this time.’

‘I can’t promise anything,’ Gwen muttered, but her father was once again buried in his correspondence, and her mother was eating in perturbed silence.

‘You saw him?’ she asked Gabriel as soon as they had left the dining room. ‘Did you talk to him?’

‘Sort of,’ Gabriel said, already walking automatically towards the library.

‘How can yousort oftalk to someone?’

‘It was the middle of the night and he was trying to steal food from the kitchens. Oh, and he fell over. It was hardly a scintillating exchange.’

‘He fell over?’ Gwen said. ‘God, I wish I’d seen that.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Gabriel said drily. ‘I have no doubt that the performance will be repeated.’

Gwen successfully managed to avoid Arthur all day. She walked in endless loops around the grounds with Agnes, making polite but stilted conversation, and then retired for lunch, followed by a solitary afternoon in her chambersmostly spent drumming her fingers against things and sighing.

When she was called to supper in the Great Hall, Gwen knew she couldn’t put off seeing her betrothed any longer; she had Agnes pull out her finest spring dress in delicate pink and gold silk damask, braid her hair up out of her face and weave cherry blossoms into it. When she met Gabriel on his way down to dinner, just as late as she was, he raised an eyebrow at her.

‘You look nice,’ he said pointedly.

‘Oh, shut up.’

She noticed that he’d also made an effort; he was wearing an embroidered blue doublet that she didn’t recognise, and his hair was actually combed. ‘Did Elyan dress you? What’s with the jacket?’

He looked down at it as if he’d never seen it before in his life. ‘Oh? No. He’s gone back to Stafford.’

Lord Stafford managed the running of the royal family’s affairs, and it was the bane of his life that Gabriel refused every man of the chamber sent his way; they each lasted roughly a week before Gabriel felt too horrified by the familiarity and proximity and had them quietly sent to work elsewhere. He’d be left by himself for a month or so in glorious peace while Stafford lined up another doomed replacement.

The hall was packed; most of the people who’d come to watch the opening ceremony had also been invited to dine with the king tonight, which meant that the long wooden tables were overflowing with guests messily pouring wine, shouting to each other in greeting and jostling for a betterposition. Gwen assumed that Arthur would be among them, and felt a little smug about being able to bypass the crowds and walk straight up to the royal table on the dais, but stopped short when she saw who was sitting next to one of the only two empty seats.

‘I’ll give you everything I own,’ she said quietly to Gabriel. ‘I’ll give you—’

‘Sit by me, your highness,’ Lord Stafford called, plummy as ever, an upsetting amount of peacock feathers in his hat. ‘I had something I wanted to discuss with you.’

Gwen knew he wasn’t talking to her. He was never, ever talking to her.

‘Of course,’ Gabriel said politely, crossing to the seat without daring a backward glance at Gwen, who had no choice but to sit down next to Arthur.

She deigned to give him a quick once-over, and was glad to see that he looked miserable. He had dark shadows under his eyes and quite a nasty-looking cut on his brow. He was staring sullenly into his soup, and although he didn’t say anything when she sat down next to him, she saw his shoulders tense.

She was fully prepared to ignore him all evening, but her mother was deep in conversation with her father on her left, and when she tried to lean in to their discussion her father caught her eye and raised a knowing eyebrow. She sank back into her seat, resigned to her fate.

‘Arthur,’ she said factually.

‘Yep,’ he replied, just as accurately.

‘Rough journey, was it?’

‘Nothing compared to the destination,’ he replied, with a tight-lipped smile.

‘What a thrilling surprise to find you at my table.’

‘Believe me, it wasn’t my idea,’ he said gloomily, picking up his drink. ‘Your mother cornered me on my way in. Wouldn’t even let Sid come with me.’

‘Who’s Sid?’

‘Sidney Fitzgilbert. My body-man. He’s the short, ugly one over there.’ He waved a hand towards one of the long tables, and Gwen saw a stocky, dark-haired and perfectly good-looking man raise a hand to wave cheerfully. He was pale but slightly sunburned, and had stew all down his chin. She did not wave back.