Page 21 of Bridget & Gabe Are Not Okay

Gwen took a deep breath in and out, and then sat down in the other fireside chair. Bridget sat too, moving very slowly. The fire crackled; her jacket dripped. They were two feet and a universe apart, and if Bridget didn’t start speaking, both distances would be insurmountable.

“I don’t know what to say because I’m bad at talking about things,” she said falteringly.Excruciatingly. But she had to keep going. “It’s not that I don’t want to, and it’s not that I didn’t… I wanted to reply. To your letters. I had no intention of… I was going to hold up my end of the deal. There was no doubt in my mind, when I left. And then… I missed you. All the time, even when I was trying not to. What was going on out there, with me, it wasn’t about… you.”

Gwen blinked back at her, rightfully wary. “Okay. What was it about?”

Bridget’s whole body winced away from the question. “I don’t really know. Something’s off. With me.”

“Was it because you kept losing?” Gwen said, which hurt. “I saw you were having trouble in the lists.”

This did not even come close to describing whatever the hell was going on in Bridget’s head and heart and gut, but it would do for now. “Sort of.”

Gwen nodded. It was impossible to know what she was thinking, but at least she was still sitting there while she was thinking it. She looked down at her hands, and Bridget saw her go to pick at the scrap of frayed skin by her thumb and then stop herself. “I don’t want to force you to talk to me if that’s not what you want. That’s too depressing. We can’t be together at all if it’s going to be like that. I don’t want to send any more unanswered letters.”

Bridget’s throat squeezed. “That’s fair.”

“So which is it?” Gwen said, head held high. “From now on? Are we talking, or are we not talking?”

It would have been such an immediate relief to give up, to be left to hide in peace. But the thought also meant gut-wrenching sadness. There had been good reasons why Bridget had decided this risk was worth the cost. Long evenings spent kissing and touching until their mouths and fingertips felt raw and sparkling, yes, but apart from that—Gwen was brilliantly, furiously funny, even when she didn’t mean to be; perpetually outraged, powered by some kind of nervous, righteous energy that Bridget loved to watch. She was fascinatingly beautiful. And the way she’d wanted Bridget… It was like she hadn’t known she was supposed to hold back, like the only way to be with someone was to begin at a gallop and not stop for fences.

“Talking,” Bridget said. “Please.”

She didn’t know how, but if Gwen could forgive her enough to ask, there had to be some hope for them after all.

Ten

And so those who had not been raised up to be knights were given the honor with haste in front of a small audience, and they swore their love in great voice, to the country and her cause, sword-kissed by the Princess Gwendoline, and by the King when he made himself available, which was not oft, as he had a great many offices to attend to.

—FROM AN EARLY DRAFT OFTHE QUESTS OF KING GABRIEL AND HIS ROUND TABLEBY SIR FLORIAN ARDEN

Sir Leonard and Sir Bowen were two of the most attractive people Gabriel had ever seen with his own eyes. They couldn’t quite measure up to Arthur, who’d walked into the old council room freshly knighted and wearing his favorite maroon doublet with a black cloak draped jauntily over one shoulder, but they did somewhat draw the gaze.

They moved with the familiarity of two people who’d known each other forever, and Gabriel was fascinated. When Sir Leonard tucked a lock of golden hair behind his ear, Sir Bowen’s head twitched slightly in the same direction without looking; when Sir Bowen went to adjust the position of hischair, Sir Leonard was already moving his own an inch sideways to make room.

Gabriel tried not to stare too obviously, methodically letting his gaze rest on each of his knights in turn, then wondering if it was too obvious that he was rotating between them and trying to mix it up a little bit, as was probably more natural.

Lady Adah, whom Gabriel had only ever spoken to in the mews, was sitting very upright with a guarded expression, like she’d wandered into a formal meeting of sharp-toothed eels. Their last conversation had been about the consistency of bird mutes. He’d even picked one up and broken it open, to check if Edith’s excrement was healthy. Gabriel hoped she didn’t remember. She probably did.

Sidney, on the other hand—Gabriel couldn’t quite bring himself to think of him asSirSidney—seemed to have been physically inflated by his knighthood, his chest proudly puffed, a perpetual smile tugging at the corner of his lips. In all the horror of admin, Gabriel hadn’t really considered what it might mean to Sidney Fitzgilbert, eldest son of six and heir to a modest cottage, to become a knight of the realm.

He was courting a noble lady too, whose father had no doubt been horrified by her choice. Now that Sidney was a knight, perhaps he’d be singing a different tune.

Everybody else was used to the pomp of court, although Gabriel noticed that Florian looked almost as uncomfortable as Adah. He realized with a start that he had no idea how his cousin had been brought up—in a distant, lonely estate? Fostered somewhere with those sympathetic to his cause? Or had his father lavished him with attention and fine things, readying him to be the confident heir to a stolen throne?

From the way he was tugging compulsively at his collar, the answer to the latter seemed to be no.

Gabriel had given a brief speech of welcome—dreadful—and then drinks had been served and Lady Oakley had taken over, delivering lengthy introductions for each member of the round table so that those who weren’t acquainted might be better so.

“Lord Arthur Delacey is Lord of Maidvale, though he has eschewed that title,” she was saying now; Gabriel chanced a look at the man in question, and found him quietly radiant. “His land and holdings include a great many farms, which make up a large proportion of our southern wheat crop. He played an invaluable part during the tourney uprising—” Sidney snorted, and Arthur jerked slightly in his seat, like he was trying to kick Sidney under the table and failing. The table was simply too big. “While I’m sure he is a very able swordsman”—another snort—“ahem… his primary role here is as a spokesperson. He will work closely with the king to ensure that we are making a positive impression on the people.”

“Basically just grab him by the shoulders and point him at anybody you want to charm,” Gwen said. Arthur gave a shrug of feigned modesty, and grinned. If he’d been upset about joining the round table, there was no sign of it today.

“What role exactly did you play in battle during the coup?” Sir Hurst asked. He looked unimpressed by most of the people around this table, with a few notable exceptions.

“I fell down,” Arthur said, with an air of grave nobility. “A lot.”

“Yes,” said Sir Hurst, even more grimly. “I thought as much.”

“But he got back up again,” Sidney added, giving Arthur a thumbs-up.