Page 64 of Bridget & Gabe Are Not Okay

Could this work? The two of them, as they were now? If Gabriel had more good days that left him feeling capable of facing difficult things, perhaps. But the likelihood of that felt agonizingly slim.

“It’s felt worse this summer,” Arthur said. “I imagine it has for you too. I don’t think I realized that I was still… but tryingnotto think about it only made it worse. So I stopped. It helped quite a lot to talk to Florian, honestly. Especially as he wasn’t there. I’ve told him about his father too, although… obviously a bit of a weird one, given the circumstances. He’s an excellent listener.” Gabriel could hear the soft smile in his voice, and it was like being slapped to his senses. What was he doing, thinking about kissing Arthur, when that wasn’t what Arthur wanted at all? He shifted away, and Arthur sat up straight, looked down at their joined hands and separated them, just as absentmindedly as he’d linked them.

“Is he?” Gabriel said, trying not to sound too flat.

“Oh, yes. He’s funny too, when you get to know him. He seems quiet, but he’s just paying attention, and then he’ll come out with the most hilarious little observation. I reallylike him.” The fondness in his tone had once been familiar to Gabriel, but it didn’t belong to him anymore.

Arthur and Florian. Florian and Arthur.

There was a sort of relief in giving up hope completely. Closure. Yes, Gabriel still loved Arthur, but what did it matter? It had been so unlikely that someone like Arthur would look his way in the first place, and then of course, he’d gone and squandered his improbable chance; ruined what they’d had, irreparably. He hadn’t been built for it. So Arthur had moved on, as he should, and perhaps Gabriel would, eventually, not to love somebody else, but to the sort of loveless, touchless existence he had always imagined for himself.

That was right. It made so much sense it felt practically fated. It was over. Done. After this, Gabriel would force himself to stop watching for Arthur out of his window, and they could just be friends.

“I’m glad you have him to… talk to,” he said. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks,” Arthur replied. It was deeply awkward, but he pressed on. “And you’re feeling… I mean, I don’t want to pry, but you don’t seem…”

What was the point of keeping secrets now? It hardly mattered. “Ah. Yes. It’s funny actually, because I really didn’t want to tell you for the longest time… I’ve been doing quite badly. Panic attacks. That’s what the Wizard calls them. Sort of… fits of extreme emotion, feels like I’m going to die, can’t breathe, chest pain. Sometimes I actually have to go and find somewhere dark to hide, it’s quite ridiculous. The physician isn’t sure if it’s something to do with physical stress or an affliction of the mind.”

“Panic attacks,” Arthur repeated slowly. “How long have you…?”

“Since last Yuletide,” said Gabriel. “The first one happened shortly after the New Year’s feast.”

Arthur was deathly silent. When he spoke, he almost sounded angry. “And you didn’t tell me because…?”

“I don’t know,” Gabriel said, but then he thought for a moment. “I suppose because I knew it was all too much, and things between us probably weren’t… what you wanted them to be, and this would only make it worse. I didn’t really want to tell anyone. I thought it might be a one-off, at first, but then it… wasn’t. Nobody wants a king whose mind is constantly telling him he’s dying, for no reason.” He took a breath, speaking faster than he was thinking. “I was just so afraid, all the time. Afraid I’d let everyone down, let my… my father down. I still am. I keep questioning if I’m doing the right thing. Trying to make all these changes. People are so angry, and it’s been hard to trust myself at all. Maybe I’m ruining everything. For everyone.”

The silence afterthislasted so long that Gabriel wanted to die. Eventually Arthur cleared his throat, said “Gabriel,” and then there was a rapid knock at the door.

“Sir Arthur?” said a page. “Sir Arthur, I think the party has returned from the school. If you’re still in there, you probably ought to leave before the king returns and finds you in his bed.”

“Too late, thanks,” Arthur called back, but he got to his feet, looked at Gabriel once again with a strange expression of bewilderment bordering on hurt, and then excused himself from the room.

Twenty-Seven

Then they came upon the Lady of the Lake, who was passing beautiful and a noble age, and she hosted them in her great chamber, and changed them with all her subtle crafts, and sent them away different than they had been before.

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

The next day, the schedule took a dramatic turn for the worse. They were to cross the border into the independent territories of Wales—a perfectly pleasant proposition in and of itself, with international tensions long diffused, but it was to be a week’s ride, their progress slowed by the inconveniences of a large traveling company.

“I don’t see the point,” Neil said, hungover and in a griping mood as they packed. He seemed to be approaching this entire venture as a sort of consequence-free holiday for young lads, and had fallen in with some of the guards, pages, and squires who behaved badly after hours and loved to egg each other on. “Gabriel’s not the King of Wales, so who cares?”

“Lady of the Lake is a biggie,” said Bridget. “People want us to confirm if she’s real. Also, it’s good to be friendly.”

“Is it?” Neil hissed. “That’s never been your motto. Or mine.It’s good to be unfriendly. Then you don’t have to talk to anyone.”

“You talk to everyone.”

“Not,” Neil said, suffering immensely, “in themorning.”

In the courtyard, Bridget came across Gwen and Arthur deep in serious conversation, heads together. It was still quite funny seeing them like this, after all the animosity of their childhoods, the dramatics of last summer. Bridget could see why Lord Best might look at them, great friends now completely at ease with each other, and have no idea why they hadn’t turned said bond into a politically advantageous marriage and a brood of stubborn, headstrong babies who’d grow up to be exactly five feet and nine inches tall.

She wondered if they were perhaps talking about her, and stopped finding the scene quite so sweet.

She busied herself checking Fiona’s tack, as if Neil wouldn’t have done it twice already, and when Gwen sidled up to her she felt another twinge of shame.

“Faring well?” she said, her tone casual.