Page 70 of Bridget & Gabe Are Not Okay

“No,” Florian said, looking slightly nervous now. “Actually, I wanted to… Could I speak to you for a moment in private?”

“Your Majesty,” said Sir Hurst, appearing as if by magic. “If you’d like me to accompany you…”

“No,” Gabriel said, shaking his head. “No, thank you, that won’t be necessary.”

They walked a little way away from the glow of the firelight to the perimeter of the tents. Gabriel felt on fire himself. IfArthur wasn’t with Florian… If he wasn’t withanyone…If he’d agreed to come on this quest, and spend weeks on the road with Gabriel, sharing more gentle glances and kind words than they’d exchanged in months, then maybe, justmaybe…

“My wife and I already have a son,” Florian said to Gabriel, as they walked. “He’s four, and he’s brilliant. I’d do anything to protect him. When I thought someone might be coming to the house after the… uprising, that they might want to end my father’s line… it was torture. But then you invited me here. And I thought it might be… I know it’s a delicate situation, and I didn’t want you, or anyone, to think that I might have designs on…”

Gabriel with no heir; the dead usurper’s son with one already born and another child on the way. Family too, related to the royal line. He could see exactly what the problem was. It sort of made sense actually. Florian could try to finish his father’s work, and he might be able to do it without much bloodshed—just make the case that he had a prince ready to go, and the cultists might follow him. Especially years down the line, if no heir was forthcoming, which… it probably wouldn’t be.

“I don’t think that,” Gabriel replied. He might have done, before meeting Florian; he was sure some of his advisors still would. Lord Best would have a fit. It should have been bad news, really, or at least complicated news, but something heavy had been lifted. He’d been so convinced of Florian and Arthur’s romance, so resigned to the fact of it. And now, thank God, a lovely wife.

“Good. Good. All right. Well, now you know.” He smiled weakly, and Gabriel smiled back, genuine, relieved.

“You and Arthur,” he said suddenly, thinking of the complex affairs of Arthur Pendragon’s knights, Gwen’s assertionthat shecouldlove the right man if she met him, and wanting to be absolutely sure. “You’re… close.”

“Yes, we’ve been getting to know each other.”

How to ask this without asking it? “And you like him.”

“He’s very likeable,” said Florian. He cleared his throat, and then, with some hesitation, he said, “I’m in love with my wife. And I don’t… I’m not… I understand that Arthur is inclined that way, and the Lancelot laws… I’m in support of them. But it’s my wife for me.”

“Oh,” Gabriel said, breathing out. “Good. That’s… lovely. Good for you.”

“And I’m sure you know Arthur certainly isn’t in love withme,because—” He cut himself off, but Gabriel wasn’t really listening.

He was looking back at the fire, where he could make out gesticulating silhouettes, Arthur unnaturally still at the edge of them.

Was there really still a chance? If he were a braver man, would Gabriel be able to take it?

“I didn’t know that actually.”

“Ah. He’s not.” Florian looked uncomfortable suddenly, more uncomfortable than he had while trying to explain that he loved his own wife. “I can’t pretend to know the particulars of your… situation, but I do think you gave me a chance. All of you. Excepting Sir Hurst. And I think maybe, with just the one life to live and all, you ought to… give yourself a chance too. I hope that’s not too vast an overstep.” He smiled tentatively. “Anyway, I’ll let you… I’ll get back to…” And he made a quick exit, leaving Gabriel standing there in the gloom, face half turned toward the light.

Twenty-Nine

Bridget was sitting by the fire with Leonard and Bowen, who were forcing her to try to recreate the magic of the cards with a simple set of playing cards they’d brought in their luggage, when the Lady of the Lake turned up with a large flagon of wine. She was wearing a functionally identical but much less floury dress, and she’d braided her hair too, working shells and stones and pearls into it, staining her lips with something startlingly red.

“Good evening,” she said. “You are having a party practically in my garden and you did not invite me.”

“Oh my God,” gasped Sir Leonard. “Are you the witch? I have so many questions.”

“Drink now,” said the Lady. “Questions later.”

She handed him the wine and floated off, probably in search of Sir Hurst.

They hadn’t actually been throwing any sort of party, but her arrival precipitated a complete change in atmosphere, like they were hosting an honored guest. Wine was poured; outfitswere changed, from drab traveling clothes to something more appropriate for a noble banquet. Sir Leonard started following the Lady around like a puppy, begging her to tell him his future, while she smiled and told him he was “too beautiful, like a sculpture with nothing behind the eyes.” He didn’t even seem particularly insulted.

“He’s going to talk about this for months,” Bowen said glumly. “And he’ll decide to dedicate his life to the study of this magic, spend a ridiculous amount of money on some cards, then never look at them again.”

“You could spend time with other people, Bowen,” said Bridget. “You’re very popular.”

“No,” Bowen replied, sighing. “Unfortunately, I don’t care to. Excuse me.”

He went to intercede on the Lady’s behalf, and Bridget went to find Gwen.

She was sitting next to Arthur, who looked somewhat morose. “Look, here’s Bridget. She’ll say something encouraging. Go on, Bridget.”