Page 9 of Bridget & Gabe Are Not Okay

“Fine,” Gabriel said. “Be quick.”

“He found it in a cave, apparently,” Gwen said nonsensically. “I mean, I think if hehadn’tfound it in a cave nobody would believe it. You couldn’t say, ‘Oh, it was at the bottom of my grandmother’s pan cabinet,’ or, ‘It was buried under a carriage park,’ it just wouldn’t have the same prestige—”

“The Grail,” Lady Oakley interrupted. “They think they’ve found the Holy Grail.”

The emotion this elicited from the room was not excitement, as might have been expected, but a sort of bodily groan—a mass slumping of shoulders, a group sigh.

“Aha,” said Master Buchanan, the court Wizard, the only person who seemed to find this news pleasantly amusing, “and what exactly makes them think that this cup is the Grail, and not, as seems likely, simply… quite a nice cup?”

“Master Buchanan,” the archbishop reproached. “We are speaking of the cup that caughtChrist’s blood.”

“We are likely speaking of somebody’s great-grandmother’s decorative wine goblet,” Master Buchanan replied. “Still worthy of deep reverence, but for altogether different reasons.”

Cardinal Richards seemed too horrified to reply; he and the Wizard argued so constantly that Gabriel had learned to ignore it. The matter of Gabriel’s faith—or lack of—was another issue within these walls. Gabriel thought, privately, that he chastised himself enough without needing a higher power to do it for him.

“Well,” said Lady Oakley, “the provenance is unclear, but it’s causing quite a stir. The man who found it is unwilling to hand it over to anyone he deems unworthy. A few local authorities have written to ask that the king send both his Wizard, as the highest-ranked cultist at court,andthe archbishop to verify. Actually—most of them want you to go yourself, Your Majesty, and the others write to us requesting the same, beseeching you to best the Green Knight and investigate the Lady of the Lake.”

“They want me to go and look at a cup,” Gabriel said, unable to mask his exhaustion.

“We think you should,” Gwen said. “Actually, we think… Oakley, tell him.”

Lady Oakley plucked a piece of parchment from the stack and presented it with a flourish.

“It’s upside down,” Gwen said, and Oakley quickly remedied the angle.

Not that she’d needed to. It had already been all too clear what she was proposing.

“A round table?” spluttered Lord Best.

“Yes,” said Oakley. “A romantic instrument of tradition,taken up to carry us forward into modernity. Think of it like… when you must give medicine to a dog, and you conceal it in some cheese.”

Lord Best harrumphed. “I most certainly will not.”

Gabriel leaned forward slightly, and in response an attendant leaped from where he’d been standing by the wall to fetch the sketch from Lady Oakley and spread it carefully before Gabriel instead. He’d always hated this, but it was worse now that he was king; he could hardly even think about doing something before someone was jumping into action to do it for him. Suggestions that they do away with some of these roles had been met with Lady Oakley’s wide-eyed “You wish to putthirtyyoung men out of a job, all at once?” and the matter had been dropped.

Hard as it had been to adjust, therewerecertain things he struggled to do now without assistance. He’d quickly learned how to read heavy books one-handed out of necessity, but no amount of trying could successfully produce a self-tied boot. Many of the things he’d insisted on doing without attendants when he was prince had been taken from him and dumped in the arms of the serving boys he was now forced to share his life with. It was both horribly intrusive and completely necessary, and it meant that between meetings and functions and the preparations for said meetings and functions, he spent far less time alone than his mind required.

The boy backed away into the corner, and Gabriel gazed down at the parchment, brow furrowed. The round table had been sketched out in ink, an unsettlingly perfect circle, and there were names and what looked like job descriptions set at intervals around its edge.

Gabriel was at the top. Someone had drawn a crown overhis name, and underneath it just saidKing, no further detail or accolades. That seemed about right.

To Gabriel’s right was Sir Hurst, with his usual title of Captain of the Household Guard, although Gwen had crossed outHouseholdand writtenTable, and then crossed outTableagain, probably becauseCaptain of the Table Guardlooked stupid.

Next to Sir Hurst was Lady Bridget Leclair. All Oakley had written for her at first wasDecorated knight of the realm, but underneath she’d added in smaller, slightly embarrassed script,pulled Excalibur. Gabriel supposed it made sense; if there was going to be a round table, the knight who’d come closest to Arthurian godliness should certainly sit on it.

The next name was Arthur Delacey.

“Um,” said Gabriel, lifting his head and meeting Gwen’s gaze.

“Just keep reading,” she urged impatiently.

Oakley had writtenSirbefore Arthur’s name, which was certainly interesting, and underneath it she’d addedspeeches, local networking, strengthening relationships. It was essentially a list of everything Gabriel found impossible.

“Lord Delacey can’t fight,” Gabriel pointed out, thinking he sounded very reasonable. “He’s not exactly a natural choice to be made a knight.”

“You’ll see we’ve taken a more—apologies—well-roundedapproach,” said Lady Oakley. “There are fighting knights, but the quest of this table is to endear the people to you, help them adjust to a new monarch, and to bring you to the feasting halls of lords we want to keep on our side. Yes, we need strength and chivalry, but we also need charm, wit—good heads for politics.”

“Your name is on here,” Gabriel said to his sister.