Page 8 of Queen Takes Camelot: Gwen
“Put the phone away.”
I glanced up at him and tried to smile soothingly. “Do as he says, please.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.” His voice trembled, but Kevin slipped the phone into his pocket. “I take it this gentleman isn’t Gawain Gwyar of House Igerna after all?”
Arthur gave us his most charming smile. “Technically, I am Gawain. Or rather, he’s in me. Since I ate him.”
I closed my eyes a moment, fighting down the wail of rage and loss. One Blood dead before I could even see him with my own eyes.
“It’s the honorable ones who are easy to find.” Arthur continued as if he was describing what he’d eaten for breakfast at a five-star restaurant. “Gawain never thought to change his name, or at least leave his house’s nest and spare them my wrath. I’m sad to say that House Igerna has gone the way of House Skye in that regard.”
“Only our new queen didn’t kill and eat everyone inside House Skye.” My voice quivered slightly, but I refused to show him how much his words hurt. “Who else have you murdered?”
“The un-honorable ones have been harder to find,” he continued without answering my question. “But I knew they would eventually come to you. Traitors always do. I’m not pleased that Elaine’s geas held them off so long, but no matter. That gave me plenty of time to find the rest.”
“What do you want?” I knew, but I hoped to keep him talking. My mind raced, trying to come up with a plan. If I waited until my Blood arrived… Nothing changed. Not without blood. If I made the slightest move, he’d be on me. His casual posing was all a sham.
“It was so considerate of you to agree to meet with me here.” Arthur tipped his head at the glass walls. “Perhaps we can come to an agreement with Lancelot before things get… nasty.”
People walked by outside, rushing to their jobs and appointments like it was any other day, too busy to peek inside the building that they couldn’t enter.
But all too soon, beloved faces would appear at the windows, unable to step inside.
Lance would never come to any agreement with Arthur. Not after what had happened. Neither would I, for that matter. But if I played along, maybe something would come to me. “What kind of agreement?”
Arthur leaned forward, radiating sincerity. He braced his elbows on his knees and loosely clasped his hands. He wore a large gold and onyx ring on his wedding finger.
My throat closed off, my brain flinching away as the past reared its ugly head. I remembered when Guinevere had slipped that heavy ring on his hand. She’d loved him in the beginning, though she’d come to despise him before the end.
His ring had fueled his ego. The ring he’d given her in exchange had been a prison. A life sentence in hell. And that had been before he realized she was in love with his knights too.
“Be my Guinevere, like we were always meant to be.”
I swallowed the cold, hard knot trying to choke me. “You know that has never worked.”
“It will this time,” he insisted. “I’ve changed, Gwen. I really have. I understand what I need to do to please you this time.”
Even when he tried to be sincere, he was still an ass. He made it sound likeIwas the one at fault for centuries of torment. Me.
The one he’d burned to death in the tower.
I was being difficult. You know, insisting that he not run around killing our friends and their entire families. Silly me.
“If you want him, you can have him.”
Eyes narrowed, I searched his face. A muscle ticked in his cheek and he gripped his hands together firmly enough that his fingertips were whitening. “You can’t even say his name, so why on earth would I believe that you’d allow me to have him?”
“I made a mistake in trying to keep you from him. I know that now. I still don’t like it, but if it means I can have you, then I will share you.”
It was a huge concession for a man like him, but I still didn’t believe him. His voice had roughened, his grip fierce as if he was holding himself back. His eyes blazed with emotion. Mostly fury, I thought, and loathing. Not passion or love or understanding.
Kevin dropped the notebook and papers fluttered everywhere. “Oh dear. I’m so sorry, Your Majesty. I’m so clumsy.”
He dropped down beside me and started gathering the papers, still babbling like he was terrified of me yelling at him or some such nonsense.
As he handed me a stack of wrinkled papers to hold, I caught the flash of silver in his hand. An old-fashioned fountain pen gleamed against his palm.
Metal tip.
