Page 102 of Gwen and Art Are Not in Love

‘It was the Captain of the Guard, your highness,’ said the boy quickly. ‘Sir Hurst. And the Wizard, Master Buchanan.’

‘I won’tgo,’ Gwen’s mother said again, sounding near hysterics; Gwen didn’t understand, but she wasn’t going to waste another minute trying to make sense of it.

As she and Agnes walked quickly after the boy, she heard her mother start to cry.

The journey to the war room seemed to take an age, their footsteps echoing eerily in the near-empty castle; when they got there, Sir Hurst, Master Buchanan and a handful of their attendants were standing around the table. They looked grim; Sir Hurst was filthy, freshly returned from the fight.

‘But – where’s everybody else?’ Gwen said, thinking they made for a pretty poor attempt at a war council.

‘Fighting,’ said the Captain of the Guard gruffly. ‘Where’s the queen?’

‘She wouldn’t come,’ Gwen said. ‘I don’t understand why, she just started shouting, so if you just let me know what this is about then I can go back and—’

‘Your highness, I’m afraid the king is dead,’ said the Wizard. He had spoken slowly, kindly, and yet somehow nothing he’d said made sense. He was studying her closely, his eyes apologetic; Gwen just stared at him. ‘Your father,’ he said, as if to remove any room for doubt. ‘He fell, at Sir Marlin’s hand. This boy witnessed it.’

She had barely spoken to Master Buchanan before. It seemed absurd that he would be the one to say such a thing to her now.

‘That’s not …’ Gwen started, but she had no idea what to say next. Her heart was beating very, very fast. There was a strange sound in the room, coupled with the sensation that she was looking at it from very far away.

The numbness she had longed for finally came as she felt herself stagger sideways, caught by the hands of her father’smen. She realised in a detached sort of way that she hated them for making her come here; for making her listen to this. They helped her into a chair. It didn’t feel real, even as she gripped the armrests.

‘Just because he fell,’ Gwen said, wondering if anybody could hear her over all that odd, muffled buzzing, ‘doesn’t mean he’s dead.’

‘I’m sorry, your highness,’ said Sir Hurst, ‘but it’s true. And we need to make a decision now. The prince is unaccounted for. Nobody has seen him since the fighting first began. We have to assume … Usually there would be a clearer order of command, but we were taken by surprise, so we have to make do. The queen has the authority, but if she won’t come …’

Gwen looked down at her hands. They seemed very stupid. Short, ragged nails, with smooth palms; hands that had never done anything of real worth in her entire life. ‘What decision?’

‘We were winning,’ said Master Buchanan. ‘But word must have already spread that the king is dead. And without your brother – our men are losing, your highness. The fight has gone out of them, because they think it’s over. They’re afraid.’

‘We could send out the castle guard,’ said Sir Hurst. ‘Our last fifty or so men. It won’t necessarily change the tide, but it might boost their spirits. That’s what they need. If we do so, though, we leave the castle – and the city beyond – entirely undefended if they make it through the last of our lines. We don’t know what they plan to do if they succeed.’

‘Who decides?’ Gwen said simply. The two menexchanged a look, and then the Captain of the Guard turned away, clearly frustrated.

‘You,’ said Master Buchanan. ‘In the absence of anybody else –youmust decide.’

Gwen looked at him. She looked past him at the family sigil on the wall, so familiar that she never really saw it any more – a lion, a hawk and a cup. And then she looked down at the map in front of them; at the ancient shapes and lines of England, at all the paths and roads that eventually made their way to Camelot. She wanted to go back to her chambers and lock the door, climb into bed and wake up in a world in which her father was alive; Gabriel exhausted but waving to her on their way to breakfast; Bridget waiting for her in the stables; and Arthur knocking on her door to trade jibes and stories at the end of the day.

It was all gone, that life – and yet there was still more to be lost, if she faltered now.

‘Send out the guard,’ she said, standing up.

‘You’re sure?’ said Master Buchanan; Gwen nodded once.

‘You must fetch the queen and leave at once,’ Sir Hurst said. ‘In case the castle falls.’

Gwen shook her head. ‘She won’t go,’ she said. ‘And nor shall I.’

‘Your highness, with all due respect—’

‘Send out the guard,’ Gwen said heavily, trying to quell her shaking as she squared her shoulders and faced him head-on. ‘But first – I need you to do something for me.’

The atmosphere on the battlefield had begun to change the moment the king had fallen to his knees; Arthur heard consternation all around him, battle cries turning into shouts of genuine fear. He hadn’t been particularly fond of the king – he hadn’t reallyknownhim – but it felt as if England had died in his arms somehow, the country as he knew it extinguished.

‘Let go,’ Sidney was saying, and Arthur didn’t quite understand what he meant – let go emotionally? Did Sidney want him to cry? – but then he realised that he was still holding on to the king’s hand as three of his knights tried to claim his body.

‘Gabriel,’ Arthur said suddenly, as he watched the men lift the king’s prone form and then put their heads down to barrel through the fray. Sidney wasn’t paying attention; somebody had just tried to stab him, and he was retaliating in kind. A spray of mud and blood hit Arthur full in the face as the man toppled heavily down beside him; Arthur retched, heaving up absolutely nothing, and Sidney grabbed him and hauled him to his feet. ‘Gabriel,’ Arthur tried again. ‘Where’s Gabriel? He’s – he’sking.’

‘No idea,’ grunted Sidney as they began to move. ‘We really have to go. It’s a bloody miracle we’ve lasted this long with you so useless.’