Page 64 of Gwen and Art Are Not in Love

‘Youkilledhim?’ Gwen said, her eyes travelling from Bridget’s face, which did not seem to have any new scratches, to the sword in her hand and the surreally lurid streaks of blood on her breeches.It’s not her blood, Gwen thought distantly.That’s where she wiped the sword clean.

‘Yes,’ Bridget said heavily. ‘I killed him.’

They sat in uneasy silence as these words sank in.

‘Wait,’ Gwen said slowly, once the initial shock had worn off somewhat. ‘Arthur – where were you?’

She was sure she wasn’t imagining it; Arthur’s eyes flickered briefly over to Gabriel before he looked at her. ‘Walking.’

‘Walking? Walking in the royal wing?’ Gwen said. ‘Why did you all come in together? I thought you were going to bed.’

‘I didn’t say I was going to bed,’ Arthur said petulantly. ‘I said I was leaving. If you assumed I was going to bed, that just demonstrates your utter lack of imagination.’

‘All right,’ Gwen said, narrowing her eyes. ‘So just say Iwereto use my imagination—’

The door opened, and the king and queen walked in, followed by a handful of panicked-looking attendants. Gwen’s mother crossed to her immediately and pressed a kiss to her forehead before walking around the table to do the same to Gabriel, who closed his eyes tightly shut as her lips met his head. Their father walked the length of the room to take his customary seat at the head of the table, leaning back in his chair and sighing heavily as they all waited for him to speak.

‘It seems it was only one attacker,’ he said, as a page fetched and poured him some wine. ‘Although God knows how he was able to get as far as the royal wing.’

‘What happened to the guards?’ Gabriel asked.

The king, who had been staring into his cup, looked up – and suddenly seemed to realise that the room was far more populated than he’d expected.

‘To what do we owe this pleasure?’ he asked, nodding at Arthur and then looking pointedly at Gwen.

‘Um,’ said Gwen. She tried to meet Gabriel’s eye, but he was staring at the table. His hands were tensed against it, as if he might need to push up and flee at any moment. ‘Arthur and I were just – talking.’

‘Oh,Gwendoline,’ her mother sighed. ‘Again?’

‘Again?’ the king said in a dangerous tone.

Arthur looked distinctly uncomfortable. ‘Well, it’s been lovely,’ he said, getting to his feet, ‘but I think I’d better be going. Very glad you’re all alive, of course – good job, and keep it up for the foreseeable. Good evening, your majesty, your highnesses …’

As Arthur practically sprinted from the room, the king turned his gaze to Bridget. ‘And you?’

‘I was on my way to speak to the princess, your majesty,’ Bridget said without a moment’s hesitation. ‘She rendered me a service and I wanted to bring her a token of thanks.’

‘And what token was this?’

Bridget did hesitate this time, just for a moment, before lifting the sword she had used to apprehend the man in the hallway and dropping it on to the table with a clatter that made Gwen wince. ‘This.’

‘You were bringing my daughter asword?’ the queen said, sounding utterly horrified.

‘The guards let you through to the royal chambers, late at night, with a weapon?’ said the king, equally unimpressed.

‘I told them she had my permission to enter earlier this week,’ Gwen said, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘They were only following my orders.’

‘Gwendoline, this is highly inappropriate,’ her mother said, frowning down at the sword as if it too had disappointed her as a daughter.

‘I agree,’ said the king wearily. ‘Although I can’t ignore the fact that if she hadn’t been in exactly the right place atprecisely the right time … I owe you my thanks, Lady Leclair.’

Bridget inclined her head, and the king waved her away, her eyes meeting Gwen’s briefly as she backed out of the room. Lord Stafford was coming in the other direction; he was wearing a garish magenta jacket over his nightshirt, which he had stuffed into navy breeches, and an expression of deep anguish. He looked, Gwen thought, a little bit like a depressed jester.

‘No dead,’ he said. ‘Except the assassin himself, your majesty.’

‘So, what – somebody let him in?’ Gwen said. Gabriel did finally look at her then, but she reciprocated too late; he had already turned away.

‘My guess is that he was a recent hire to the guard,’ Lord Stafford said, very pale. ‘A lone actor, with some imagined score to settle. We vet everybody fastidiously, of course, but sometimes you just can’t tell. I expect Sir Hurst will confirm as much when he comes to brief you, your majesty.’