Page 69 of Gwen and Art Are Not in Love

‘The cat’s name is Lucifer,’ Arthur said, sounding pathetic even to his own ears.

‘Art,’ Gwen said. ‘Iknow.’

‘Then why did you just call him Merlin?’

‘No, youimbecile,’ Gwen said, rolling her eyes and leaning in closer as she lowered her voice. ‘Iknow. About you. And – and Gabriel.’

‘Oh,’ Arthur said, crumpling back into his seat and sighing. ‘Right. Well. I mean.Whatdo you know, exactly? Because to be frank, Gwen, I feel likeIhardly know. And I’m somewhat involved.’

Gwen chewed on her lip as she considered her answer, and seemed to risk losing a large chunk of it when a fanfare of trumpets announced the start of the joust; Arthur raised his hands in affront, feeling that Gwen had somewhat skipped over his attempt to gather Gabriel-related intel, but the true source of her distraction became clear when the first competitor was announced.

Lady Bridget Leclair emerged, resplendent in her armour. Her squire was far less composed, struggling to carry her lance and keep up with her horse.

‘Excuse me,’ said Arthur. ‘We were talking about me, and then you got a little sidetracked, but just to recap—’

Gwen actuallyshushedhim; she hadn’t taken her eyes off Bridget, who was approaching the stands as her competitor closed in from the other side of the lists.

After bowing as much as was possible from horseback, Bridget turned her steed back in the direction she’d come – but not before making brief and burning eye contact with Gwen, who was practically vibrating out of her seat. Arthur watched as Bridget gave her a tiny smirk of greeting, and then turned his entire body around to face Gwen, who was red-cheeked and slack-mouthed and practically giddy with longing.

‘Oh my God,’ Arthur hissed, the truth suddenly bestowed upon him like an early birthday present. ‘Youdid it.’

‘I – what?’ Gwen said, finally distracted, whipping around to look at him with an alarming expression on her face.

‘You – you got your lance wet, didn’t you?’ Arthur said, probably not as quietly as he should have done; he was feeling a bit giddy himself. ‘You gave her the green gown!You ground her corn! You—’

‘Shut yourdamned mouth,’ Gwen said, her jaw clenched tightly.

Arthur mimed sewing his mouth shut and throwing the needle away with a flourish; he stayed silent just long enough for Bridget and her opponent, a stout and well-worn-looking man on a bay mare, to take up their positions. ‘You did though, didn’t you?’

‘Didwhat?’ Gwen hissed. ‘I have no idea what anything you just said actuallymeans.’

‘Did you kiss her?’ Arthur said, having the presence of mind to lower his voice to a mutter. ‘Did she kiss you?’

‘No comment,’ said Gwen, but despite the fact that she had been spitting mad at him only seconds ago, she had to press her lips together to keep from smiling.

‘Oh no,’ Arthur said, gripping her by the shoulder and giving her what he hoped was a friendly little shake. ‘I’m actually proud of you. I don’t … I don’t really know what to do with that.’

‘Please,’ Gwen said, ‘do absolutely nothing with it. It does not require action. And stop shaking me like a maraca, people will think we’re odd.’

‘Weareodd,’ Arthur said happily. ‘I can’t believe it. I honestly never thought you’d do it. And to think, you’re my protégé; I taught you everything I knew, and sent you off into the world. Did you slip her the—’

Gwen was spared the conclusion of this sentence by the blare of the horns; her eyes were glued to Bridget, who was lowering her visor and urging her horse into motion. It all looked rather impressive, Arthur had to admit; as she pickedup speed she sat perfectly balanced in the saddle, bringing her lance into position as if it weighed no more than a longsword, tucking it tightly into her arm and leaning forward with easy competence and nerves of iron.

The ground was soft from recent rainfall, and he could smell the freshly churned mud under the horse’s hoofs mingling with the smells of mead and metal that always permeated the air on jousting days; Arthur almost closed his eyes at the point of contact, but he was glad he didn’t.

Bridget’s aim didn’t waver; her lance splintered, and the crowd roared. The man she was competing against hadn’t even managed to strike a blow.

‘Yes,’ Gwen hissed, applauding wildly, bouncing in her seat as if she had wanted to leap out of it in celebration; Arthur raised both eyebrows at her, nodding towards her parents, who were clapping politely. Gwen raised her eyebrows back, giving them a little waggle that was so uncharacteristically saucy Arthur snorted with shock.

‘I knew you just needed a good tonguing to cheer you up,’ he said in her ear over the sound of the crowd, and she elbowed him quite hard in the side but kept smiling. She was watching Bridget come, helm in hand, to accept the king’s congratulations.

They probably thought they were being subtle, but even feet apart from each other, the tension between them was palpable. They might as well have had a proclamation drawn up:Behold, kissing hath recently taken place betwixt this lusty knight and this passing good woman.

‘She was brilliant,’ Gwen said breathlessly as Bridget walked away, and Arthur laughed.

‘Why don’t you go and see her in the competitors’ encampment, and ask her to show you that thing where she knocks people to the ground?’ Arthur said, and Gwen grimaced.

‘Can’t,’ she said, gesturing to the guards at the end of the stands. ‘They’re my shadows right now. They interrupted and insisted on walking me back to my rooms, when Bridget and I were … talking. It’s my birthday tomorrow and I thought I might … Anyway. It’s impossible.’