Page 77 of Gwen and Art Are Not in Love

‘Invading Normandy,’ Arthur said flatly. ‘Come to help?’

‘This isn’t funny,’ Gabriel said, ignoring him. ‘You shouldn’t have come.’

‘Youshouldn’t have come.’

‘It’s my feast,’ Gabriel said incredulously. ‘They threw it in my honour.’

‘Well, you seem to be having heaps of fun,’ Arthur said, leaning against the wall, partially to look as if he didn’t care but partially out of necessity. ‘If you got any more lively you might reach the vivacity of a plague victim, or a recently deceased mouse, or – or—’

‘Arthur,’ Gabriel said, suddenly standing in front of him. ‘Go to bed.’

‘Make me,’ Arthur said, hating himself a little bit for sounding so sneery. Gabriel looked all pinched and piqued; it was exactly the sort of expression he always wore just before they kissed. Hardly a good sign, but regardless, it was making Arthur’s fingers itch.

‘Go to bed,’ Gabriel said again, and suddenly Arthur was at his limit.

‘Leave with me,’ he said. ‘Come on. Do something you actuallywantto do for a change.’

Gabriel let out a frustrated huff that was half-laugh, half something else, and stared up at the star-strewn sky as if he couldn’t bear to look at Arthur for another second.

‘What?’ Arthur said, knowing he sounded petulant and not even the slightest bit alluring. ‘Is that really so mad a proposition?’

Gabriel looked back at him, entirely serious, and suddenly Arthur felt a bit sick. ‘What makes you think that leaving with you would be what Iactually want?’

‘What?’ Arthur scoffed again, but his certainty was wavering. ‘You’re not going to pretend—’

‘You’ve been drinking. You’re making a fool of yourself, and – you’re making things toohard. I’m going to stay here, where I’m supposed to be. And I know you probably can’t fathom this, but I thought I’d made myself clear –I don’t want you here.’

Arthur felt something akin to a fist clenching in his chest, wringing the breath out of him and then releasing him just as suddenly.

‘That’s a shame,’ he said, tilting his head to the side, knowing that his smile was more cruel now than anything else. ‘Because I really do have something for you. A present.’

‘I don’t want it,’ said Gabriel, shaking his head. He turned to leave, but before he could, Arthur grabbed his arm and pressed the thick wad of folded parchment he’d been carrying all night into Gabriel’s hand. He half expected Gabriel to open his fingers and let it all fall to the ground, but he didn’t.

‘Had a book sent from home,’ Arthur said, noting that his voice was trembling slightly and trying to temper it. ‘It’s been in my family for a very long time – I can only assume that my father never actually read it, because there was a little something extra inside. I know he certainly wouldn’t want these getting into the wrong hands. Mine, especially. Go on. Read them.’

‘What is this?’ Gabriel said, not looking at the parchment, choosing to stare at Arthur instead. ‘I don’t have time for this.’

‘I think you’ll want tomaketime,’ Arthur said. ‘Becauseit’s something you’ve missed, in all your research. Something everybody has. Such interestinglettersour fair Lancelot used to write to the great and noble King Arthur.’

‘What are youtalkingabout?’

‘Read them,’ Arthur said, shrugging. ‘And then tell me if you’re still ready to be a king as bold as Arthur Pendragon.’

Arthur left before Gabriel could, knowing that he was still standing in the courtyard, gaping after him, with secrets hundreds of years old crumpled in his shaking fist.

‘Oh,’ said Gwen. ‘Oh.’

‘Wait until you get to the part about the feast,’ Gabriel said, sounding slightly delirious. He was standing by the window of the east solar, his arms crossed. It was very late, and by rights they both should have been asleep long ago, but when Gabriel had knocked on the door Gwen had called him in from atop a footstool while a very sour-faced seamstress stuck pins in the blossom-pink fabric that was being shaped into her wedding gown. Agnes was fast asleep in one of the armchairs, and the room was lit in stripes of light and shadow from low-burning candles. Once the seamstress had finished her adjustments – and her furious muttering about ladies who werefar too tall– Gwen had sat down heavily on the stool and asked her brother why his neck was sweating.

He hadn’t said anything; he’d just handed her the letters.

‘What?’ Gwen whispered, having reached the aforementioned part about the feast. ‘Sir Lancelot wrote these?TheSir Lancelot? ToArthur Pendragon?’

‘I suppose they might have been forged,’ Gabriel said, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. ‘I wouldn’t put it past him to do it, just to … toy with me.’

‘Him who? Oh –Arthurgave you these?’ Gwen said, glancing up at him and then turning the page over. ‘No, I don’t think he’d have had the patience or the endurance to fake all of this. They’re so … earnest. Although I suppose I am translating very literally.’

‘I just don’t understand,’ Gabriel said, finally sitting. ‘I mean, Arthur loved Guinevere, Guinevere loved Lancelot, everybody’s made their peace with that particular discretion, but this is …’