Page 26 of Bridget & Gabe Are Not Okay

A couple of disgruntled punters were departing the inn, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the newcomers, andBridget realized they must have insisted that everybody clear out to make way for the king.

Not great. Poor behavior, really. But it did feel safer. Bridget was sure they’d been handsomely compensated for giving up their bar stools and lodgings.

A harried boy came to sort out the horses, and once they’d all trooped inside they found the world’s most stressed landlady sweeping the floors with concentrated bursts of violence.

“Your Majesty,” she said, with a deep bow, using the broom to add a flourish. “And Your Highness, and…” She looked around at the other faces, desperate. “Your… lordships… er… lady, and lady. And… good sirs, in fact—”

“Thank you,” said Gwen. “This is a nice inn. Very rustic.”

“Much obliged, thank you. Land was once a graveyard. Walls are full of all the original bones, if you’d like to see.”

“Oh,” Gabriel said. “Lovely. No.”

He crumpled into one of the chairs like a rotten apple trodden underfoot, so everybody else found seats as well, although Bridget noticed that they gave his table a wide berth. Gwen was the only one who went to sit with him. She didn’t glance over her shoulder to see if Bridget was following, like she would have done last winter. This was simultaneously a tiny loss and enormously fascinating.

“Is this what it’s like to be royal?” Adah said in an undertone, as she and Bridget sat down near the bar. She ran a hand over her freshly shorn head, narrowing her eyes as she assessed the room. “All the fun places emptied of people so you can enjoy the lack of atmosphere in private?”

“Yep,” said Bridget. “Sometimes it’s the other way around; rooms full of people having fun, but you don’t get to be one of them. You’re the centerpiece.”

“Like the hambaby,” Adah said darkly. At a recent feast celebrating the departure of the round table, one of the cooks had taken it upon himself to fashion a cherub out of various cuts of pork, meant to be the dramatic focal point of the high table. It had been a monstrosity; so grotesque that it put everybody who beheld it off their food.

“Mmm.”

“Radishes for eyes.” Adah shuddered.

“It was… unfortunate.”

“It was a nightmare. I haven’t eaten pork since.” Large carafes of ale and unusually clean cups were placed on the table; the serving girl went to pour, but Adah stopped her with a roguish smile and a wave of her hand, then picked up the jug herself, and the girl went blushingly to attend to her next duty.

“You’re shameless.”

Adah shrugged, watching as the serving girl nervously approached the makeshift royal table. “I can’t help it. I’m honestly not even trying.”

They dined on pottage, with good, dark bread and an excessive amount of butter; enough butter to feed them all ten times over. The landlady was clearly mortified to be offering the King of England something she’d been stewing for hours in apot, because she kept apologizing, and then she’d bring even more butter, like a peace offering. Gabriel barely seemed to notice this dairy drama taking place, which of course only made things worse, as his silence was clearly construed as disapproval.

Bridget was about to get up when Sidney crossed to the landlady, took her aside to the bar and started talking animatedly—probably flirting, because she laughed aloud and then clapped a hand to her mouth to stop herself, giving him a friendly shove of reproof. After a minute or two, she was sitting with him drinking a cup of her own wine; her remaining stores of butter went unmolested, and peace was restored.

It was only once they’d all eaten their fill and the atmosphere had turned sleepy and mellow that Bridget slipped from her seat and went to Gwen’s shoulder.

“You good?” she asked quietly. Gwen glanced up at her, visibly stressed.

“We’re—”

“Actually,” Gabriel said, pushing away his half-eaten pottage, “I’m going to bed.”

His attendant, who’d been eating with Neil and the other squires and guardsmen, jumped to attention. Gabriel sighed, but said nothing as the boy ran ahead to the landlady, presumably to ensure that the king’s lodgings were all arranged. Bridget took his vacant seat, cup in hand.

“Is he…?” Bridget nodded after Gabriel, and Gwen sighed.

“I don’t know. He said something about the sun being too bright, but I couldn’t get much else out of him. Sometimes I think…” She shook her head and took a sip of ale.

“Sometimes you think what?” Bridget pressed.

Gwen glanced at the next table, then over at the door. “Let’s check on the horses.”

The horses did not need checking, and if they did, the Princess of England would not be the one charged with putting on a cloak and wading through the manure to see how they were doing. Nonetheless, Bridget found herself in the stables, breathing in the sweet smell of freshly trampled straw, the air chilled and slightly damp.

“I just… I wish everybody dealt with things the way I do,” Gwen was saying, as she went from stall to stall, checking that there were no lingering stable boys dropping eaves. “I hate that other people’s feelings are such a mystery. I know how to deal with my own grief. But I don’t know how to deal with his.” Shekicked open the door of the last stall, which was empty of all potential company, human and equine. “It’s stupid.”