Chapter Sixteen
“ W e will camp here for the night,” Lancelot’s deep, serious timber broke through the haze of misery I was currently experiencing.
It had been two days since the trap in the village and I was pretty sure my ass was going to be saddle-shaped by the end of our journey and I was also going to be permanently bow-legged while I walked from now on.
Lancelot was unrelenting when it came to setting our pace, claiming that because we had to take the longer route to avoid potential Saxon invaders that we needed to go faster to catch up with Arthur and the rest of the men.
But I was definitely going to shatter into a million still little pieces if I didn’t get off of this horse immediately.
“Your majesty, may I help you down?” Bedivere, who had already deftly slid out from behind me and landed easily onto the ground like a spry cat, asked as he held out his hand to me.
I had been reluctant to ride with the older alpha at first—not because I disliked him or anything—but because I did not want to be a burden to the man.
It couldn’t be easy steering a horse with one hand and trying to keep a floppy, untrained horse-riding omega like me from toppling off.
Bedivere had done it, though, and with a finesse that surprised me. He rode an older dun horse who he called Evefir and half of the time he didn’t even need to keep his hands on the reins. The old beast would simply follow behind Gawain or Lancelot’s horse.
Only when we needed to pick up the pace did Bedivere gather the modified reins in his one hand and click his tongue in order to spur the horse on.
I gratefully accepted Bedivere’s hand, sliding my fingers into his palm and began my descent from his skyscraper of a horse.
As soon as my slippered feet hit the soft dirt my legs wobbled before giving out and I let out a squeak before strong arms wrapped around me, his solid hand gripping my right elbow.
I smiled sheepishly up at the alpha who was watching me like a hawk, his silver eyes seeming to trace my features for any discomfort.
“Will I ever get used to getting off of a horse, Sir Bedivere, or will my legs be rubber every time?”
“I do not know what rubber is, your majesty, but you will acclimate to riding horses soon enough,” Bedivere told me and I could feel the rumble of his voice vibrating in his chest as he spoke.
That is so nice, the slutty little omega version of me that lurked in the back of my brain whispered.
Gently, I pushed away, afraid that my thoughts would be clearly etched on my face for him to see.
Dark brows threaded with silvery hairs pulled together and he frowned. For a moment I was sure I’d been made, but then Lancelot’s voice cut through our conversation.
“Sir Bedivere, come help me get the fire set up, Gawain, get the horses brushed down and find some water, Henry, can you gather some firewood?”
Lancelot’s interruption could not have come at a better moment, I turned around pressing my hands to my flaming cheeks as the men got to work.
I was not allowed to help—though expressly forbidden would be a better way to describe it. Every single time I tried to help Henry with the firewood or help brush down horses the work was taken right out of my hands by the broody alpha who seemed to relish in bossing me around.
“I can set up the bedrolls,” I offered in vain, pointing at the less-than-comfy rolled up bolts of cloth that each horse carried. They offered little in terms of comfort, but Gawain had told me on the first night that they were more meant for keeping the cold at bay than any sort of cushion.
But, of course, Lancelot just shook his head, his eyes shifting away from mine. “Just rest, your majesty, it has been a long day.”
The alpha had been on his best behavior since the night I’d flipped him off and told him to suck a dick—hell it was like he was a completely different person.
He didn’t make any snide comments or try to do anything other than tell me what to do.
And it was driving me batshit crazy.
Was it a little bit toxic of me to like when he rose to my bait and bickered with me? 100%. But did I want it anyway? Yes, yes I did.
In all of the iterations of the myth of King Arthur—even the few that were written by the pro-single alpha factions during the English Reformation that didn’t mention packs at all—Guinevere always fell in love with Lancelot.
It was the most consistent piece in every different retelling. It was fate.
But how was I supposed to love someone who seemed to hate me?
“I’ll just walk with Gawain while he gives the horses water then,” I told him, ignoring the shake of his head as I grabbed the reins of his stallion, Sarion, who, unlike his stick-in-the-mud master, was an absolute sweetheart.
“What did you do to be stuck with such a moody master?” I asked the horse who nipped at the tattered sleeve of my dress affectionately.
A laugh bubbled up in my throat as I reached up to scratch along the horse’s muzzle.
“You really have a way with horses, Gwen,” Gawain said with a chuckle once we were out of earshot of the camp.
Lancelot still shot glares in the younger alpha’s direction whenever he slipped up and called me by my nickname in front of him, so Gawain tended to avoid it to keep the peace.
“I guess I do,” I told him with a shrug. “My mom always loved them.”
“Did she ride?”
I snorted. “No, she was the least outdoorsy person of anyone I’ve ever met. She once took us camping when I was eleven and we ended up in a four-star hotel by the end of the night. She was more of a sit-on-a-beach kind of girl. But she did love to look at them. Only look though—no touching—in fact, she’d probably throw a fit if she saw me on one of them. It would be a whole thing full of scolding and telling me I was going to fall and break my neck.”
Gawain’s lips pulled up into a cheeky smile. “She sounds lovely.”
“She was.” I looked away from the soft look in his blue eyes. Over the past couple of days I had told him more and more about my mom and he’d shared tidbits about his own family.
While it had been just me and my mom in the future, it sounded as if Gawain had no one at all in his family to turn to or rely on. It must have been lonely to grow up the way he had.
On the other hand whenever he spoke about Arthur in the rest that same gentle gleam that he had now would appear.
Found family, was a phrase that lots of my friends in college whose families weren’t the best used to use when they described our friend group. I was almost certain that that was what Gawain thought of the other alphas in Arthur’s round table.
Sarion, who had been docile and walking at my side, suddenly jerked forward with a nicker and practically dragged me waist deep into cold water.
“Oh, shit !” I gasped, still clutching his reins in my hand as I stood in what looked like a creek. “You bad boy! I take back my earlier opinion of you!”
The stallion ignored me as he dunked his muzzle into the water and took long drags of liquid in with a huff.
Gawain’s laughter filled my ears and I glared over Sarion’s back at him as he stood with his hands on his knees and let out the loudest, most obnoxious guffaws that I had ever heard. The other two horses, unlike the one that had dunked me, stood on the sandy shore demurely drinking the water with the utmost politeness.
“Don’t laugh! It’s cold!”
“I am sorry, Gwen, but I do not think I have ever seen such surprise on someone’s face before tonight,” he told me as he straightened and wiped a tear from the corner of his eyes. “Sarion is famous for his—ah— penchant of desiring to be legs deep in water.”
I rounded the horse, wading back towards the shore and pulling my now waterlogged dress along with me. “He doesn’t do it to you or the others!”
My protest was just met with another knowing grin. “He would not dare, but you were untested.”
“And you just let me take his reins tonight knowing he would try to waterboard me?”
“What is this ‘waterboarding’?”
I ignored his words, instead my hand lashed out and curled in the front of his tunic and I dragged him into the water with a great splash.
Gawain came up soaking wet and sputtering as he stared at me as if he had never seen me before.
It was my turn to grin mischievously.
“Was that the waterboarding you spoke of?” he asked, reaching up to wipe some of the moisture from his face with his hand.
I splashed a handful of water up at him. “Nope, waterboarding is when you stick a cloth over someone’s face and pour water onto it,” I told him, mimicking the motion.
“Would that not be torturous?”
“Oh, most definitely. The people do it to get information—but don’t you guys have the rack or something?” I mimicked lifting my hands over my head and stretching as tall as I could go.
Gawain’s nose scrunched and he shook his head. “I have no recollection of any sort of device such as that, that has always been Bedivere’s specialty.”
I gaped at him. “Seriously?”
Gawain’s face was dead serious for a moment before he began laughing again.
With a half-irritated groan I began splashing water at him again, this time with more force than before. “Stop messing with me, you cheeky alpha! I thought you weren’t kidding and Bedivere was out here torturing people!
“ Ack ! Gwen!” he protested, holding his hands in front of his face as an especially large swathe of water blasted him in the fast. It was almost a supernatural amount of water and I stopped, shocked as he stood dripping in front of me.
The air around us suddenly shifted as he stared at me, chest heaving and the droplets still clinging to his curly hair gleaming in the dim light of the setting sun overhead.
Before it had been playful and silly, but now his expression was different than anything I had ever seen from the sweet man. His blue eyes had darkened—all teasing gone as he began to wade through the water to me.
“You—” he began.
I held up my hands. “Don’t be mad, I didn’t mean to go so hardcore with the splashing.”
“I am not angry,” he bit out, reaching up to grab my hands and move them away from my face. “I am vexed .”
“Isn’t that the same thing?” I asked, sucking in a deep drag of his musky sage scent, the same one that had clung to my skin like a warm blanket every night as I fell asleep on the uncomfortable bed roll.
Gawain shook his head roughly, sending droplets of water flying. “No, I just do not have a better word for how I am feeling. You—ever since you fell from the sky you seem to dance through my every waking thought like some sort of fae bewitching me.”
My fingers curled around his, my thumb brushing along the calluses from many hours practicing with not only his sword but the lute he treasured more than anything.
“I didn’t mean to bewitch you, or whatever. I’m not trying to do anything,” I told him, my eyes on his as I watched his gaze shift from mine down to my lips.
He’s going to kiss me, I realized with a confused jolt as he dipped his head and our noses brushed.
I wanted it—I felt like I now knew Gawain the best out of the four alphas that Merlin and his gods seemed to have chosen for me—but at the same time I was married to a man who I still wasn’t sure would be okay with me accepting any other alpha into our relationship.
His bite on my neck was still tender, though the connection was dark, telling me Arthur was far enough away that we would not be able to feel each other.
Kiss him, my inner omega who had grown increasingly demanding ever since I touched that stupid sword, whispered to me as Gawain’s lips touched mine so lightly that I wasn’t sure if it had happened or if my mind was playing tricks on me.
“Gawain,” A gruff voice had us jumping apart. We turned until we found Bedivere standing on the shore with a stony look on his face.
“Bedivere—” Gawain began, his face paling before a harsh red flush filled his cheeks.
Bedivere held up a hand, stopping him from explaining… whatever had just been going on between the two of us.
“Let go of her majesty and head back to the camp,” the older alpha said, his tone brokering no argument.
Gawain looked down to where our hands were still clasped and he shot me one last longing look before letting go of me and slogging back through the water until he reached the shore again.
As he passed Bedivere he whispered something to the man who just nodded before jerking his head in the direction of the campsite.
“Don’t be angry with him,” I began as soon as Gawain was out of earshot.
“I am not angry with him, your majesty,” Bedivere said, sounding exhausted. “I am worried for him. He has never explicitly gone against an order like this before—Lancelot made it clear that none of us were to touch you until Arthur directs us to do so.”
Anger filled me at his words. “I am not an object to be passed around, Bedivere.”
“You are our king’s wife—that takes precedence over all else—even the gods’ will.”
I could tell that Bedivere was good at keeping his emotions in check. There was nothing in his blank expression that told me how he felt about what he was saying. But as I continued to stare at him, I could tell that there was something deep in his silvery eyes, some kind of emotion I couldn’t quite decipher because I knew almost nothing about the alpha in front of me.
“And that’s how you really feel?”
“It is, your majesty.”
I had started all of this out rejecting the very notion of a pack—it hadn’t ever been in my plans before—but now Bedivere’s words hurt . My inner omega had gone quiet ever since Gawain had left, but I could feel the rejection deep in the instinctual part of my brain.
I may not have wanted any alphas or any packs, but my instincts had ignored that completely and already claimed them in a way that counted.
“So, you…” I began trying to form my next words carefully. “You don’t want me?”
I cursed inwardly, feeling embarrassed as my inner-thought tumbled so freely out of my mouth and I turned away from him, pressing my chilled hands to my warm face.
The words were as pathetic as they sounded and I just wanted to dunk my head under the water and drown myself like a tragic Shakespearean heroine. But this was not Hamlet and I was not Ophelia.
“Your majesty,” Bedivere paused for a moment before sighing. “ Guinevere , it is not that I do not want you. You are a beautiful woman, that much is clear, but I am not a whole alpha. Even if the fates decree it, I cannot in good conscience allow myself to be with you.”
Hesitantly I turned to find Bedivere crouched on the shore of the creek so that we were nearly eye to eye. He had his single hand perched on the ground next to him, steadying him, while his other—an empty sleeve—was propped on his knee.
“Why do you think you’re not whole?” I asked, frowning at the man. “Because of your hand? I don’t care about that at all.”
Bedivere blinked at me, his face flashing with surprise before it smoothed back to neutral again.
“I cannot protect you, even if I wanted to,” Bedivere said with a shake of his head.
“But the gods—”
“The gods are not always correct, Guinevere. When I was born my mother, who had always been sensitive to the natural world, had dreams of me becoming a great warrior and dying in a great battle serving my king, but I have not seen battle since the day I lost my hand.” He held up his empty sleeve as if to punctuate his words.
I wanted to tell him that he would die in a blaze of glory—or at least he had in most iterations of Arthur’s story. They all had.
But I knew the gods wouldn’t let me tell him anything about his future. Besides, I had decided the day of my wedding to Arthur that there was no way I was letting the future come true anyways so there was no point in mentioning it now.
“I don’t need to be protected,” I began but Bedivere was already standing and offering me his hand.
“Come, your majesty, we will need to get you by the fire to chase away the cold from the water.”
“What happened to calling me Guinevere?” I asked, reluctantly accepting his help and letting him pull me from the creek.
“For that moment we were Bedivere and Guinevere, now we are queen and knight once again, your majesty,” he told me, his words flat as he took in my drenched appearance before sighing. “Lancelot will have a fit if you get sick.”
“He’s not my mother, so he needs to mind his own business,” I told him tartly as we walked back to the campsite.
Bedivere surprised me by letting out a soft chuckle. “No, your majesty, he is most certainly not your mother. That would complicate things more than they already are.”