Chapter 26 #2
It was also the first time Arthur referred to Vera as if she and Guinevere from before were the same person.
Her smile hitched, wondering if he would realize his slip.
It was also in this instant that Vera understood she’d made a terrible assumption this morning when she hadn’t given him time to answer about whether he’d loved Guinevere.
If he had loved her, and now, he was gazing at a woman identical to her …
She couldn’t think about that and, selfishly, was afraid the bubble of this sweet moment might be abruptly popped.
“How do normal people dance with each other in your time?” Arthur asked, feigning innocence.
“Rude!” Vera dropped her jaw theatrically, though she couldn’t hold in a grin. “Well, it’s not usually choreographed, and it’s far simpler than what we’re doing tonight. Just … swaying, really. There’s not much to it.”
Arthur peered down at his feet. When he looked back up, he was still smiling, but his eyes bore into Vera’s. She wasn’t quite used to that, him looking her right in the eye.
“Will you show me?” he asked.
Now she was nervous. “It—it’s odd without music.” Her voice was unwieldy in her throat. “The song on the lute wouldn’t work. It’s slower than that.”
“What about the song with the bird in the Sycamore tree?” he asked.
Vera stared blankly at him. Then Arthur, the ancient king of Britain, began to hum the unmistakable tune of “Dream a Little Dream of Me.” She couldn’t believe it. Hearing his regal voice hum the song she’d grown up hearing performed by the Mamas and the Papas delighted her.
“You singing that song has to be the strangest thing in all of history,” she said.
“Will that one work?”
Vera nodded and held out her hand to him. Her palms were clammy, and her heart was beating faster than it ought to. Arthur gazed down at her with a destabilizing intensity when his fingers touched hers.
“Here,” she said, guiding his right hand to her waist. His fingers slid beyond to the small of her back, holding her closer than he needed to.
She hadn’t been expecting that, but it was also exactly what she wanted.
Vera swallowed, self-conscious that he might feel her pulse quickening beneath his touch.
She began to softly sing the song, and they danced together.
Vera couldn’t fathom looking Arthur in the eyes when they stood this close to one another, so she lay the side of her head on his chest. Almost instantly, she doubted the decision.
Was it too close to a full embrace? But then he responded in kind, resting his cheek on her head.
She couldn’t say who backed away first—simply that the song ended, and they were not quite so close together anymore. He’d dropped his hand from her back and she from his shoulder, and though their other hands dropped too, Arthur delicately held her fingers in his at their sides.
“It’s sort of like that.” Vera could only manage a whisper as she tipped her head back to meet his gaze. “How did you know that song?”
“You used to sing it in the chapel,” Arthur said. “I didn’t … I wanted to be there for you without hurting you, and I didn’t know how to …” His voice trailed off. “I went to the chapel after you and would sit in the alcove so you wouldn’t be alone.”
Words failed her. She stared at the floor, no notion of how to hold this care. Care that belonged to someone else, but she had fallen into its glow, nevertheless.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It was stupid and invasive—”
He stopped when Vera looked up at him. “It wasn’t,” she said.
He did not try to mask the pain in his expression. His lips parted, and he inhaled sharply. “I have to tell you something.”
Vera was nearly certain she knew what it was.
She’d found it suspicious that Merlin agreed to let the memory work wait without anything in its place.
And the way Arthur’s behavior had changed toward her after that day in Merlin’s study …
Merlin had convinced him to try to connect with Vera.
As he’d noticed her affection for him bloom, she guessed he was feeling guilty for not being forthright. That had to be it.
But he didn’t get any further. A sharp rap sounded from the door just before it opened to reveal Maria, already dressed splendidly in a billowing cobalt gown and with sparkling teal and turquoise around her eyes. The top half of her face was painted like the feathers of a peacock.
“I hate to interrupt an intimate moment,” Maria crooned as her eyes darted between Arthur and Vera, looking like she would have rather relished a more salacious interruption than this one.
Vera disentangled her fingers from Arthur’s, more like embarrassed schoolchildren than spouses.
“But we must begin preparing for this evening if Her Majesty is to be ready on time.”
“Can it wait a few minutes?” Arthur asked.
“No, Your Majesty! We are already behind schedule.” For how scandalized Maria sounded, Arthur may as well have asked her to betray him and the country.
“It’s all right,” Vera said, leaning close to his ear. Her lips were millimeters from his skin. Goosebumps rose on his neck. “Tell me later?” Why spoil the moment?
He brushed a hand down her arm. “All right.”
That was sufficient for Maria, who herded Vera out of the room with the tenacity of a border collie wrangling sheep. Vera risked a nip at her heels to turn for one last glimpse of Arthur, smiling as he watched her go.