Royal Enchantment. Sharon Ashwood
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cars, buses and stoplights. But the knowledge had little meaning. She had no experience of any of it.
A sudden need to sit down put her back on the bed. Gwen pressed her face into her palms, willing her thudding heart to slow down. All the bizarre things that had happened yesterday were still true. She’d half expected to wake up in her own chambers far, far in the past.
She dropped her hands to her lap. She had to find courage. After all, this wasn’t the first time her life had changed utterly from one sunrise to the next. One day, her mother had died. One day, she’d been betrothed. One day, she’d left the only home she’d known for Camelot. She would face this trouble like every other, even if she’d been catapulted centuries into the future. What other choice was there?
As she sat, she slowly became aware of the world around her. There were deep, rumbling voices sounding through the walls—Arthur’s definitely, and perhaps Gawain’s brogue, and then others she couldn’t name. The last thing she wanted to do was to face the knights on her first day here, when everything was unfamiliar and awkward. But again, what choice did she have?
She padded into the tiny bathroom that adjoined the chamber. Merlin’s spell had been helpful here, but the sight of water appearing without pumps or buckets—hot water, no less—was still fascinating. And oddly overwhelming. Taking a breath, she turned a tap over the sink. She must have turned too hard, because the water hit the porcelain with so much force that it bounced back, blinding her with the spray. She jerked it off again, panting with the surprise. An impulse to cry rolled over her—to cry and be comforted and told everything would be fine. But that was a weakness she couldn’t afford if she was ever to earn respect.
Grimly, she washed and pulled on her gown, wishing for her ladies-in-waiting. They would have made sure her hair was perfect and her dress free of dust or wrinkles. Most of all, they would have distracted her with gossip and silly jokes. They had been her friends, and now she had none. She was alone.
Once Gwen had tidied herself, she stepped into the rest of the bland, spare apartment. The living room was crowded with big men draped over the black leather furniture. Arthur saw her first and looked up. As if that were a signal, everyone fell silent and rose to their feet, then, as one, they bowed.
“Be at your ease,” she said, the words made automatic from long habit.
There was a rustle as they straightened, every face turned her way. She paused, frozen by the weight of their stares. She recognized the knights: Gawain, Beaumains, Percival and Palomedes. There was also a young woman she did not know, with short fair hair and a smartphone in her hand. Gwen scanned the young woman’s clothes and the confident way she carried herself. There was no question she was from the modern age.
Gwen forced herself to take another step into the room until she faced Arthur, and then sank into a deep curtsy. “My lord.”
“We’re not so formal here,” he said. “Please rise.”
She did, feeling an unaccustomed shyness. She’d at least been able to count on her manners, but even that was different here.
“I’m glad to see you awake,” said Arthur. “I trust you slept well.” He, on the other hand, had dark circles under his eyes. Gwen wondered if he’d slept at all.
“Well enough.” She barely noticed what she said, for she was studying her husband with care. The warmth of the night before had been replaced by a more impersonal friendliness. She knew it of old—the mask of Arthur the King, friendly, jovial and utterly impenetrable. It was as if they hadn’t kissed or touched or had a real conversation. Disappointment throbbed like something wedged under her breastbone.
Gwen swallowed hard. Had she destroyed everything by pushing him? For asking for a voice in their marriage? She wanted to talk everything through, but now was not the time. As always, the business of court pushed her needs aside. She was aware of the others, staring as if she were an exotic beast. Her breath hitched, but she found her voice.
“How long did I sleep?” she asked with complete casualness. “It must have been some time, judging by the light.”
“My lady,” said Beaumains, who was Gawain’s younger brother and her favorite among the courtiers. “We all crash when we first come out of the stone sleep.”
“Crash?” The word confused her.
“Sleep for a long time,” explained the woman, who was standing beside Gawain. “Don’t be surprised if you feel disoriented at first. Everyone’s reaction on waking is different. Arthur held my sister at sword point for the first few minutes after he regained consciousness.”
The king gave the young woman a pained look. “I’m not a morning person.”
“You were in a paranoid delirium.”
“That’s something like your resting state, isn’t it?” Gawain quipped, giving Arthur a sidelong glance.
The banter didn’t hide the tension in the room. Gwen looked quickly from face to face. The young knights—the ones she considered friends—were subdued. Gawain, on the other hand, scowled at Gwen. She groaned inwardly. He had always blamed her for making Arthur unhappy, and clearly that hadn’t changed.
Well, she would just have to work around him. She gave a confident nod to the room. “I did not mean to disturb your conversation, but here I am.” She approached an empty chair next to Arthur. “What were you discussing?”
“Nothing of importance.” Arthur waved a dismissive hand. “By your leave, my lady, I have summoned a friend to take you into town. You need clothes.”
Gwen stopped in her tracks. Arthur was close enough to touch, but she kept her hands by her sides. “My lord,” she began quietly, “by your own account there is a dragon marauding through the countryside, and fae armies threaten Camelot’s welfare. Surely my wardrobe can wait?”
Arthur met her gaze and held it with his own. Despite his smile, the warning in his eyes was clear—he would not tolerate defiance in front of his men. “You need appropriate dress,” he replied, his voice reasonable. “You don’t need to remain here. There is nothing you can do.”
The urge to protest rose up, but something made her look at the others in the room. Their expressions were carefully blank, but she could read the discomfort in their eyes. That made her back down. They didn’t need to witness a fight.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, turning to the young blonde woman. “We have not been introduced.”
“My name is Clary Greene,” she said. She had a pretty, triangular face and bright green eyes. “I’m one of the new kids in Camelot.”
Gwen marveled. Clary’s manner was quick and assured, as if certain she was the equal of the knights. If this was what living in the modern age meant, Gwen craved it with her entire being.
She smiled at Clary, plans already forming in her thoughts. “I trust you will show me everything. There is a great deal I want to learn.”
Shortly after, the two women left. The scene Gwen had viewed from the apartment window was twice as frantic once she stepped onto the streets. Perhaps she should have been frightened, but there was too much to know where to start. Cars—including the old Camry Clary drove—intrigued her, but those tall buildings entranced. So did the more modest buildings, the houses and malls and gas stations. There was a dull sameness to many of the structures, but every one of them was airy and light compared to Gwen’s old home. As they drove to Carlyle’s downtown shopping district, Gwen tried to figure out how the seemingly flimsy walls held together.
“So what do you need to get?” Clary asked as she parked by the side of a teeming road.
“I don’t know,” Gwen confessed.
“What do you have?”
“What I’m wearing.”
Clary grinned, green eyes filling with mischief. “We’re going to have some fun, girlfriend.”