Sharon Ashwood - Royal Enchantment

“Come sit down,” he said, with all the gentleness he could muster. “We need to talk.”

She frowned. “Why does no one say that for a happy reason?”

Despite himself, Arthur gave a rueful chuckle. “I don’t know, but you’re right.” He led her from the office and closed the door firmly behind them. He hadn’t been in the apartment long enough to invest in a lock for his office, but clearly it was time.

Arthur led Guinevere to the black leather couch and guided her to a seat beside him. The familiar swish of her long skirts stirred memories. At every step, a fresh storm of emotion ran through him—regret, desire and a strong conviction that she would bring nothing but trouble.

And yet...

This was Guinevere, the queen who made hardened warriors stand gaping like witless boys. Her beauty wasn’t just flesh and features, but a lively kindness that burned like a lantern through a winter night. It was her forthright ease with strangers, her wit in conversation and the charm that had turned his warrior’s castle into a shining court. In a small, secret corner of his heart, he was in awe of her. She made people love her with a smile. He’d needed an army before anyone would spare him a glance.

They sat and regarded each other for a long moment, as if neither knew how to begin. What was there to say? They’d faced the same problems so many times before: her independence and his need to rule, her curiosity and his protectiveness. There would be a fight, and usually he’d end it by leaving.

But what about reconciliation after the storm? That was the one consolation of their relationship, and he would rather begin again with sweetness than fury. Perhaps if he tried harder this time, maybe, just maybe he could make her accept his rule.

Arthur picked up her hand from where it lay on the black leather and kissed it. He lingered over the act, feeling her soft warmth. Her fingers were long and delicate, the palms slender and graceful. They smelled of scented oils and, beneath that, the richness of her skin.

When Arthur finally looked up, there was a flush high on her cheekbones. He felt a surge of pride that he had the power to stir her blood. But instead of smiling, the corners of her lush mouth turned down. “It has been a long while since you did that, my lord.”

“Too long.” He tasted her warmth on his lips, and it awakened old hungers. “An unforgivable oversight.”

“You left for battle and never came home again.”

He looked away, back into a battlefield strewn with carnage. “The fae swore to destroy Camelot, and then all the mortal realms. We just never knew when or how. We had to come up with a plan.”

“Merlin told me,” she replied. “You went into the stone sleep and woke up here. The fae have returned to carry out their threat.”

He nodded. “Morgan LaFaye is their queen now, but she is in a magical prison. It should hold her long enough for Camelot to strengthen its forces.”

Guinevere’s eyes were intent. “How will you accomplish that?”

This was information she’d find out anyhow. There was no harm in answering. “The knights were scattered during the stone sleep, and I’ve had to locate them one by one. I’ve only found a handful of my warriors so far, but I will keep searching.”

“Where did they go?” Guinevere’s brows furrowed.

“The tombs have turned up in museums and private collections.” Arthur was still holding her hand, but his grip had tightened. He released Guinevere, afraid of crushing her bones. Suddenly weary, he released a sigh. “I had to buy Percival at auction.”

A smile twitched the corners of her mouth. “I hope you didn’t overpay. That would surely go to his head.”

For the first time since she’d arrived, they laughed together. Merriment was scant in his life. Female company was even rarer. For all their difficulties, he’d been faithful to his wife, and having her near stirred heated memories. Arthur’s heart gave an odd skip at the thought of Guinevere’s sleepy face in the pale light of early morning. They’d had their moments.

He snapped himself back to the present. “I shouldn’t be troubling you with unpleasant tidings.”

“Trouble me,” she said. “How did you come out of the stone sleep?”

“Not easily. Gawain found my tomb in the Forest Sauvage.”

“And then?”

“There was a battle. It’s a long story.”

“I want to hear it.”

“Why?”

“First, you are my husband.” She said it with a bittersweet smile that speared his heart. “And I’m part of Camelot, too.”

She was more than that. Guinevere was royalty, but noble birth meant little in these modern times. A difficult truth struck him. With no skills, no occupation, how would she survive? Whatever he’d done in the past to protect her—and he would lay down his life in an instant—he had to keep her close now. Without him, Guinevere was alone. The thought filled him with an odd mix of dread and desire.

Her expression was expectant, waiting for him to say more. He smiled, feeling the bruises on his cheek and jaw. “I promise I’ll regale you with the entire story, every last dull detail of it. But right now I’d rather tell you what this modern age has to offer.”

Her eyes widened with interest. “All right. Please do.”

“This is a strange world, filled with extremes. Most obvious is the wealth of information and experience. Books are readily available, and travel is breathtakingly fast.”

“Really? And who are the books for?”

It was a reasonable question. They’d been born in a time when relatively few learned to read. “Schools are available to everyone, rich or poor.”

“Do women go to school, as well?”

“Yes, they are regarded as equals here.”

Guinevere said nothing, but her breath had quickened, a sure sign of emotion. An uneasy feeling crept down Arthur’s spine—had he just opened Pandora’s box?—but then she put a gentle hand on his knee. The unexpected touch sent a flood of heat up his thigh. Without quite knowing what he did, he leaned forward, needing to be closer.

“Then perhaps things can be different,” she said. “We can live as the modern people do.”

Her words did not quite sink in—other sensations were elbowing their way to the fore. Enchanted, he reached over, touching the slight cleft of her chin. The skin there was like satin, beckoning him to explore further. She stilled, growing watchful again. Only the muscles of her long, graceful throat moved as she swallowed.

Arthur was mesmerized. Her scent enveloped him, the space between them growing warm. All his earlier reservations melted, and he didn’t care that he was dropping his guard. Right then all that mattered was Guinevere. His Gwen. She should be at his side, where he could touch her silken skin whenever he liked.

“Things will be different,” he said, believing it for a heady moment. “Things will finally be right.” He would rule Camelot, and she would be at his side, bonded together in this strange new time. The challenge of finding their way in the modern world would give them the common ground they’d always lacked. An image formed in his mind’s eye of them seated before the assembled knights, hand in hand and finally united. They looked deliriously happy.

“Right?” she asked softly.

“As they always should have been. As I always meant them to be.”

His daydream faded when she rose with a sigh, crossing to the balcony door to look outside. Rain splattered the glass, blurring the lights outside. At some point, dusk had fallen.

“How do I know we want the same thing?” The question was hesitant.

A familiar knot of confusion made Arthur frown. He never understood exactly how her mind worked. It was as if tiny demons lived inside her skull, coming up with ways to torment him. “How could it be otherwise? You’re my queen.”