Ever After (23 page)

She patted me on the chest. “Come now, love, you know me.”

Before I could respond, she gave me a playful swat on the ass and pulled her hood over her hair, vanishing once more. In the distance I heard the chaos coming from the house as the guards burst into the yard to defend their king's home from the dragon they believed to be attacking.

I crept through the fog toward the great house, not trusting myself to shift inside just yet. A few moments later, I heard car alarms going off in the garage and the shouts of the house staff as they rushed to see what in the hell else was going on.

Apparently, Arabella had struck again.

“That's my girl,” I muttered. And then I shifted, hoping like hell I wasn't heading straight to my doom.

W
hen I slipped into the king's study, I was surprised to see the man I'd thought to be imperturbable slumped in his chair, his forehead resting on the palm of his hand, eyes squeezed shut in a grimace of pain and sorrow that I'd only seen on his face twice before in our long association. Although the cacophony outside was faint in this part of the house, the chaos could still be heard, and yet it didn't seem to register with my lord.

I cleared my throat, politely announcing my arrival. Startled out of his thoughts, he snapped up his head, his expression morphing from fury at being disturbed to what I can only describe as relief.

“Gideon, my boy,” he breathed, his voice tight. “How did you get in?”

I took a hesitant step forward. “I persuaded Lily that I must speak with you and she let me beyond the barrier.”

The king got to his feet and strode toward me. My heart pounded as I prepared to meet his wrath. But, to my astonishment, instead of striking me dead for disobeying his order to stay away, the king gathered me into his embrace for a brief, fatherly hug. He then set me at arm's length, searching my face with eyes that brimmed with emotion. “Is it really you? Have you returned, my boy, even upon pain of death?”

I nodded, concerned that he'd perhaps lost his mind in my absence. “Yes, sire.”

A smile broke over his face. “Loyal to the last,” he said, his pride in me so powerful, the intensity of it warmed my skin where he still grasped my arms. “I knew you'd return. I
knew
it.”

I frowned at him, utterly confused. “Sire, if you'd wished me to return, all you had to do was command it. I never would've stayed away at all had you not wished it.”

At this, he heaved a mournful sigh. “Oh, my boy. My dear boy. I never wished you to stay away. I had to keep you away from here for your own safety.”

My brows shot up. “Pardon?”

He released me and went back to his chair, his feet dragging with each step. “Gideon, it is time you and I had a conversation. It's one I should've had with you long ago, but have put off for my own reasons—mostly selfish ones.” He gestured toward the chair across from his desk. “Please.”

“I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about, sire,” I informed him, taking the seat he'd indicated. “Why would I need protecting ?”

He smiled, rather sadly. “Oh, dear boy.
Everything
I've done where you're concerned was to protect you.” When I opened my mouth to question him, he held up a hand to silence me. “Do you remember the day we met at the falls?”

I nodded. “How could I forget? You placed your bonds upon me, forced me into servitude.”

The king's head tilted to one side as he regarded me for a moment. “And what would you have done had my men not apprehended you?”

“I would've followed my love to her death,” I told him, knowing even as I said it that such an impulsive move would've been foolish and melodramatic, but we were Tales. Melodrama was rather a requirement.

“Precisely so,” the king concurred. “And I simply could not allow that. I saw something extraordinary in you, Gideon—something you failed to see in yourself. I was not about to let you throw that away, especially as you were the last of your kind. I owed it to you, to your people, to protect you from yourself.”

I blinked at him, astonished by his arrogance. Although his intention was noble, to presume that he was the one to decide my fate infuriated me. I had to avert my gaze, hide the anger no doubt raging there. But my king knew me all too well.

“It might not have been my place,” he said as if I'd spoken my thoughts aloud, “but I had other reasons as well.”

I sat back, spreading my hands and trying unsuccessfully to keep the edge of anger out of my voice. “Do tell.”

“Let us go back a bit then, shall we?” the king said. “To my own youth.”

I gestured for him to continue.

“I once had a sister I adored,” he began. “She was beautiful, kind, intelligent—and her gift for magic was extraordinary. We were quite close, inseparable. As she was younger than I by two years, I felt it my duty to protect her. Never was there a more doting brother. But then one day she mysteriously fell ill. Desperate to find a cure to save her, I cast a spell upon her that changed her world forever, kept her from living a normal life. I didn't see the harm in such a solution—after all, I'd saved her life. But she was furious and refused to forgive me. She would rather have had a normal life for whatever time she had left than to be forced into a life she hated. She left home and never returned.”

“I'm terribly sorry,” I told him sincerely. I certainly knew the pain of losing those closest to me.

He offered me a grateful smile. “I kept watch over her from afar over the years, determined to continue protecting her whether she wanted my help or no. But she hardly needed me. She was quite powerful in her own right.”

He fell quiet for a long moment, prompting me to say, “And yet . . .”

“Well, it seems my love for my sister led me to compound my original mistake by making yet another,” he replied, his smile masking the pain I could feel emanating from him. “One day, an old friend came to me, requesting a favor. And, instead of granting his request myself, I sent him to seek my sister's assistance, knowing her magic bent more toward the elegant than mine. I thought perhaps sending my friend to her would help her see how much I still thought of her, how much I loved her.”

My brows lifted. “And your friend harmed her?”

“Oh, no,” the king informed me. “He fell in love with her.”

“But you didn't approve?” I guessed.

The king leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his abdomen. “It wasn't a matter of my approving or disapproving. He was certainly a man worthy of her love. And she was deeply in love with him in return. But so was his wife.”

“Ah.” I nodded. “I can see how that would be problematic.”

“Too right.” The king pulled a hand down his face. “There were other complications as well ... My sister bore a daughter. A beautiful girl, so like her mother. I managed to slip in one night while they were sleeping and sneak a peek at the child.” He smiled wistfully. “My own little Poppy wasn't much older than the wee slip of a thing I cooed over in her cradle. They would've been playmates under different circumstances, I think.”

“What happened?” I asked, bringing him out of his musings. “Were your sister and her lover ever able to be together as a family?”

Sorrow clouded the king's eyes. “No. My sister's lover visited as often as he was able, but he had great responsibilities elsewhere that kept him away.”

The king rose to his feet and poured himself a drink, knocking it back and pouring another before he returned to his seat. His scowl deepened as the memories of what he'd done pressed heavily upon him.

“Sire?” I prompted after several moments of silence. “Would you prefer to be alone?”

The king shook his head. “No, my boy. It's time you knew the whole of it. I've kept too much to myself for far too long.”

I waited patiently for him to continue, curious how any of this story affected me.

He took a swig of his drink and set the glass down too hard, sloshing the amber liquid onto the desk. “In my arrogance, Gideon, I assumed I could fix everything, engineer a solution that would bring happiness to all. What an idiot I was! I assured my friend that I could clear the way for him to be with my sister. I would simply assume a name and identity and woo his wife, convince her that she didn't love him, that she loved only me.”

“But you were already married to Mab,” I pointed out.

He laid a finger aside his nose. “Aye, there's the rub. I doted on Mab at that point in spite of her rather ... difficult temperament, but she had not enjoyed bearing my children and could barely tolerate the thought of me in her bed. Even back then she encouraged me to seek pleasure elsewhere. And so I did. For this reason, I saw no difficulty in spending time away for a while, especially if that time was spent in the arms of a beautiful woman. Unfortunately, I hadn't anticipated the strength of that woman's love for me. Or that I would fall in love with her in return.”

“And so the plot thickens,” I murmured.

He chuckled bitterly. “To say the least.” He drained off the rest of his cognac and sighed. “I decided I would leave Mab, would take my children with me and start a new life with my love, give up all my power, my throne. Mab had only married me to be queen, to be worshiped and adored—ah, do not look upon me with such pity, Gideon. I've known it all along. To my mind, she could keep her throne. Love and family were all that mattered to me.”

I could sense the impending tragedy even before I said, “But it wasn't to be.”

The king shook his head. “Before I could inform Mab of my decision, my friend's kingdom was invaded and we were called to action. As I prepared to ride into battle, my lover presented me with a gift—a beautiful helm, so finely crafted, I had never seen its equal except among those worn by my friend, the king. This helm resembled his favorite, the one I'd seen him wear to battle on several occasions and knew to be a gift from my sister as a talisman against harm. I had publicly remarked on its beauty many times, so I assumed my lover had commissioned a copy as a gift to me.”

At this bit of news, I straightened, my heart pounding as the pieces of my king's story began to fall into place.

When I stared at him in astonished silence, he continued his story. “I gratefully accepted the gift, wore it proudly into battle. And, fortunately, I came out of the conflict completely unscathed. Yet my friend, my sister's lover, was slain. We, his faithful knights, had grown so accustomed to his imperviousness to harm, we paid little attention to his safety, left him egregiously unguarded.”

“The helm was no replica,” I guessed.

He narrowed his eyes in a remorseful grimace. “No, indeed. I'd failed to recognize the helm for what it truly was. Or perhaps I chose not to see the magic it held, for had I known the helm's importance, I would've been honor-bound to reject my lover's gift and offend her. But in my blindness, I'd accepted the helm my lover had taken from her husband's armory and presented to me, thereby leaving him vulnerable. His blood is upon my hands as surely as if I'd slain him myself.”

“No,” I breathed, shaking my head in disbelief. “It can't be.”

My king gave me a tight smile. “You know the rest then, do you?

“You're talking about the helm of Arthur Pendragon,” I posited. I pushed to my feet and began to pace, trying to make sense of it all. “Which means your sister is Nimue, the Lady of the Lake.”

He inclined his head. “The spell I used to save her bound her to the healing waters of Avalon. She could only be away from them for short periods of time—days at most.”

“And the woman you fell in love with must've been Guinevere.”

The king winced upon my utterance of Guinevere's name, the pain of her loss a palpable emotion that buffeted my senses.

I stared at him, wide-eyed. “And the name you chose . . .”

He spread his arms and inclined his head slightly in introduction. “Was Lancelot.”

“
You're
the one who gave Guinevere the pendant,” I accused, not bothering to hide my disappointment at his selfishness. “You bound her to you without her even knowing what it meant.”

The king closed his eyes briefly. “I had intended to return to her, but after Arthur died ... I couldn't face her. She had loved him once. Cared for him still. And she took his death particularly hard. I was too cowardly to admit the truth of my role in her sorrow. And in my cowardice, I compounded it.”

“You're the one who went with Merlin to deliver Arthur's body to Nimue instead of letting him be buried in Camelot?” I asked.

The king gave a curt nod. “I am. We ushered him on to Avalon, to wait for Nimue until such time as she could join him.”

“And their child . . .” I said, unable to complete the thought.

“Was my niece,” he said. “Arabella.”

My knees suddenly went weak. I managed to stagger over to the chair I'd recently vacated, the implications of what I was hearing shaking me to my foundation. “But you were going to kill her for stealing the helm back in Make Believe,” I charged, shaking my head.

“I wasn't going to kill her,” the king insisted, clearly offended at the thought. “I was the one who tipped her off that I had it. I wanted to draw her to me, to talk to her, to try to be the uncle I should've been all along. She was understandably distrustful after all she'd been through. And she got spooked and ran. I sent my soldiers after her for fear that she'd go underground and that I'd lose her forever.”

“And yet that's exactly what happened,” I reminded him, forcing the anger from my tone.

“Believe me,” he said, “I would've loved nothing more than to welcome her into my family, give her the home she deserved.”

I lifted my gaze, blinking at him, not understanding. “But she was a grown woman by then. Why hadn't you stepped in before? Where was your benevolence when she wandered lonely and afraid in the woods after Nimue's death?”

The king dragged a hand through his curls. “I didn't realize Mab knew as much as she did about my affair. I never should've underestimated my wife—or her wrath. She was determined to destroy everything connecting me to Arthur, including his offspring. I rescued the relics I could, secretly scattered them across Make Believe to hide them and keep them from falling into the wrong person's hands. And as much as I wanted to bring Arabella home, Mab forbade it, refused to allow our home to be ‘polluted' by the blood of a non-Tale such as Arthur Pendragon. I tried to resist, to argue with her, but I . . . I
couldn't.
”