I heard a shout, but it was deeper, Matilda’s answering laugh more musical. Three horses shot from the forest, a coal-black stallion and a dappled mare leaping over the stream, their riders Arawn and Matilda, no longer children but perhaps seventeen, eighteen. They raced into the field.

Gwynn crossed the stream behind them on a white stallion. Then he climbed off and walked back to crouch and peer into the water. Matilda circled around. She swung off and went to kneel beside him. He pointed out something in the stream, and they talked, serious and intense, until he reached into the water, took out something, and laid it in her palm. Her hand closed over it, and when she looked at him, it was not the look a child gives a friend.

It’s you. It’s always been you.

Arawn rode back. Before he reached them, they climbed onto their horses, and the three took off across the meadow.

“And so there was a dilemma,” the little girl said. “One girl, two boys. The young men knew that if they vied for her hand, their friendship might not survive, and the ties between their kingdoms could weaken, as the boys turned to men and warriors, on the path to inheriting their respective crowns. So they made a pact that they would remain friends—all three of them. Neither would court Matilda. What the men forgot was that there was a third party in this arrangement, one they did not tell of it.”

I heard the shout again, and the laugh, and once more it was Gwynn and Matilda, in the meadow. They were older now, early twenties. Matilda had a basket, Gwynn a blanket. He laid it down and she set out a meal: cheese and bread and wine. She was leaning to pour his wine when he moved forward to take a piece of cheese, and they nearly collided. Matilda leaned forward, her face a few inches from his. Then she darted in and kissed him on the mouth before pulling back quickly, blushing. He froze there, touching his lips. Then, after a long, careful look around, he pulled her to him and kissed her again.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

And so Matilda made her choice,” the girl said. “And Gwynn broke his promise. He’d only agreed to it because he was certain he was no competition for the charming prince of the Cwn Annwn. The moment Matilda showed him otherwise, he forgot the pact. He courted her in secret and made her swear not to tell Arawn. The Cwn Annwn prince was busy with fractious matters of state, he said. They ought not to disturb or distract him. The truth was that Gwynn was convinced she also loved Arawn, that he’d only won her because Arawn had played by the rules.”

“Which wasn’t true,” I said. “She chose Gwynn. She loved Arawn as a friend.”