Instinctively Agatha jumped up to follow her prince—

“I’ll go, Aggie,” Sophie’s voice said.

Agatha turned to see Sophie standing. Sophie gave her a subtle nod and left the table, but not before flashing Lancelot a last anxious look. Agatha heard the front door close once more and she lowered back to the table, her stomach in a knot.

The room was so quiet they could hear the sound of Hort’s bath running across the house.

“Well, then,” Agatha said, forcing a smile at her hosts, “shall we dig in?”

Guinevere and Lancelot both exhaled, as if keeping someone at the table was victory enough.

Agatha started on the turkey, so smoky and soft she closed her eyes with pleasure, trying to block all thoughts of what may or may not be happening outside . . .

“He’s picked a lovely princess, hasn’t he?” Guinevere said.

Agatha’s eyes opened.

“‘Sophie,’ was it?” said Guinevere, shunting her straggly hair out of her salad. “Went after him so surely, like Tedros’ father used to come after me. She must love him very much.” Her voice wavered. “Not sure Arthur or I could have chosen any better for him.”

“Well, they look enough alike, don’t they?” grumbled Lancelot, mouth full.

“I just mean she carries herself like a queen. More than I ever did to be honest,” said Guinevere, sniffling a laugh.

“She’s perfect for the lad. People of the kingdom will fawn over her and she’ll dote on him hand and foot,” said Lancelot.

“Camelot will finally have a real queen,” Guinevere sighed, putting on a smile. She turned to Agatha. “What about you, dear? Did you and Hort meet at school? Or was it the Snow Ball—”

“I’m sorry. Will you excuse me?” Agatha gasped. “I . . . I feel like I need some air—”

She pushed herself from the table and fled the cabin, leaving Lancelot and Guinevere, who’d never needed anything but each other’s company, feeling suddenly alone.

Agatha didn’t know where she was going; she just had to get away from that house. Clumping across the moors in steel-blue twilight, she took a long, full breath and noticed, for the first time, the air was warm. Gone was the raw winter chill, replaced by a humid breeze, just like the wind that blew through Merlin’s Celestium.

Maybe this is the Lake Lady’s thinking place, she wondered, clinging to any thought that didn’t involve Sophie or Tedros. Nothing loomed ahead except flat, lucid evening and sky maps of stars and Agatha knew she could go on walking, forever and ever, never finding an end.

She slowed to a stop and peered back towards the house. Beyond it, animals commingled, with a few pigs amongst the sheep and cows, while horses chased each other in the moonlight.

The moon lit up something else too: Gavaldon against the horizon, already clearer than it was a day before. And now there were visible holes in the glassy shield around it.

More stories rewritten.