“At least I’m not costumed so it takes three servants to undress me every time I need the privy,” Arthur shot back.

Behind him, Jereth snickered. The princess’s carriage came to a stop, and a groom placed a small wooden stair under the door.

Arthur swallowed nervously. This was it.

His father stepped forward, his fur-trimmed cloak billowing behind him, and his ruby-laden crown catching the light.

And then a dark-haired girl descended from the carriage in a froth of crimson silk. Before Arthur could get a better look at her, she dropped gracefully into a curtsey.

“I thank you most ardently, Your Majesty,” she murmured, “for your kind hospitality. Camelot is exactly as I remember it.”

“I am pleased to hear it. Although I think you’ll find some things have changed,” Uther replied smoothly. “Where is my son?”

“Here,” Arthur said, hurrying forward. “I’m here.”

The princess rose from her curtsey, and Arthur blinked in surprise.

Gone was the plain, bratty child who had thrown tantrums over games of croquet and demanded the kitchens produce tiny cakes for a doll’s tea. In her place was a singularly beautiful young woman. Her mahogany curls glinted auburn in the sun. Liquid brown eyes blinked up at him from a tan, heart-shaped face. Rosy lips curved into a soft smile, and her ample figure spilled suggestively from the low neckline of her fashionable gown.

Her beauty was intimidating. It poked at him, making Arthur want to fidget, or at least flatten his hair. Instead, he offered the princess a smooth bow, aware that she was examining him in return.

Had she noticed the pimple on his jaw where he rested his hand while reading? And what must she think of his plain circlet? He wished he’d sent Lucan to retrieve his better one after all.

Yet if the princess was disappointed, she gave nothing away. Instead, she stared back at him, her expression coolly neutral.

“What a long time it’s been,” she said, offering him a small smile.

“Too long,” Arthur agreed.

“If you wish a rematch of croquet, you have my word I would not whack you in the shins with my mallet,” said Guinevere.

“I wouldn’t mind if you did, so long as I had the pleasure of your company,” Arthur replied smoothly.

He felt ridiculous, speaking such flowery nonsense, even though he knew it was expected. It wasn’t him. None of this was. It was all so insincere and showy. Even with no choice in bride, he hadn’t expected to meet like this, with every statement and gesture being watched and judged by his father’s court.

Guinevere dipped again into a brief curtsey, which gave Arthur quite the front-row seat to her bosom.

“My company is yours,” she said, her eyes finding his, “for as long as you’ll have me.”

Arthur swallowed thickly. It really had been a while. Since he’d had anyone.