She knew she should refuse, just as she knew Gawain was trouble. But she was bored. And lonely. And she’d seen so little of London in the weeks since she’d come to the castle. And she knew it would infuriate Arthur. The last one clinched it.

“All right,” she agreed, stuffing the rest of the sandwich into her mouth. “One drink.”

The gate guards let them through easily, and even called after them to have a pleasant evening. What a difference Gawain’s presence made, Emry thought bitterly, remembering how she’d needed to conjure a pass from Master Ambrosius just to meet her brother.

“I know a great place,” Gawain promised.

He led the way through the market square and turned onto the Strand.

The wide lane was flanked with brick mansions and regal townhouses that had private landings on the Thames. Some were palaces in their own right, ensconced behind walls and gates, and boasting guards in their own livery. Emry tried not to let her jaw drop.

“What prompted the expedition?” she finally asked.

Gawain lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I’m heartily sick of babysitting my brother,” he confessed.

“But he seems so nice,” Emry deadpanned.

Gawain snorted. “He has no regard for anyone but himself,” he said darkly. “His horse is on box rest this week, yet he keeps sneaking down to the stables and riding her anyway. I had to bribe the stable boys to tell me when he does it.” Gawain grimaced. “Our mother has always indulged him, but I don’t understand why our father doesn’t reprimand him.”

“Fathers always have soft spots for sons,” Emry said, thinking about how her own father had been so much more forgiving with Emmett.

“And blind spots,” Gawain added with a bitter smile.

“You mean Lance?” Emry said, surprised he would mention it.

“There’s no shame in following your heart,” said Gawain. “But my brother needs to watch where he steps while doing so. And on whom he steps.”

“I take it there’s a reason he came back from boarding school,” Emry guessed.

“He burned down the scriptorium.” Gawain shook his head. “With help from his roommate. Who, by the way, is a minor Flemish royal. Apparently they were both naked and drunk at the time. In a scriptorium.”

Gawain stopped himself, loosening the tension in his shoulders.

“You better not tell Arthur, he’d have a fit over all those burnt manuscripts,” Emry said.

Gawain started to laugh. Once he started, he couldn’t stop.

It was the kind of laughing, Emry realized, that you did instead of screaming.

Perhaps Gawain really did desire nothing more than a drinking companion and a sounding board for his troubles. It was possible she had misjudged him. His anguish was certainly real enough.

“Come on,” he said, ducking down a narrow lane. “It’s this way.”

He paused outside an unmarked red door next to a hat shop, knocking a quick rhythm, a grin on his face.