“I have an idea.” Gawain’s mouth quirked up at the corner. “You could come to France with me.”

He was joking. He had to be joking. Yet there was a sincerity in his face that made Emry wonder just how much he really meant it.

“Very funny,” she said.

“I’m serious,” Gawain insisted. “You speak the language. And I wouldn’t mind some company. Wear a nice dress, and I’ll introduce you at court as my fiancée.”

Emry choked on a sip of tea. “Your fiancée,” she repeated, incredulous.

“Why not?”

“I’m a wizard!”

“So?” Gawain asked.

“And a commoner.”

“That hardly matters. I’m no prince.”

“Just his cousin.”

“Arthur and I are not the same,” Gawain protested. “Obviously, I’m far more handsome.” He smirked, and Emry rolled her eyes. “Listen, I know what it’s like to pick up the endless slack for a brother who never gets it right. To be desperate enough to run away, and naive enough to think my problems won’t follow me. To prove myself a hundred times over for something that I’ll never have the chance to be. I’m not saying we should call for the bishop tomorrow. But, for the record, I wouldn’t mind a wife who conjures fire, and matches me drink for drink, and gets herself stabbed to protect the heir to the kingdom.”

Emry wished a different boy was saying these things to her. And yet, staring across the table at Gawain, more handsome than he had any right to be in his dressing gown, his eyes bright and his expression hopeful, she wondered how she had ever thought him a villain.

It was strange to realize that he saw her so clearly. That they had so much in common. Stranger still to remember that he had pulled a knife from his boot to protect her before they had even met. That he had kept her secret, and been silently in her corner from the beginning.

He was right. They could go to France together, and when they returned, she could stay at the castle, and study magic with Master Ambrosius, and not have to lie or pretend.

It was an elegant solution. But as tempting as it was, it wasn’t what she wanted. And Gawain seemed to realize that.

“Or not,” he said, grimacing into his teacup.

“I’m sorry,” Emry apologized uselessly.

“Don’t be,” he said, suddenly all business. “It was an absurd idea.”

He stood, pushing back his chair. And Emry had the strangest sense that she’d disappointed him. That he’d hoped she might say yes.

“It wasn’t your worst idea,” Emry said.

“What a terrible compliment.” Gawain shot her a rueful grin as he walked her to the door. “Before I set off for the continent, I don’t suppose you’d want to pose for one of my portraits? Give me something scandalous to remember you by?” He quirked an eyebrow.

“Your naked portraits?”

“I would allow a tasteful drape of linen,” he said. “For the sake of my lady’s modesty.”