“It looks well on you, my lady,” he said seriously.

“Your Highness,” she corrected.

The boy’s lips tugged up at the corners. “I’m no prince,” he said. “But I’m deeply flattered by the mistake.”

She threw her head back and laughed. Not the fake giggle she used at court, but her real laugh, deep and unrestrained.

“Do you have any more of that wine?” she asked, even as she could see there was still half a bottle.

The boy tipped back the contents of his goblet. She watched his throat bob as he swallowed, and decided that, as far as jawlines went, his was a weapon that could win tournaments.

“Would you like to see a magic trick?” he asked. He reached beneath his jacket and pulled out a length of wood—no, a wand—and with a deep frown of concentration, he tapped the rim of his cup and spoke a word of Ancient Greek. At least, she thought it was Greek.

The cup hovered in the air above his hand, and then he spoke again, and it sparkled.

“A clean cup, for Your Highness,” he said, offering it to her. “Since I wasn’t sure you’d wish to share mine.”

So this was the new court wizard. Definitely another Merlin, judging from his dark hair, wide grin, and tall, thin frame. Well, Guinevere thought, eyeing him, he’d certainly do.

She joined him under the tree, to hell with ruining her skirts.

CHAPTER 40

Lance never should have gone into the royal stables. He’d already tried the prince’s rooms, the wizard’s tower, and the library. But when he pushed aside the barn door, it wasn’t Arthur he found. It was Jereth.

The lad sat on the floor of a horse stall, a bottle of wine at his feet, and his head propped heavily in his hands. Behind him, a spotted palfrey nickered for his attention. Her head was down, her coat matted with dirt and slick with sweat. She was still tacked, iron stirrups hanging low at her sides. She looked miserable.

Jereth glanced up at the interruption, his contemptuous gaze raking over Lance. “Well?” he said. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for Arthur.” Lance winced. He’d done so well at avoiding Jereth for weeks.

“How disappointing, to find me instead,” Jereth said, daring Lance to deny it.

“If you say so,” Lance replied blandly.

A beautiful gray mare nosed forward in the nearest box, and Lance gave her a pat. It had been a long while since he’d been permitted to choose his mounts from the royal stable.

He remembered the very last time, a hot summer afternoon when he and Jereth had ridden out to the lake, and shared their first kiss. They’d galloped back with swollen lips and wet hair, stealing last glances at each other as they returned, Lance late to his duties as a page, and Jereth late to his fencing lesson.