Arthur would have laughed if he’d been there to see it. But then, he hadn’t seen much of anything lately. Tonight, however, he was free of the castle’s oppressive gloom, if only for a few hours. And he intended to savor his freedom.

He drained his mug of ale and glanced across the table, where his friend was fiddling with a deck of cards. Lancelot shuffled them with a practiced snap, sifting them into a bridge. He did it a second time, and then a third.

“Please tell me you’re going to do a magic trick.” Arthur smirked, and Lance shot him a look.

“I was going to make the ale disappear,” Lance retorted, “but you already did that yourself.”

“Well, we are in a tavern.”

“Stop looking so pleased with yourself. I’m the one who snuck us out.”

That part was true: Lance had conjured some absurd excuse that sent Arthur’s guards back to quarters, tossed him a shabby cloak, and announced they were going for a drink. It was bold and reckless, but it had worked.

And for that, Arthur was immensely grateful. He hadn’t realized how badly he needed to be somewhere else until they were hurrying through the maze of London streets, the night thick with the promise that they could spend it as they pleased.

“I guess I owe you one,” he said.

“You owe me six hundred and twenty-three,” said Lance, “but who’s counting?”

Arthur reached for his ale, finding his mug empty. He glanced hopefully toward the bar. “Another round?”

“Bad idea.”

“Terrible,” Arthur agreed.

“But how will we learn from our mistakes if we don’t make any?” Lance’s eyes danced with mischief as he climbed to his feet.

“My thoughts exactly.” Arthur offered up some pennies, but Lance waved them off, scooping some petty coins from his vast pile of winnings and sauntering over to the bar.

Lance had left the cards faceup on the table, and the King of Cups stared back at Arthur, bearing more than a passing resemblance to his father. He sighed and pushed the cards away. Of course the great Uther Pendragon would commission his likeness on something so trivial. The king wasn’t even the highest card in the deck. And worse, there were four of them. Arthur would have laughed, if it wasn’t so depressing.

He glanced toward the bar, where Lance was leaning forward, a flirtatious smile on his lips, turning his charms on the barmaid. The girl blushed from the attention, and Arthur snorted, knowing Lance would just as happily flirt with the barkeep, or, probably, the barstool.