“Lose something?” a boy’s voice asked, with just a hint of amusement.

She hadn’t been expecting anyone, and she glanced up in surprise. The most glorious boy was sprawled beneath a tree. He was pale, with a mop of dark hair and a pirate’s grin, and he wore just his shirt and hose, his jacket spread beneath him like a blanket. Even his posture was handsome; he had one leg propped up, with his arm resting upon it, and a goblet of wine caught lazily between his slim fingers. A book sat by his side, open to the first page. He smiled at her, looking up through long, dark lashes.

“I’m sorry?” Guin replied. She couldn’t stop staring. She felt drawn to him, as if by magic.

“Perhaps I can be of assistance,” he said smoothly. “What is it you’re looking for?”

Her heart sped up at the cool, mannered charm of his voice. “A lost earring,” she admitted, “that doesn’t exist.”

His grin stretched wider. “Why then, I’ve already found it,” he said, holding up an empty palm. “How lucky you came this way.”

This, Guinevere thought, as she mimed plucking the object from his hand, is how I’ve always wanted to be courted. She pretended to fasten it on, though she already wore emeralds in her ears.

“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