They were in the courtyard outside the tavern, standing there in the cooling darkness. The night air smelled of fresh rosemary and wood smoke, and Emry wanted very badly to kiss him. To feel his arms around her in this garden where no one was watching, and where, for a moment, they could pretend so many things were possible.

She wished he wasn’t looking at her like that. Like he’d come here to do more than regain his apprentice court wizard. Like he’d ridden here as plain, wonderful Arthur, because he ached from not having her in his life.

When he leaned in to kiss her, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she melted into it, savoring the pressure of his hand against her spine, and his soft lips on hers. She surrendered into his arms, and into this stolen moment she’d never dreamed they would have. The heat from his palm penetrated her clothes, making her knees go weak. His lips brushed her throat and grazed her jaw.

She gasped, and he smiled against her throat, pleased. He pulled away, brushing back a lock of her hair and twirling it between his fingers.

His lips curved into a slow, wicked grin as he asked, with studied nonchalance, “Perhaps we could get a room?”

Yes, she thought. Yes, please.

Except she knew it would be a mistake, no matter what pretty lies she told herself. Even if he wasn’t actually going to marry Guinevere, they were still engaged. And he was still the crown prince. And the sword that hung at his waist was still Excalibur.

“Perhaps we should go inside,” she said, smoothing the front of her dress, “and get a table before the others arrive.”

“Right,” said Arthur, as though he’d forgotten about the others entirely. “Er—that’s probably best.”

He offered her a sad smile, and she knew without question that they’d only wind up hurt by the inevitable disaster of who—and what—they both were. Girls like her didn’t wind up with a prince, even though she doubted there’d ever been a prince like Arthur. It was better to have him in her life as a friend. Better to deny the feelings that kept drawing them together. Being his court wizard was enough.

It had to be.

Emry’s heart hammered nervously as she stepped into the Great Hall at Arthur’s side. She’d muttered a clothes-cleaning spell as the castle came into view, but they still looked as though they’d been riding all morning and half the afternoon.

She could feel the courtiers staring curiously at her. Although this time, there were familiar faces. Guinevere, looking far less perfect than usual. Emmett, in an absurd fur-trimmed jacket, as well dressed as any courtier. Lady Elaine, her expression one of barely concealed fury. Percival, on guard at the door, tossing her a wink and a grin.