“Out as in London,” Arthur confirmed. He was done playing prisoner in his father’s court. If he was going to lead this kingdom one day, he should be able to see it. He said as much, and Emry beamed, reaching for her cloak.

“I know a great place,” she said. “The only thing is, it’s more of a brothel?”

Arthur held back a sigh. “I think we can do better than that,” he promised.

Emry surveyed their crowded table at the Crooked Spire, wondering how going out for a drink had turned into . . . this.

The whole gang had come along. Lance, of course. Emmett, who had insisted. Percival, who had volunteered himself as guard, and Guinevere, who had turned up alongside Emmett, wearing a maid’s cloak and a fierce expression that dared anyone to object.

The six of them could barely squeeze around the table without bumping elbows.

“This place is wonderful,” Guinevere said, grinning into her wineglass. Emry had expected the princess to balk at visiting a tavern, but instead, she’d proven herself an excellent sport when it came to subterfuge.

“Did you know there used to be a sword in the courtyard?” Arthur grinned, slouching back in his seat and looking far too pleased with himself.

Across the table, Lance shuffled his deck of cards with a practiced snap. He started to deal the next hand, and then stopped, glancing out the window with a frown.

“This might sound strange, but does St. Paul’s spire look crooked to anyone else?” he asked.

Arthur and Emry exchanged a look, and Emmett let out an accusing cough. Emry gave him a kick under the table.

“I was just thinking the same thing!” said Guinevere.

“Really? It looks the same to me,” said Arthur.

Lance raised an eyebrow, and Emry watched a silent communication pass between the two of them. Emry had told Emmett everything, of course. And she’d assumed Arthur had done the same for Lance.

But apparently not, as Lance had barely escaped his squire’s duties in time to join them. He still smelled of steel and the stables. Lance finished dealing their round, and Percival went first, grimacing at his luck to draw the low card.

As the game progressed, Emry glared down at her cards, positive Emmett was cheating. She just couldn’t figure out how.

Arthur, across the table, chewed his lip, looking equally distressed.

Lance, meanwhile, tossed another coin into the center of the mess.

“Can I bid yet?” Guinevere asked eagerly.

“It’s bet,” Emmett told her, with surprising patience. “And no, Perce goes next.”

“She can have my turn. I’d rather spend my coin than lose it.” Percival threw down his cards, sauntering off to the bar for a refill. Emry watched how Lance’s eyes followed after him, and how, when Perce returned to the table, he’d bought another round of ale for everyone.