She arrived in white, as the first autumn frosts were hardening the earth and the sloes were purpling on the blackthorn bushes. Her horse was pure white, a gift from the eastern kingdom, and her white furs hailed from the lands far to the north.
All of Camelot stood in the great square to greet her, and many who had seen her before remarked that she seemed older, paler, sadder. Being Queen was not for everyone, they said. This being patently true, the murmurs continued: a queen with a consort and no heir must be an unhappy woman.
Her man was away, said people farthest to the back of the crowd. Fighting wars.
There was no war, said those nearby. Camelot would never tolerate it.
Then he was away fighting tournaments.
Why was he not here?
"Because Queen Mithian is invited to be guideparent, and her consort is not," said Merlin, the King's right hand, appearing on the castle steps in his black cloak. He gave the gossips a stony look, and they dispersed, muttering.
The King's own man sighed. Mithian bore enough without these cruel rumours.
He worked his way down the steps to where the Queen waited on her horse. "The King is in council," he said loudly.
Mithian frowned. "Good day, Merlin."
He smiled as she recalled his name from previous visits. "Good day, my lady."
"Can Arthur not leave council to greet a guest?" She extended a hand, and Merlin stepped closer to lift her from her mount. As he set her down on the stone flags, he murmured: "The King is at the Queen's side. The baby."
Mithian clutched Merlin's arm. "Is everything all right?"
"Yes. But it is taking a long time."
"Should you not be there?" she asked as he led her, her gloved hand on his arm, up the steps into the castle. "You are a physician."
"Arthur is the only man allowed," said Merlin. "And the midwife was not happy about that."
"He insisted?" said Mithian with a smile.
"What man would not want to witness the miracle of his own first child?" said Merlin. But to his dismay, her smile faded, and she gathered up her skirts and urged him to take her quickly to her quarters so that she could rest.
"Are you well?" he asked at her door. "Is there anything I can do-"
"Thank you, nothing."
She shut the door a shade more quickly than was courteous, leaving Merlin frowning in the cold, dry corridor.
He glanced around. The Queen's luggage would be a while arriving. She brought no personal servant with her. He was alone.
And so, because he was not just Arthur's man but also a sorcerer, he whispered a word and put his eye to the oaken grain of Mithian's door.
Under his enchantment the wood thinned to glass. Merlin peered into the room.
Mithian was unfastening her white cloak. It fell to the floor like an exhausted hound. Merlin watched, poised to withdraw at once from any intimate sight.
But Mithian only sighed, and drew out a handkerchief from her sleeve, and pressed it against her eyes as she stood, wracked with silent sobs.